Chapter 270

Scarlett’s POV

# Chapter 271: Secret Conversations

I sat by the window in Ralph's Silverpeak City apartment, absently gazing at the world outside. Though my body was recovering from the pain of miscarriage, my memory remained a complete blank. The past few days had been like a chaotic dream as I tried to piece together who I really was.

"Sylvia, I made you some tea," Yvette said, entering the room with a steaming cup. "The doctor said it would help with your recovery."

"Thank you," I accepted the cup, feeling an inexplicable closeness to Yvette. Since leaving the hospital, this young girl had been constantly by my side, and I'd begun to believe she truly was my sister as Ralph claimed.

"How are you feeling today?" Yvette asked, sitting beside me.

"Physically better," I admitted, "but my memory..." I sighed, gently tapping my temple, "I still can't remember anything."

Every night followed the same pattern. Ralph would enter our bedroom, claiming to be my husband. Though he hadn't forced me to do anything, his presence made me uneasy. Something deep within me resisted this fact, despite the photos and documents he'd shown me.

That evening, I emerged from the bathroom wearing a conservative nightgown buttoned to my neck, with a tightly belted robe over it. I sat on the edge of the bed, my body rigid and defensive.

Ralph entered the room and noticed my guarded attire, a smile playing on his lips that didn't reach his eyes.

"You look like you're preparing for winter," he remarked, closing the door. "Are you really that afraid of me?"

I didn't answer, but my hands tightened around my robe's belt. Ralph studied me, thinking how easily he had stolen me away from Alexander. My lost memory was the perfect opportunity he couldn't have planned better.

"I know you still don't believe me," Ralph said, his voice softening as he knelt before me. "Is it my appearance that frightens you? I know I can look intimidating sometimes."

I shook my head. It wasn't his appearance that disturbed me. There was something about him—a coldness, a calculating precision in his movements that reminded me of those Wall Street executives I somehow knew were dangerous. Men who viewed human lives as mere numbers on a spreadsheet.

"The doctor said your brain injury might take time to heal," Ralph continued. "Don't rush. Your memories will return gradually."

"Are we really..." I hesitated, searching for the right words, "are we really in that kind of relationship?"

My doubt was evident, but Yvette's easy interaction with Ralph made me question my instincts. If they were truly siblings, wouldn't Yvette have warned me if something was wrong?

Ralph moved closer, his cologne surrounding me. "You don't believe me? Would you like to close your eyes? I could help you remember..."

His face approached mine, and I felt a pressure emanating from him. I leaned back, but his lips still grazed my cheek. The contact gave me a strange sensation—not pleasure, but wrongness. As if some internal alarm was sounding, telling me this wasn't right.

"Don't..." I pulled away, "I'm not feeling well. I want to sleep early tonight."

Ralph stared at me for a moment, then nodded. "Of course. I'll take a shower then." He grabbed his underwear and headed to the bathroom.

When the bathroom door closed behind him, I sighed with relief. Then reality hit me—if we were truly married, we would be sharing a bed tonight. The thought made my heart race.

Just as I was contemplating this, the bedroom door quietly opened, and Yvette slipped in.

"Sister, you're still awake?" Yvette whispered, glancing toward the bathroom where the shower was running.

I noticed Yvette's eyes lingering on the bathroom door, her fists unconsciously clenched. There was something in her expression—jealousy, barely hidden beneath her smile. I suddenly realized with clarity that Yvette had feelings for Ralph.

"Yvette," I said carefully, "if there's something you want to tell me, just say it directly."

"It's nothing," Yvette's smile tightened, "I just wanted to see how you're feeling today. Have you remembered anything?"

"No," I sighed, "whenever I try to think, my head starts throbbing severely. Ralph says it might take some time before I fully recover."

Disappointment flashed across Yvette's face before she masked it, taking my hands in hers with a forced patient expression.

I led Yvette toward the door, away from the bathroom. "You want to tell me something, right? Something you don't want Ralph to hear?"

Yvette's eyes widened.

"It's okay," I reassured her softly, while watching the bathroom door, "you can trust me. I'm your sister, aren't I?"

Yvette hesitated, then leaned closer. "Actually... Ralph isn't your husband. Your true love is Alexander, and he's looking for you. Ralph took you from the hospital because—"

The bathroom door suddenly opened. Ralph emerged wearing only his underwear, his muscular body covered in scars both old and new. His gaze fell on us, his expression darkening.

"Yvette," his voice was surprisingly gentle, "what secrets are you sharing with your sister that I can't hear?" His smile was chilling, his murderous eyes fixed on Yvette.

Yvette visibly paled, backing up until she was half-hidden behind me. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead as she stared at Ralph's bloodthirsty smile.

I felt the tense atmosphere in the room dangerously shift. Something about this interaction didn't seem right, and Yvette's fear appeared genuine. When she mentioned Alexander, a blurry face flashed in my mind, accompanied by a strange flutter in my chest.

"Yvette, you should go rest now," I said calmly. "We'll talk tomorrow."

After Yvette hurriedly left the room, I turned to Ralph, examining him more carefully. His tall, strong physique was impressive, but what really caught my attention were the numerous scars covering his body. These weren't ordinary injuries—they spoke of violence and danger.

This man was no ordinary businessman. He moved like someone familiar with Wall Street's darkest corners, where finance and violence intertwined.

Noticing my scrutiny, Ralph's expression softened. He reached out to touch my cheek, but I instinctively backed away.

"Did I do something to upset you?" he asked, slightly bending his knees to appear less threatening.

I avoided his gaze. "Ralph, I still can't remember certain things. Especially how we met—I have absolutely no recollection."

"That's okay," he said gently, "I can tell you everything bit by bit. How we met, our first date, everything. No matter how long it takes, I'll be with you."