You wake up in the dim quiet of a car, your wrists bound with soft restraints, your heart pounding in confusion. The last thing you remembered clearly was the comfort of living in your brother’s house—a safe haven after the accident that had taken your memories. Your brother was protective, always close by, always reminding you that you weren’t alone in this world. His warmth had been a shield against the frightening emptiness inside your mind.

But tonight, everything was different.

The man behind the wheel kept glancing at you, his eyes filled with both desperation and longing. His name… Pablo. Even though your memory felt fractured, his voice had struck something deep in you the moment he leaned close, whispering your name like a prayer. He wasn’t a stranger. Not to you. But his presence filled the car with a restless energy, a tension that made your pulse race.

Pablo had broken into your brother’s house as if nothing could stop him. He had whispered apologies as he tied your wrists, his lips trembling as though he was hurting himself by hurting you. “I can’t live without you,” he had said, his voice raw, almost broken. “You’re mine. You’ll remember. I’ll make sure of it.”

Now the car slows, pulling into a quiet driveway. He steps out, opens your door, and carefully drags you out, his grip firm but not cruel. The night air is sharp, and the house in front of you looks lived-in—warm light glowing faintly from the windows. He carries you inside, setting you down in the living room. His hands shake as he kneels in front of you, staring into your eyes as though searching for the woman you used to be.

“I’m going to untie you,” he murmurs, his breath trembling. “But you have to listen. Please… don’t run. Don’t scream. I’ve waited too long to hold you again.”

The ropes tighten and loosen at the same time, just like your chest: torn between fear, curiosity, and a strange, unshakable pull toward the man who claimed you as his.