Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother novel Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A tall silhouette entered the sterile hospital room, casting a long shadow across the pale walls.

8 Pearla

It was Lucien Constantine—Damian’s older brother—the man whose mocking gaze I always felt piercing me at family gatherings.

“Norah,” Damian said, his tone dripping with false tenderness, “you’re awake. Your boyfriend has been worried sick.”

“Hey, sweetheart.” Lucien’s voice was deep and smooth, but there was an elusive edge to it that left me unsettled.

I fixed my eyes on Lucien’s face—his jet-black hair slightly tousled, his piercing grey-blue eyes sharp as daggers, and the faint scar tracing his chin like a secret. He was dressed in a dark gray suit that looked effortlessly expensive, and there was an unmistakable aura of danger about him that made my heart tighten unexpectedly. Until now, I had never dared to look at him so closely.

“I’m Damian, Lucien’s brother,” Damian added quickly, sensing the tension crackling between us, “and this is my girlfriend, Serena.”

Following his gesture, I caught sight of Serena standing just inside the doorway, her lips painted a bold red, curving into a triumphant, almost smug smile.

I instinctively hid my trembling hand beneath the blanket, clenching it so tightly that my nails dug into my palm. The sharp sting grounded me, keeping me tethered to reality.

Confused, I looked back to Lucien. “Wait… are you… my boyfriend?”

“Thank God you’re awake, my dear,” Lucien said softly, leaning in so his fingers brushed gently against my cheek. His grey-blue eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch. “You were in a car accident and lost some of your memory.”

His touch was warm, and his voice low and dangerous. My heart skipped a beat, a strange flutter I hadn’t expected. Was he putting on an act? Or was this all real?

“The doctor said it might be temporary, so don’t worry,” Damian chimed in, patting Lucien’s shoulder reassuringly. “Brother, she’ll be fine.”

Lucien pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down beside me. We remained silent, our gazes locked. His stare sent a flush rising up my neck and across my cheeks.

“You really don’t remember?” he asked, his voice probing gently.

I shook my head, feeling fragile and uncertain. “I… are we really together?”

Without warning, Lucien leaned closer. The scent of cedar and whiskey drifted from his breath.

12:56 p.m., Saturday, November 15

Chapter 2

“Yes, baby,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low growl. “We’ve been together for five years—very… close.”

I turned my head away, unable to hold his gaze. His large hand slid to the back of my neck, and before I could react, his lips crashed against mine with force.

The kiss was rough and possessive, teeth grazing my lips, the sharp taste of whiskey mingling with a fierce hunger. I gasped, instinctively clutching at the lapels of his suit.

“Lucien!” Damian snapped, shocked. “We had an agreement…”

Lucien eased back slowly, his thumb brushing over my bitten lower lip. Without looking at Damian, he said, “Brother, I am her lover.”

This was no polite peck like Damian’s absent gestures; Lucien’s kiss was a declaration, a conquest.

As the brothers locked eyes in a tense standoff, Serena entered the room accompanied by a doctor.

“Ms. Hawthorne’s injuries are no longer serious,” the doctor announced. “It’s best she goes home to rest. Familiar surroundings will aid her memory recovery.”

Opening it, my heart nearly stopped.

[Norah, I hope you’re recovering soon. But something serious has happened! Damian and Serena came to the studio this morning with a team of lawyers carrying documents you supposedly signed.

Serena claimed this was arranged before your accident—that to fully focus on becoming the perfect bride and preparing for the wedding, you agreed to hand over all studio operations to her as brand manager until after the wedding.

They changed the safe code right there on the spot! They took every original design draft, the core client list, and supplier contracts…

Please come back soon, or the studio won’t survive.]

The email ended abruptly.

I bit my lip until I tasted blood.

Serena, as my estate lawyer, truly had all the authorizations I’d signed before the accident.

Just then, a timed email arrived with a video attached—footage from the vintage Porsche’s internal camera, the very car my parents had left me.

The date on the footage was the day of the accident. The time: 3:17 p.m.

My accident had happened at 3:26.

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