Chapter 4My Arranged Husband Lost His Memory

The Maybach pulled up to an exclusive French bistro downtown.

The hostess guided us to a private booth by the floor to ceiling windows.

While we waited for our appetizers, we sat in total silence.

The only sound was the soft, melancholic melody drifting from the grand piano in the center of the room.

Victor studied my face for a long time before casually tilting his head.

"Were our dinners always this quiet?"

"I don't remember."

"Have we eaten here before?"

"I have no idea."

"Do we go out on dates often?"

"I couldn't tell you."

Victor let out a quiet sigh.

"Correct me if I am wrong, but I believe I am the one with amnesia."

That single sentence acted like a match to gasoline.

I fell silent for a heavy second before flipping my phone face down onto the marble table.

"And? Do you want a medal for forgetting?"

Victor clearly didn't expect the raw hostility in my voice. His playful demeanor vanished, replaced by a serious intensity.

"Isla, that is not what I meant."

"I don't care what you meant."

"Victor, I am not obligated to tutor you on our past. If you want to remember, figure it out yourself. If you can't, then just let it go."

The rest of the meal tasted like cardboard.

I set down my silverware and pushed my chair back.

"I am going to the restroom."

The restrooms were tucked away at the back of the restaurant, past a dimly lit corridor lined with towering monstera plants.

I kept my head down as I washed my hands, the cold water splashing against my skin. I didn't notice the quiet footsteps approaching until a tall figure stepped up beside me.

He didn't turn on the faucet.

I instinctively glanced up, meeting a pair of eyes in the mirror that were both deeply familiar and completely foreign.

He was dressed in a tailored, expensive suit, radiating a quiet, refined maturity. He looked absolutely nothing like the struggling, broke college student I used to know.

"Isla?"

The unexpected reunion clearly caught Oliver off guard. His voice wavered with a hint of disbelief.

I hadn't expected to run into him here either.

After he left me three years ago, we cut all contact. I only heard through mutual friends that he had moved to Europe.

"It has been a long time, Oliver."

"A very long time."

Oliver pressed his lips together. He looked like a man drowning in a thousand unspoken words. His gaze eventually drifted down, landing heavily on the diamond ring flashing on my left hand. He swallowed hard.

"Have you... been doing well these past few years?"

I offered a polite, distant smile and tossed my paper towel into the trash bin.

"I have been great."

"That is good."

After those three words, the air between us completely died.

I noticed a cigarette pinched between his fingers. He kept twirling it nervously, making no move to light it.

"I should get back to my table."

Oliver blinked, snapping out of his daze, and nodded quickly. "Right. Take care."

When I returned to the booth, Victor was leaning back in his chair, slowly swirling the ice water in his crystal glass.

Seeing me approach, he set the glass down, his dark eyes locking onto my face for a split second.

He asked the question entirely too casually.

"What took you so long?"

"There was a line."

"Do you want to order dessert?"

"No, I am full. Let's go home."

He didn't press the issue. He simply stood up, wrapped his warm hand around mine, and led me toward the exit.

Deep in the shadows of the corridor we had just left, a solitary figure leaned against the textured wallpaper.

A tiny spark flared in the dark as the cigarette finally ignited, the cherry glowing dull red through the leaves of the monstera plant.