Chapter 23
Wesley’s POV
The rhythmic crash of waves on the shore was the first thing that pried me from unconsciousness. A dull, relentless throb radiated through my skull, and every muscle in my body ached, as if I’d been dragged through a war zone.
“You’re awake,” a soft voice murmured, pulling my attention from the pain.
I blinked, struggling to focus, and saw a woman seated beside me. Her features were gentle, edged with a tenderness that put me on uneasy footing. She pressed a damp cloth to my forehead, her movements precise but oddly intimate.
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“Where… where am I?” I croaked, my voice ragged and foreign to my own ears.
“You’re safe,” she replied with a calming smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You washed up on the shore a few days ago. My family and I have been looking after you.”
My instincts urged me to sit up, but an intense, blinding pain shot through my skull. I winced, sinking back against the makeshift pillow beneath my head.
“Don’t force it,” she urged, her hand pressing gently against my shoulder to keep me down. “You hit your head pretty badly. You need rest.”
“What happened?” I rasped, fragments of scattered memories swirling through my mind like smoke–tangible yet impossible to
grasp.
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Her brows dipped into a shade of concern. “You don’t remember anything?”
I shook my head cautiously, though the motion whipped dizziness through my skull. “No. Nothing.”
Her hesitation was brief but telling, as if she were weighing her next words carefully. “My name is Celeste. I’m… your wife.”
Her declaration was like a thunderclap, jolting me upright despite the pain that followed.
“What?” The disbelief in my voice was unmistakable. “You’re my… wife?”
“Yes,” she said firmly, her voice soft but edged with conviction. “We were on a trip. There was an accident, and… well, you don’t
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remember me, do you?”
I stared at her, unable to summon even the faintest flicker of familiarity. “No” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
She sighed, her expression hovering between patience and sadness.
The days that followed were a swirl of careful recovery and uneasy silence, all within the confines of the small island where I’d been stranded.
Celeste was tireless in her care of me. She refilled my water, brought me meals, and checked my bandages with a criminal precision. Her presence should have been comforting, but something about it felt… off.
She claimed to be my wife, but no matter how hard I tried, no memory of her surfaced.
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Instead, my nights were haunted by the specter of another woman–someone I couldn’t place but whose presence called to me like a lighthouse in a storm. Her voice lingered in my dreams, warm and familiar, but her features always blurred before I could fully see her face.
Each morning, I woke with my heart aching and her name on the edge of recollection, only for it to vanish before I could bring it to my lips.
“You’re still trying to remember, aren’t you?” Celeste asked one evening as we sat by the fire, the crackling flames casting shadows across her face.
I nodded, unsure how to respond without deepening the tension that hung between us like a taut wire.
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“It’ll all come back in time” she assured meg her tone warm but somehow rehearsedi
I forced a smile, silently battling the gnawing: undercurrent of suspicion.
But my misgivings solidified one night when I was jolted awake by the sound of softened voices leaking through the thin walls of the e modest house.
Celeste was on the phone.
“He doesn’t remember anything,” she said, her voice low but tinged with satisfaction “It’s working. He thinks I’m his wife.”
My blood turned to ice.
“What about the woman?” another voice crackled through the line, muffled but audible enough to make my stomach churn.
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“She won’t find him,” Celeste said sharply, the sweetness in her tone now absent. “He’s mine now.”
My breaths came shallow and rapid as the weight of her words sank in. She had been lying to me all along. But why?
The next night, I acted.
I waited until the dark silence of the house grew steady and certain, signaling that everyone else was asleep. Quietly, I slipped out and made my way toward the small yacht I’d noticed docked at the edge of the island.
The controls were unfamiliar, and my hands fumbled as I worked by the dim glow of the moon. But desperation drove me forward. I had to leave. I didn’t know where I was going
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or what lay ahead, but anything was better than staying under Celeste’s shadow.
The sea fought me as I navigated through the night–waves crashing against the hull, black water lapping eerily against the side of the boat. I pressed on, steering blindly toward the faint promise of freedom.
Hours passed, and just as fatigue threatened to overtake me, the silhouette of another island emerged on the horizon. As I approached, a faint garble of sound caught my attention. A radio signal.
I adjusted the dial hastily, and a breaking news segment crackled to life.
“The search continues for billionaire Wesley Dorne, who has been missing since his yacht was found wrecked several weeks ago,” the anchor announced.
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I froze, my grip on the wheel tightening.
The screen flickered to a press conference. A man who looked exactly like me stood at the podium, his gaze steady and somber as he addressed reporters. Beside him stood two
women.
My breath hitched.
One of the women… her eyes gleamed with unshed tears, their pain so raw and achingly familiar that it felt like a dagger through my chest.
Memories flooded back with a vengeance. That was her–the woman from my dreams, the voice that had called to me for days but remained just out of reach.
I remembered now. I had been following her,
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searching for something–or someone- when my yacht struck something in the open sea, casting me overboard.
Docking at the island with what little. strength I had left, I sought answers. Locals guided me toward a sprawling estate, their faces alight with recognition when I described the woman who haunted my dreams.
When I reached the gates, my heart hammered so loudly I feared it would drown out the sound of the world around me. Trembling, I rang the bell.
Seconds passed like hours until the door finally opened.
And there she was.
Her gaze met mine, and for an agonizing
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moment, neither of us moved. Her eyes, shimmering with disbelief, brimmed with tears that spilled freely down her cheeks.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, her hands. trembling as she stepped closer. “Wesley… you’re alive.”
Before I could so much as whisper her name, she threw herself into my arms, clutching me as though the universe itself might try to take me away again.
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