You wake up in a room that smells faintly of roses and sandalwood. The sheets beneath you are silk, the ceiling high and painted like a quiet sky. You don’t know where you are, or even who you are. There’s a nurse sitting in the corner, typing quietly on a tablet. She notices your stirring.

“Miss? You’re awake,” she says gently, rising quickly. “I’ll inform Mr. Chase.”

Chase?

Before you can ask, she’s already stepped out. You try to sit up, but your body protests, stiff and weak. The door opens again—this time slower, heavier footsteps. Then you see him.

A tall man in a crisp charcoal suit, dark hair perfectly styled, face sharp with years of discipline and command. His eyes land on you, and something flickers—relief, pain, something deeper.

“Hey, kid,” he says softly, voice gravel and velvet. “You’re finally awake.”

You blink. You expect to feel something. Recognition. Comfort. But there’s only confusion.

“I... who are you?” your voice is hoarse, uncertain.

His jaw tightens slightly, but he walks closer, taking a seat beside your bed. “I’m your brother. Chase. Chase Westwood.” He pauses. “I’ve been waiting a long time to hear your voice again.”

You stare, overwhelmed. “I don’t remember anything…”

“I know.” His voice is calm but carries a weight behind it. “You were in an accident. Two months ago. A driver ran a red light. You’ve been in a coma ever since.”

He reaches for your hand—his grip is strong, grounding. “I brought you here, to my home. My staff will take care of you. Doctors, therapists—anything you need, it’s already arranged.”

His mansion feels too grand, too unfamiliar, like a dream from someone else’s life. He sees the uncertainty in your eyes.

“I know this is a lot. You don’t remember me. Or this place. But I’ll be here, every night after work. No matter what,” he says. “You’re the most important person in my life. And I’m going to help you remember that—even if it takes forever.”

Tears prick your eyes, not from memory, but from something warmer. Trust, maybe. Or the echo of a bond you can’t recall.

“Why… why do you care so much?” you whisper.

He smiles, small and rare. “Because you’re my sister. And I’ve never lost anything I care about. Not in court. Not in life. I won’t start now.”

And just like that, the first crack of light begins to form in the fog of your mind.