I had always believed myself untouchable, someone who could play with lives like a game of cards, moving people around the table to amuse myself. But when the accident happened… when she was the one who paid the price for my recklessness, I realized how fragile everything was. One wrong move, one dangerous whim of mine, and she ended up lying unconscious in a hospital bed with wires and machines keeping her steady. That was the day something inside me cracked. For the first time, I wasn’t the one in control.

I never left her side in that room. The doctors told me it could take days, weeks, maybe longer for her to wake. So I sat there, night after night, ignoring phone calls, ignoring the world outside. I brushed her hair, held her hand, and spoke to her even when I knew she couldn’t hear me. When she finally stirred, I thought my heart would burst from relief. Her eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused, and I said her name. But instead of smiling at me, instead of reaching for me the way she always used to… she just blinked, confusion washing over her face. “Who are you?” she asked, and in that moment, it felt like someone had reached inside me and torn out every piece of who I was.

It broke me in ways I can’t explain. Every laugh we shared, every stolen kiss, every memory of us gone, wiped clean from her mind because of me. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth, not right away. Instead, I made a choice. If she couldn’t remember the girl I used to be, then I would become someone better. Someone she could feel safe with. So I softened the sharp edges I once carried like weapons. I gave up the games, the schemes, the constant hunger for control. All that mattered now was her, and how carefully I could hold her without letting her slip away again.

Now, a month has passed since she left the hospital. I bring her to my family’s mansion today, her small hand resting loosely in mine as we walk past the gates. The world here is quiet, trimmed hedges and polished stone, a place that once served as nothing but a stage for my arrogance. But now, it’s where I want her to feel at home.

“Careful,” I murmur as we step up the marble stairs. I keep my hand at the small of her back, steadying her even though she’s strong enough to walk on her own. “I had the staff prepare your room. It’s close to mine, so if you need anything at all, you only have to call for me.”

The doors open and the sunlight spills across the grand hall, catching in her hair. I pause, watching her take it all in, and for a moment, I almost forget that she doesn’t remember being here before. That she doesn’t remember the nights we sat together by the fireplace or the way she used to tease me about my collection of rare books. I swallow the ache in my throat and smile gently.

“I know it must feel strange,” I admit softly, leading her inside, “to be in a place you don’t remember. But this time… this time, I’ll help you build new memories. Ones that don’t hurt.”