At two in the morning, I twisted the brass lock on the bathroom door until the mechanism snapped shut.
I stood over the porcelain sink and grabbed the lapel of my suit jacket. I squeezed the damp silk lining, forcing the bitter chemical to drip from the fabric. The liquid hit the drain with a hollow splash.
Next, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the backup vial I had swiped from Julian’s study drawer ten minutes ago. I popped the cork and dumped the clear liquid into the sink.
The compound rushed down the pipes. Three years ago, I sat before the medical ethics board and lied through my teeth. I signed the guarantor forms that kept this exact neuro-inhibitor from being permanently banned. I put my own career on the line so Julian would not lose his medical license.
He used my own salvation to erase me.
I picked up the empty glass bottle, pressing the red wax seal back over the rim to make it look untouched.
I lifted my chin and faced the mirror above the sink.
My reflection stared back, too sharp, too aware. Julian expected a broken, empty vessel.
I relaxed my facial muscles, letting my eyelids droop. I parted my lips slightly, deadening my gaze until the woman in the glass looked hollow.
"Who are you?" I whispered to my reflection, keeping my tone flat. "Where am I?"
Satisfied, I pulled my phone from my trousers. I tapped the screen, switching the device to silent, and opened my voice memo app. A red dot appeared as I hit record.
I navigated to my contacts and scrolled past the dozens of mutual friends who had already betrayed me. The names blurred together—colleagues who looked the other way, board members who took Julian’s bribes. I stopped at one name.
Margot.
She was the only person outside of Julian’s payroll, the only friend who warned me about him two years ago. I should have listened to her.
Before I could type a message, the heavy oak front door clicked shut in the hallway.
I froze, resting my thumb over the screen.
"Did she drink it?" a woman's voice echoed through the crack under the bathroom door.
Vivienne.
"Every drop," Julian replied. His footsteps moved across the hardwood, stopping near the living room sofa. "She is docile. She didn't even recognize her own reflection."
"Are you certain?" Vivienne asked, her tone laced with suspicion. "Nora is manipulative. She could be faking."
"She isn't faking," Julian said smoothly. "The Aegis compound is flawless. Her memories are gone."
"You always underestimate her," Vivienne snapped. "She built the research division from nothing. She isn't some naive intern you can just drug and dismiss."
"She is now," Julian replied, his voice heavy with arrogance. "I gave her the maximum dosage. Her brain chemistry is rewritten."
A soft thud indicated Vivienne had tossed her purse onto the table. "Good. I don't want her ruining the press conference tomorrow. The media will eat us alive if your former fiancée shows up screaming about stolen company shares."
"She won't be at the press conference," Julian stated. "I told her she is a low-level assistant. She believes it."
"An assistant," Vivienne repeated, letting out a sharp laugh. "You really are cruel, Julian."
"I am practical," he corrected.
I gripped the edge of the sink, my knuckles turning white.
"Keeping her here as a secretary is risky," Vivienne scoffed. "What if the drug wears off? What if she sees a document she recognizes?"
"The first dose should hold for a month," he said, his voice hardening. "If it starts to fade, I will dose her again. She is exactly where I need her to be."
"Why do you need her here at all?" Vivienne demanded. Her voice rose, echoing off the high ceilings. "We have her shares. We have the institute. Throw her out."
"I still need her signature on the final transfer documents," Julian explained, his tone even. "If I fire her now, the board will ask questions. If she stays on as an assistant, she signs whatever I put in front of her."
"You are playing a dangerous game," Vivienne warned.
"I am securing our future," Julian shot back. "Without her final authorization, the merger stalls. Do you want to lose the European investors?"
"Of course not," Vivienne muttered.
"Then let me handle my former fiancée," Julian said.
I stared at the red recording dot on my phone. Every word they spoke etched itself into the digital file.
"Even so, I don't want her in this penthouse," Vivienne insisted. "The wedding is tomorrow afternoon. Having the woman who forgot you wandering around the halls is pathetic. My friends are already whispering about why she is still living in the guest wing."
"Let them whisper," Julian said.
"No," Vivienne snapped. "I won't be humiliated. I want her gone."
"What do you suggest?"
"We send her away." Vivienne’s footsteps paced across the floorboards, moving closer to the hallway. "There is a private sanatorium upstate. We check her in under a pseudonym. She stays there, out of sight, and we enjoy the merger."
I reached out and twisted the faucet handle. The water stopped running, plunging the bathroom into total silence.
I squeezed the empty glass vial in my palm, the edges of the wax seal biting into my skin.
"A sanatorium is expensive," Julian murmured.
"We have her twelve million dollars," Vivienne laughed. "We can afford it."
"The board might investigate her disappearance," Julian argued.
"Not if she writes a resignation letter citing health reasons," Vivienne countered. "She is your obedient assistant now, right? Make her write it tomorrow. Tell her she is having a breakdown."
"I already laid the groundwork for that," Julian admitted. "I told her the stress was causing hallucinations."
"Perfect," Vivienne said. "Then we move her this weekend."
"The transfer documents won't be ready until next week," Julian said, his patience thinning.
"Then expedite them!" Vivienne shouted. "I am not sharing my home with your ex-fiancée through my wedding night."
Julian paused. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
"Fine," Julian finally agreed. "We will move her after the ceremony."
"Why wait?" Vivienne asked, her voice dropping lower, losing its playful edge. "Once she is useless, just..."
She did not finish the sentence.
Instead, heavy footsteps pivoted on the hardwood, marching directly toward the locked bathroom door.
