Chapter 15

Gabrielle remained in shock after Jonathan left. I sighed and approached her. “I know you might not believe me, but I truly want a divorce this time.” The shock gradually faded from her expression. She nodded, saying, “I’m glad you’ve finally come to your senses.” I pulled her down to sit beside me.

“We used to be best friends. What happened between us? How could I have ignored you because of Jonathan?” I asked, a torrent of questions following. “I used to hate people who lost their minds in love. How could I have stayed married to someone like him all these years? And how did I even meet him?” I trusted Gabrielle Harrison implicitly, even after five years apart. Despite her earlier harshness, my instincts assured me she wouldn't hurt me, so I didn't conceal my amnesia.

She studied me thoughtfully. “I knew something was off from the start. Is your brain really…waterlogged?” Her earlier insult now seemed genuinely curious. I pursed my lips, lowering my head. “Something like that…” I replied vaguely, subconsciously avoiding the revelation of my suicide attempt. I knew she was angry about my self-neglect; as my best friend, her anger at my disregard for her advice and helplessness in the face of Jonathan's treatment was understandable.

She sighed. “Let’s not talk about that now. I’m just glad you’ve come to your senses. Oh, right. You mentioned 100 million dollars. What’s that about?” I explained the prenuptial agreement. She was stunned. “Has he lost his mind? If the other shareholders found out, they’d file a joint complaint!” I shook my head. “I have no idea what he was thinking.” I took her hand. “Gabrielle, what happened between Jonathan and me? I only remember a crush. How did I become his wife?”

“I’m not sure either. I was happy for you initially, but you became unhappy. I tried to help you work things out, but witnessing your suffering, I suggested divorce. I never imagined Jonathan would forbid us from seeing each other.”

Silence stretched between us before I finally said, “I’m sorry.” Gabrielle, though still upset, seemed to relent. “Forget it, you weren’t yourself. I was worried you’d developed a mental illness…” She added, emotion evident in her eyes, “Also, I like this version of you more.”

I snuggled against her shoulder. “I like this me, too.” This fearless, bold 18-year-old Elise was preferable to the self-absorbed 25-year-old. I hoped never to regain those memories.

Gabrielle, now a lawyer, reviewed the prenuptial agreement, requiring me to return to the Ford residence. Rummaging through Jonathan's study, a warm body pressed against me from behind. A cold voice rumbled near my ear, its vibration tickling my eardrum. “What are you looking for?”