He Drugged Me to Forget Him for His Dying First Love

The footsteps stopped right outside the bathroom door.

I held my breath, my thumb hovering over the stop button on my voice memo app. The brass pocket watch pressed into my palm, the sharp engraving digging a crescent moon into my skin.

"Julian," Vivienne called out from the hallway, her voice muffled but distinct. "Did you lock this?"

"Leave it," Julian said from the living room. "The maid comes tomorrow. She can deal with it."

"I wanted to check my makeup."

"Use the guest bath," he instructed, his tone clipped. "Come here."

The footsteps pivoted and retreated down the hall. I let out a slow exhale, tapping the screen to save the recording. I slipped the phone and the empty vial into my pocket, smoothing out the lapels of my damp suit jacket.

I waited five minutes, listening to the faint murmur of their voices fade into the master suite, before unlocking the door.

The penthouse was quiet. I slipped out of the bathroom and moved down the corridor, avoiding the creaking floorboards near the foyer. I headed straight for Julian's study.

The heavy mahogany door clicked shut behind me. The room smelled of expensive scotch and old paper. I moved quickly to the filing cabinets lining the far wall.

If I was his new, obedient assistant, I needed to organize his files.

I pulled open the middle drawer. My fingers traced the manila folders, searching for the specific project code. Three years ago, I sat in a sterile boardroom and vetoed an experimental trial. I circled seventeen names on a liability waiver, refusing to authorize the human testing of the neuro-inhibitor. Julian had forged my signature anyway.

I found the folder tucked behind a stack of tax returns. I pulled it out and spread the pages across his oak desk.

The participant log stared back at me. Seventeen names. Seventeen people who had ingested the compound.

I scanned the list, my eyes catching on the fifth entry.

Vivienne Thorne.

My chest tightened. She wasn't just his new fiancée. She was a test subject.

I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo of the document, making sure her name was clearly visible. I opened my messages and attached the image, along with the audio file, to Margot.

*Got the proof,* I typed. *Seventeen subjects. Vivienne is one of them.*

The response came almost instantly.

*I can handle this,* Margot replied. *Keep your head down. Do not let him know you remember.*

I slid the phone back into my pocket. My gaze drifted to the small, locked drawer on the right side of the desk. The key was hidden under the desk lamp, right where Julian always kept it.

I unlocked the drawer and pulled it open.

Inside lay the empty velvet presentation case that had once held my grandmother's pocket watch. Our initials were still stamped in gold across the lining, but the watch itself was already hidden in my jacket pocket, rescued from the sofa where Julian had abandoned it.

Beneath the case, a stack of old letters had been bound with a black ribbon. The top envelope carried Vivienne's handwriting and a date from four years ago—the morning after Julian proposed to me. I photographed the envelope without opening it, then returned everything to the exact angle in which I had found it.

The study door swung open.

"What are you doing?" Julian demanded.

I jumped, dropping the manila folder back onto the desk. I kept my face blank, forcing my eyes to widen slightly in feigned confusion.

"I was organizing," I said, keeping my voice flat. "You said I was an assistant. I thought I should start working."

Julian stepped into the room, his eyes darting from my face to the papers scattered across the wood. He moved quickly, snatching the folder from the desk.

He held the participant log up, his gaze fixing on me.

"Did you read this?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

"I tried," I murmured, tilting my head. "But the words don't make sense. It is just a list of names."

Julian stepped closer, closing the distance between us. He held the paper inches from my face.

"Look at it, Nora," he commanded, his eyes searching mine for any flicker of recognition. "Do you understand what is written on this page?"