I Lost the Memory of the Man I Love after an Accident - Chapter 6

You left her.

You treated her like trash.

And now you’re suddenly following her like some obsessed ex.

You think you know everything? Dylan growled.

You think just because she loves you now she never loved me? You think I didn’t suffer too? You don’t get to suffer.

Vincent snapped.

You broke her.

She wasn’t crying when she kissed me.

Dylan spat.

The blow landed, not metaphorically.

Vincent’s fist came fast and unforgiving, slamming into Dylan’s jaw with a sickening thud.

Dylan staggered back, wiped the blood from his lip, and lunged.

They collided, fists flying, shoulders slamming into brick.

Grunts, curses.

The sound of violence echoed in the narrow alley.

“Stop it!” Reys shouted as she ran toward them.

“Stop it!” both of you, but neither heard her.

Or maybe neither cared.

In the chaos, Dylan shoved Vincent into a stack of crates.

Vincent retaliated with a blow to the ribs.

Reese rushed between them just as Dylan swung again.

Crack.

She twisted her ankle on a broken cobblestone and collapsed to the ground with a cry.

Both men froze.

Ree.

Reys.

The fluorescent lights above cast a sterile glow over the hospital room.

Ree hated hospitals.

The smell of antiseptic, the scratchy sheets, the mechanical beeping, all of it made her skin crawl, but right then she didn’t mind as much.

Vincent was beside her.

He was pacing again.

“Vincent,” she said, exasperated.

“Sit down.

You’re making the room smaller with all your worrying.

He shot her a glance, his brows furrowed.

You sprained your ankle, Ree.

You could have broken it.

You could have hit your head.

What if you landed wrong? What if?” She cut him off with a tired smile.

I’m fine.

It’s just a sprain.

You say that like I’m just going to believe you and stop hovering.

He grabbed a chair and dragged it beside the bed.

She looked exhausted.

His knuckles were bandaged, his jaw slightly swollen.

She hadn’t said anything about it since we got here.

I reached out, placing my hand on his arm.

You’re the one who got hurt, not me.

Shouldn’t I be checking on you? His eyes softened.

It’s nothing, Vincent.

She hesitated for a second, then glanced toward the door.

It was business, I scoffed.

Business that involves throwing punches with Dylan.

His silence told me everything, I sighed, resting my head against the pillow.

I’m sorry, I said quietly.

You’re not the one who should be apologizing, she muttered before I could ask more.

The door creaked open and Alice stepped in carrying a bag of fruit and a look that could kill.

So, it’s true, she said, walking over to my bed.

You got hurt because of him again.

Alice, I tried to calm her down, but she was already fuming.

I swear I can’t understand my brother anymore, she said, throwing her hands up.

One minute he says he doesn’t care.

The next he’s picking fights and showing up everywhere like some obsessed lunatic.

I blinked.

I saw him, she went on in his room, looking at old photos of you too on his phone.

She rolled her eyes.

It’s like he’s spiraling.

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head.

That’s not regret, Alice.

That’s ego.

He hates that I’m not looking back anymore.

That I stopped waiting.

Alice tilted her head, studying me.

So, you really moved on from him? I nodded slowly.

Yes, I did.

She looked at me like she wanted to believe it, but couldn’t quite.

I honestly didn’t think I’d hear myself say that, but in my head, it wasn’t a difficult truth to face.

Dylan had been my first love, yes, but also the man who shattered me.

Who once made me feel like I deserve to be broken.

He never apologized.

Never once took accountability for the way he left me bleeding inside.

And now, because of his selfishness, Vincent, the one person who actually showed up, got hurt.

No, Dylan didn’t get to play the tragic lover.

Not anymore.

Later that afternoon, the doctor discharged me with crutches and a list of things I wasn’t allowed to do.

Vincent insisted on carrying me out to the car like I was made of glass.

I wanted to complain, but part of me liked being taken care of without having to beg for it.

I didn’t expect him to drive us straight to his estate.

I looked at him confused as the gates opened.

Why are we here? He smiled but said nothing.

When we reached the garden, I gasped.

Candles, dozens of them, flickered in the late afternoon sun.

Flower petals formed a path that led to a small marble fountain.

A string quartet played softly in the distance.

My heart thudded in my chest.

Vincent, he helped me down, carefully, guiding me with slow steps.

When we reached the fountain, he turned to face me.

I know this started as an arrangement, he said, voice low and steady.

An ideal, a necessity, but somewhere along the way, I fell in love with you.

My breath caught.

I want to marry you, he continued.

Not because of the agreement, not because of anyone’s expectations, but because I want to protect you, cherish you, promise that from now on, no one will ever hurt you again.

Not on my watch.” He slowly pulled out a velvet box.

Inside was a simple, elegant ring.

A single diamond, brilliant and timeless.

Tears pricricked my eyes.

I didn’t hesitate.

Yes, I whispered.

His smile, genuine, unguarded, was something I’d remember forever.

He slipped the ring onto my finger and pulled me into a gentle kiss.

And for the first time in a long while, I felt chosen, safe, loved.

That night, back at the estate, Vincent made me tea like a doting nurse.

For once, I felt a calm I hadn’t known in years until my phone buzzed.

I picked it up absent- mindedly, expecting Alice or maybe the wedding planner.

Elsewhere, Dylan had been staring at his phone for hours.

The screen lit up again.

No new messages, just that glaring reminder of scene 11:04 p.m.

and nothing since.

He texted her five times since last night.

One, come.

Can we talk? Just 5 minutes.

Two, I need to say sorry.

Three, Grace, please, I messed up.

Four, please.

Five, are you even reading these? She didn’t respond.

He wasn’t sure why he kept doing it, why he kept looking at her profile photo, hoping it would change, hoping for those three bouncing dots.

But there was nothing.

Sometime this morning, she finally cut him off.

Not with an argument, not with anger, but with silence.

And that was worse.

His phone buzzed again.

this time from someone who could get through, a board member.

He was forced to return to the office.

Mr.

Dylan, the man called from the head of the long table.

We were just asking about the revised expansion proposal.

Apparently, some of the investors you secured have transferred to Vincent Square.

Vincent, that name again.

Dylan’s eyes flared.

Rage bubbled in his chest like boiling tar.

The chair screeched as he stood.

We’re done here, he snapped.

Meeting adjourned.

But sir, I said I have something more important to handle.

In the hallway, he fumbled with his phone again.

This time he called.

This number is no longer reachable.

Blocked.

That one word echoed like a curse.

In a flash of fury, he threw the phone against the marble wall.

It shattered.

Pieces scattered like his remaining pride.