Chapter 272

Chapter 272
Scarlett’s POV

His expression seemed sincere, not like he was lying. However, Yvette's mention of Alexander had triggered something inside me—this name resonated somewhere deep in my consciousness.

Later, when Ralph suggested we rest, I tensed again.

"Will you... sleep here tonight too?" I cautiously asked.

Ralph raised an eyebrow. "Of course. We're husband and wife—isn't it normal for us to sleep together?" Seeing my discomfort, he added, "Don't worry, I understand you're still recovering. I won't do anything."

When I still hesitated, Ralph sighed. "Would it make you feel better if I sleep on the floor? It's not cold in Silverpeak City this season."

I nodded, feeling relieved.

Hours later, lying in bed staring at the ceiling while Ralph slept on the floor, I broke the silence.

"Ralph, how exactly did we meet? When did we get married? What about my parents? What did I do for work? Why am I in Silverpeak City?"

Ralph turned toward me, his voice patient in the darkness: "A year ago, you brought Yvette to Silverpeak City for school. She got involved with some dangerous people, almost got sold. You managed to escape and ran into me—actually saved my life. After that, we kept in touch. When your visa expired, you went back home, but we stayed connected. Six months ago, I proposed, and you said yes."

"Really?" I turned to look at him, our eyes meeting in the dim light.

As our gazes met, a strange feeling stirred within me. I was certain something had happened between us—but not what Ralph described. The feeling was too strong to ignore.

The next morning, Ralph told me he needed to go out to handle some urgent business and might not return for a few hours.

"Yvette will stay with you," he said, kissing my forehead. "Call me if you need anything."

I nodded, but inwardly felt relieved. When he left, the entire apartment seemed to lighten.

In the afternoon, while Yvette was in the kitchen preparing tea, I sat alone on the living room sofa, looking through the so-called "our" photos that Ralph had provided. Each one looked so real, yet felt so foreign.

Suddenly, the balcony door slid open quietly. I looked up, surprised to see a tall figure entering stealthily.

I instinctively wanted to scream, but when the person fully entered and sunlight illuminated his face, my heart nearly stopped.

A handsome but tired face, deep eyes filled with worry and expectation. Though I didn't remember seeing him before, my body had an instinctive reaction—racing heart, rapid breathing, an inexplicable sense of familiarity and safety.

"Scarlett," he said softly, his voice full of concern, "are you alright?"

Scarlett? Not Sylvia? My head began to ache slightly.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice trembling, "Why do you call me Scarlett?"

His expression changed from concern to shock. "You don't remember me?"

I shook my head, but my heart was saying: I remember you, my body remembers you.

"I'm Alexander," he said, his voice deep and urgent, "Alexander Gray. Ralph has deceived you. You're not Sylvia, you're Scarlett Smith. We..."

He carefully approached me, each step full of restraint, as if afraid of frightening me.

"We've known each other for a long time," he continued, "Ralph kidnapped you and made you believe you're his wife. But it's all lies."

My headache intensified, fragments of memories flashing in my mind—a smile, a touch, a kiss. But they were too vague to connect into complete memories.

"I... I don't know who to believe," I confessed, "I can't remember anything."

Pain flashed in Alexander's eyes. "Trust your heart, Scarlett. Your body will remember, even if your brain temporarily forgot."

He took a photo from his pocket and handed it to me. In the photo, I was wearing a red dress, leaning on his shoulder, both of us smiling so happily, so naturally. Unlike the photos Ralph showed me, which always felt deliberately posed.

"This was at a yacht party in Silverlight City," Alexander explained, "just three months ago."

I stared at the photo, feeling my heart fill with a strange warmth. This feeling was real, unlike the instinctive wariness I felt toward Ralph.

Just then, Yvette's voice came from the kitchen: "Sister, what flavor tea would you like?"

Alexander immediately became alert. "I must go, but I'll be back. Don't trust Ralph, don't let him know I was here."

He quickly moved toward the balcony, but just as he was about to leave, I heard the front door key turning.

My heart sank. Ralph had returned early!

"Go quickly!" I urged Alexander in a low voice, but it was too late.

Ralph pushed open the apartment door and immediately saw Alexander about to leave. His expression changed in an instant from surprise to cold fury.

"Alexander," Ralph's voice was dangerously calm, "what a surprise."

He closed the door and pulled out a handgun from inside his coat. "Seems I came back just in time."

Alexander didn't flinch; his gaze firmly met Ralph's. "Put down the gun, Ralph. This game is over."

Ralph smirked: "Game? This isn't a game, Alexander. This is war. And," he glanced at me, a cruel smile curling his lips, "she doesn't remember you anymore."

I stood between the two men, my heart pounding, feeling caught in a dangerous whirlwind I didn't understand. But one thing I was certain of—when I looked at Alexander, what I felt wasn't fear, but an inexplicable trust and connection.

While Ralph, despite claiming to be my husband, only evoked an instinctive wariness and unease.