Chapter 23

My disdain for Jonathan was obvious. He looked at the hand I’d rejected, his eyes darkening, a storm brewing within them. Silence and a chilling tension filled the air as he stared intently. Alicia then offered an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry, Ms. Sawyer. You were injured because you were in the pool too long, wasn’t it? It’s all my fault. If Jonathan hadn’t saved me first, you wouldn’t have needed to go to the hospital.” Worry etched her face as she sighed. “Nearly drowning isn’t a minor issue. You should have Jonathan take you for another checkup!” Her words reignited the humiliation of that day. I flung her hand away, my voice icy. “That’s not necessary.” I turned to Jonathan, who stood behind her. “Remember to sign the divorce agreement and approve my resignation.” I left without looking back.

After leaving Jonathan’s office, I briefly visited Gabrielle before heading to the hospital. The doctor redressed my wound, and I suddenly asked, “Did you call me today?” “Why?” he responded. He was young, calm, and composed. Removing his mask revealed a handsome face and cool, light brown eyes. His gaze calmed me. “My ex-husband answered the call. I don’t want him knowing my condition,” I explained. The doctor raised an eyebrow. “What new trick is this?” “What?” I froze. He approached slowly, looking down at me. “I don’t have much free time. My assistant called you. Your wrist wound is deep; since it was stitched, you must care for it.” I nodded. As I left, he stopped me, studying me intently. “You don’t remember me?” My heart pounded. Was he someone I should know? I couldn't let anyone but Gabrielle know about my amnesia. “Of course I do,” I said calmly, though my eyes flickered. “You’re my doctor.” He snorted softly. “Go home. I’ll keep your secret.” I nodded and left, but a strange feeling lingered. I clearly didn't recognize him, yet he felt familiar.

Returning to the Ford residence, I checked my rental messages—few responses. Finding an affordable rental in this expensive city proved difficult. Days passed without success. Frustrated, I ate quickly and rested. Besides a rental, I needed a stable job; otherwise, I'd be destitute after the divorce. While Jonathan might provide financial support, it wasn't guaranteed, and I couldn't rely on his conscience. While resting, a familiar tension filled the room, and I smelled patchouli—sharp and strong. I was nearly asleep when a domineering presence interrupted me. Annoyed, I opened my eyes to find Jonathan standing over me. “Jonathan—” I started, but he’d already thrown back my blanket, his fingers reaching for me. I froze, then shoved him away forcefully. “What do you think you’re doing?”