JAKE POV

I ordered food for everyone since I’m hopeless in the kitchen. Cooking was never my thing. Control? Yes. Cooking? No.

While waiting for the delivery, neither Kay nor Vanessa came downstairs.

What the hell are they doing up there alone?

A thought crept into my mind.

Wait… are they having sex?

The image made my stomach twist. I almost felt like vomiting — yet at the same time, I wanted to laugh.

Vanessa wasn’t attractive enough for anyone to touch her like that.

Right?

The doorbell rang, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Emily, go get the door!” I shouted from the kitchen, knowing she was already downstairs doing her nails.

Five minutes later, she walked back in carrying two bags of food, irritation written all over her face.

“My nails are smudged, Jake! Why didn’t you get the door?” she snapped.

My blood ran cold.

“Emily,” I hissed sharply, stepping closer to her. “I told you — don’t call me Jake when we’re here.”

She flinched slightly at my tone.

Before she could respond, I heard footsteps approaching. Kay and Vanessa.

Emily and I straightened instantly.

“I see you two ordered food,” Kay commented casually, but there was a smirk on his face that made my jaw tighten.

I hated that smirk.

He knew I was nervous. He knew I was scared he might expose everything.

“Well, yeah,” I said, forcing a light tone. “I’m sure everyone’s hungry, right?”

I started unpacking the food. Emily grabbed plates. Kay poured water into a glass — specifically for Vanessa.

That small gesture irritated me more than it should have.

“Let’s sit at the table and have breakfast together,” I suggested quickly, avoiding eye contact as I picked up two plates. Emily grabbed the others.

As we walked toward the dining room, I heard Vanessa and Kay whispering to each other in the kitchen. I couldn’t make out the words.

“Are you two coming?” I called out, trying to keep my voice steady.

“We are, don’t worry… Kay,” Kay answered with faint irritation.

I didn’t know why he sounded irritated — like I had interrupted something important.

AUTHOR POV

Vanessa and Kay entered the dining room and took their seats across from Jake and Emily.

The air felt heavier than it should have for something as simple as breakfast.

As everyone began eating, Jake’s gaze kept drifting toward Vanessa. Watching. Studying. Searching.

She spoke occasionally, her voice soft, composed.

Too composed.

Then Jake broke the silence.

“Vanessa, after breakfast, I want to talk to you. Alone.”

Vanessa stiffened almost imperceptibly.

“Alone? Why, Kay?” she asked carefully.

Jake smiled — warm, harmless, convincing.

“I just want to talk to you without Emily or… Jake interrupting us.”

The smile never reached his eyes.

Vanessa paused for a moment.

Then she forced a small smile of her own.

“Okay. But just for five minutes. I’m still not fully recovered.”

She bit her lip softly, as if fragile.

Kay’s eyes darkened. He stared at Jake openly now, suspicion clear on his face.

What are you planning?

After breakfast, Jake led Vanessa into the garden.

Emily stayed behind to wash the dishes.

Kay stood near the garden doors, arms crossed, watching Jake with cold intensity.

JAKE POV

We sat down on the swing bench in the garden.

Morning light filtered through the trees, casting soft shadows across Vanessa’s face.

She looked smaller out here.

Fragile.

Delicate.

Too innocent for the chaos surrounding her.

Or maybe that was exactly what she wanted me to believe.

“You said you wanted to talk, Kay…” she said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Kay.

The name scraped against my nerves.

“Yeah,” I replied smoothly. “I just wanted to check on you. About the accident.”

Her fingers curled slightly around the rope of the swing.

“Oh.”

“I’ve been thinking,” I continued, keeping my tone gentle. Concerned. “You said you don’t remember anything, right? Not the road, not the car… nothing?”

She hesitated.

It was subtle.

But I saw it.

“I remember…” she began quietly, then stopped. “Flashes. That’s all.”

My heartbeat skipped.

“Flashes?” I leaned in slightly. “Like what?”

She turned her gaze toward the garden, her brows pulling together as if concentrating.

“Headlights,” she whispered. “It was dark. Loud. I remember feeling… scared.”

Scared of what?

“Was someone else there?” I asked carefully. “Did you see anyone? Hear anyone?”

Her breathing shifted — just slightly.

“I told you, Kay,” she said with a weak smile. “I lost my memory.”

That smile.

It didn’t reach her eyes.

“I know,” I said quickly. “I just thought maybe… if we talk about it, something might come back.”

Now she looked at me differently.

Not confused.

Not fragile.

Calculating.

“I remember a voice,” she said suddenly.

My stomach tightened.

“What kind of voice?” I asked, forcing my tone to remain steady.

“Male,” she replied quietly. “Arguing.”

My jaw clenched before I could stop it.

“With who?” I pushed.

Her eyes locked onto mine.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “Everything gets blurry when I try to focus.”

No. She was choosing what to blur.

“You don’t remember faces?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“No. Just… a feeling.”

“What feeling?”

Her composure cracked — just for a second.

Fear.

Real fear.

“Like someone didn’t want me to survive.”

The swing creaked gently between us.

Silence stretched.

I forced a soft chuckle.

“Vanessa, you’re overthinking. Accidents happen.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“Do they?” she asked quietly.

For a split second, it felt like she knew.

Like she was testing me.

I smiled.

“They do.”

She held my gaze for three long seconds.

Then she smiled back.

Soft.

Sweet.

Convincing.

“Maybe you’re right, Kay.”

But as she stood from the swing bench, I noticed something unsettling.

Her hands weren’t shaking anymore.

And neither were mine.

Something had shifted.

She remembers more than she’s saying.

And suddenly, I’m not sure if I’m the one questioning her…

Or if she’s the one questioning me.

As she walked back toward the house, she didn’t look fragile anymore.

And for the first time since the accident…

I wasn’t sure whether I was protecting a secret—

Or sitting across from someone who already knew it.