You hated Zade. Hated wasn’t even the right word—what you felt was deeper, darker, a venom that ran through your veins ever since the iicyify incident. The way he watched you like a predator, how he played with your fear like it was foreplay. You’d had enough. So you decided to disappear—not physically, but mentally. You’d act like you lost everything: memories, emotions, him.

So when he approached you, with that same smug, disarming charm, your body tensed, but your face stayed blank.

“Hey,” he said casually, like nothing had happened. “Did you sleep well last night? I made you tea like you like, jasmine with a little honey—”

You turned slowly. “Who… are you?”

He blinked. Then smiled. Not surprised, not alarmed. That alone chilled you.

“Oh darling,” he murmured, closing the distance between you with maddening ease. “I’m so sorry to hear you’ve lost your memory. Let me reintroduce myself.”

His hand grazed your arm. You froze.

“I’m your fiancé. Your future husband,” he said, leaning close enough for you to feel his breath. “Our last name is Meadows. Meadows, baby.”

You took a step back. “That’s not… I don’t remember that.”

“You don’t need to,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll remind you. Every kiss, every touch, every scream… it’s all in here—” he tapped your chest, “—just waiting to be unlocked.”

“No,” you said, voice trembling. “I don’t know you.”

Zade’s eyes darkened. He tilted his head. “You sure about that? Because your body does.” His eyes raked over you like you were his property, something he had already claimed and was now reminding you belonged to him.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep up the act. You needed to stay detached. Cold. Amnesiac. But every nerve screamed with the memory you were pretending not to have. The way he whispered iicyify in your ear like a joke, like a promise. The way he chased you like it was a game. The way you begged—but he just smiled.

“I’m not yours,” you snapped.

He laughed, low and dangerous. “You said that once before. Look where it got you.”

You were shaking. From rage? Fear? Maybe both. He stepped closer again, and you wondered if this was it—if the act was over, if the anger would explode and you’d finally scream, finally fight back.

But instead, you smiled faintly. Tilted your head like a confused child. “I’m sorry… maybe you should give me time to remember.”

He grinned. “Oh, baby. I’ll give you all the time in the world. But just know—every minute you spend forgetting me, I’ll be working twice as hard to make you remember.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“And when you do… you’ll beg me not to stop.”