Chapter 79 Finding Answers

Chapter 79 Finding Answers
YASMIN

I don’t go straight back to the estate after leaving The Petals.

I can’t.

My mind won’t stop roaring, and the memory of Ginger’s cold rejection feels like a chokehold around my neck.

I spend hours just walking, roaming aimlessly through the crowded streets, trying to figure out a life that currently feels like a lie.

Nothing makes sense.

If my hypnosis memory is real—if I spent my youth painting on a sidewalk right here in Illinois—then why did I wake up three years ago in a hospital bed in Spain?

Why did Aunt Sofia tell me I grew up in Madrid? How did I end up there?

By 4:00 p.m., the evening chill begins to settle into my bones, and exhaustion finally drags my feet back to the Cross estate.

When I slip through the main entrance, the house is deathly quiet. Jonathan isn’t back from his office yet, and the rest of the family is nowhere to be found.

Only the soft rustle of the maids cleaning the lower corridors echoes through the halls.

I hurry up the staircase, slip inside the master bedroom, and lock the door behind me. The second the bolt clicks, I hurl my handbag into the far corner of the room, running my trembling hands through my hair as I pace the floor.

Dr. Petra told me I have to wait seven whole days before my next session, but I don’t have that luxury. Jonathan is probably somewhere calculating his next move, and I am stuck in the middle of a war I don’t understand.

I need a clue, something tangible. I thought Ginger was the clue I needed to figure things out, but it turns out she doesn’t want anything to do with me.

Suddenly, a memory flashes through my mind, my breath catching in my throat.

The letter I found at the studio.

It was a breakup note addressed to Sebastian, and the name signed at the bottom had sent shivers through my soul.

Maybe that’s the clue I’ve been missing all along.

I rush over to the walk-in closet, my fingers frantically digging through the hidden compartment of my travel bag until I find it.

I pull it out.

I sit on the edge of the mattress, flattening the sheet against my thighs, my eyes carefully scanning the words once again.

Dear Sebastian,

I know that by the time you read this message, I will probably be gone. Gone from your life for good.

I know you think you saved me. I know you think you did so many good things for me, and you did. You did save me. You did give me a life I never dreamed possible.

But you hurt me too. In ways I will never forget.

I could never forget what I saw, and I could never forgive you for what you did. But I still appreciate everything you gave me.

You brought me out of the darkness, Sebastian. You gave me light. But then you showed me a different kind of darkness, one I cannot unsee.

So I have to go. For my own sanity, I have to leave.

By the time you find this letter, I will probably be in Spain. I am sorry. I know this will hurt you, but staying would hurt me more.

May we never meet again.

Bye forever,
Yasmin.

My hands shake as my brain starts connecting the dots.

Who is this Yasmin? Is she me, or is this the most terrifying coincidence in the world?

How could there be another woman with my name, who was also a painter, who was intimately tied to Sebastian Cross, and who explicitly fled to Spain three years ago?

It’s not a coincidence.

It can’t be.

Everything about the way Sebastian acts around me starts to make sense now.

The first day Jonathan introduced me to him as his new fiancée, Sebastian looked at me like he was looking at a ghost.

The news and rumors I read about him online say he is cold and doesn’t involve himself in anything that belongs to his father.

But ever since I arrived, he has somehow been tangled in every mess involving me. And the way he looks at me carries a depth of longing and pain that doesn’t belong to a stranger.

Maybe I wrote this letter… but the handwriting isn’t mine.

Unless…

I pull out my phone, my fingers typing quickly into Google: Is it possible for a person’s handwriting to change after memory loss?

Google replies instantly.

According to neurological research, handwriting is controlled by the brain’s cognitive and motor memory pathways. When a patient suffers from amnesia or severe brain trauma, those neural pathways can change, causing noticeable changes in handwriting.

The last wall of doubt inside my head completely shatters.

This letter is mine.