18: A Stranger In My Own Skin
ALEXA
When Rayne pulled up to the house, my stomach was churning with nerves.
"This is a bad idea," I muttered under my breath.
Rayne didn't even blink. "You've said that six times since we left the gym."
"Because it is."
Because I'm rattled. And possibly about to be emotionally chewed out by the mother of the man I apparently married while forgetting I once shot him.
God, I need a drink. Or a lobotomy. Either works.
"She's not going to kill you," Rayne said, her voice laced with amusement. "Probably."
I turned slowly. "What the hell does 'probably' mean?"
"She's a Cross. They don't murder people in the sitting room. It's bad for the rugs."
Fantastic.
I barely had time to pretend I was emotionally stable before the front door opened.
And there she stood.
Sonia Cross.
Elegant and Regal.
Her icy blue eyes swept over me as if I was gum stuck to her Louboutins. If looks could kill, I'd be six feet under.
"Seraphina," she said.
I cleared my throat and gave her the world's most awkward smile. "Hi. You...look terrifying. I mean—terrific. Terrific."
Kill me. Just go ahead and put me out of my misery.
Sonia didn't blink. "We need to talk."
And suddenly I missed the punching bag. At least it didn't speak in weaponized elegance.
A few minutes later, we were in the sitting room. Sonia was perched on the edge of an antique chair like a queen on a throne, sipping tea.
I stood. Mostly because I was afraid sitting would make me look too comfortable and she'd take that as an invitation to set me on fire.
"I'm going to ask you something," she said. "And I expect an honest answer."
I nodded, my palms already sweating. "Okay."
"Why did you come back?"
Oh.
Right. That.
I licked my lips. "I didn't, technically. I mean...I don't remember ever leaving."
Her eyes narrowed. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"
"No. I have amnesia. It's kind of the opposite of funny."
Her expression didn't change. But her knuckles whitened around the delicate porcelain cup in her hand.
"I don't know what game you're playing," she said slowly, "but I saw the damage. I was there. My son nearly died. And now you expect me to believe you just...forgot?"
"I didn't know," I said. "I still don't know what happened. But I swear to you, I never meant to hurt him. And I would never—"
"You did hurt him," she snapped, rising to her feet with all the grace of a lioness about to pounce. "You pulled the trigger. You left him bleeding in agony. I watched him claw his way back from hell because of you. And now you stand here in his house, pretending like you don't remember a damn thing?"
Every word felt like a slap, which I knew I deserved but couldn't remember earning.
I stared at the floor, my throat burning. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "Even if I don't remember it...I am."
There was a long, heavy pause.
Then she exhaled through her nose and sat again.
"When Killian told me he married you, I thought he'd lost his mind."
Same, girl. Same.
"But now I see. He didn't lose his mind. He lost his heart."
Her gaze met mine. "To someone who doesn't even know how dangerous she is."
"You were once like a daughter to me, Alexa. I loved you. I trusted you. But then I almost lost my son because of you."
Her voice broke, just for a second. "And now I don't know whether to hug you...or hate you."
Neither did I.
I felt like a stranger in my own skin.
Maybe that's the worst part of forgetting. Not the blank pages, but the fear of what you'll find when you start to fill them in.
...
The living room felt suspiciously safe. Which, in this house, meant something was definitely about to go wrong.
I was curled on the couch, dressed in loose PJs, watching the most cliché, over-the-top, utterly unrealistic rom-com.
And giggling. Like a fool.
Not because the movie was particularly good. But because the heroine had just thrown a meatball at the brooding love interest's face after he told her love was a weakness. And honestly? She was such a mood.
"Yes, queen," I mumbled, popping a piece of chocolate into my mouth.
The door creaked open.
I didn't even look up.
But then the air changed.
You know that shift in energy when a storm's coming? When the wind dies and the birds shut up?
Yeah. That's what it felt like when he walked in.
Killian Cross.
Six-foot-four. Annoyingly sculpted. Glacier-eyed. And now, standing behind the couch.
I didn't acknowledge him.
I was busy watching my emotional support meatball queen.
He stepped closer. "You met with my mother."
I didn't meet his eyes, I couldn't keep my eyes off the screen. "Mmm."
"That's it?" His voice was laced with disbelief. "Mmm?"
I reached for more chocolate. "You should try it sometime. Being nonverbal really works wonders for blood pressure."
"Alexa."
I didn't flinch.
He moved closer again. I could feel the heat of his stare burning through my side profile like a laser of controlled frustration.
"Talk to me," he said.
I turned up the volume. The rain-dancing side character just got proposed to. Priorities.
Killian walked to the side of the couch and stood right in my peripheral.
I had a feeling he hated romcoms.
And when I didn't say a word?
He turned the TV off.
The audacity.
My head whipped towards him, anger bubbling inside of me. "Are you deranged?"
"I asked you a question. You ignored me."
"Because I wanted to ignore you. That was an active choice!"
His expression didn't change. "And now I'm choosing to have a conversation."
"Well, I was choosing inner peace!"
"While watching garbage?"
I stood up so fast the blanket fell off. "Say one more word about the rom-com and I swear on your expensive jawline, I will end you."
His eyes narrowed. "You're pissed."
"You turned off my movie."
"I'm not talking about the movie."
"Good. Because I'm done talking. Goodbye."
I turned on my heel and started walking toward the hallway.
And of course, because he was Killian and personal space was a myth, he followed.
"Why are you acting like this?" he demanded.
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I spent the afternoon being emotionally strip-searched by your mother while trying not to scream, 'Surprise! I apparently shot you once!'"
He flinched.
Just the slightest bit. But I saw it.
"And you didn't think I'd want to know how it went?"
"No, Killian," I hissed, whirling around to face him. "I didn't. Because you didn't tell her I lost my memory. You let her rip me apart while I sat there wondering if I was indeed a psychopath!"
He opened his mouth and shut it.
Good.
I stepped closer, jabbing my finger into his chest. "You don't get to be pissed at me for not debriefing you after I spent the afternoon walking through a goddamn minefield you built."
"She wouldn't have listened—"
"She would've listened to you. But you let her believe I remembered everything. That I was just some cold-blooded bitch who nearly killed her son and then had the audacity to marry him."
I scoffed, brushing past him again. "I should've let her stab me with her dessert fork. At least that would've been honest."
This time, he didn't follow me.
I slammed the bedroom door shut behind me when I got to the room. Then I leaned my weight against it.
My legs gave out before I could stop them, and I slid down until I was sitting on the floor, my knees pulled to my chest.
My head dropped back against the door with a quiet thunk, and the silence pressed in, suffocating.
I froze when my phone buzzed.
Please be spam. Or a wrong number.
But it wasn't.
With numb fingers, I reached for my phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up.
It was a message from Vincent. It read:
"Tick tock, sweetheart. You're running out of time.
If you don't kill Killian and find the ledger soon, you're going to wish you had."
My heart plummeted into my stomach.
I stared at the text until the screen dimmed.
Then I curled in tighter, pulling my knees into my chest, and I let the weight of everything settle on my shoulders.
Killian thought I was cruel for not wanting to speak to him about his mother's attack.
If only he knew the real reason I couldn't look him in the eyes.
It wasn't the guilt.
It was the fear that somewhere, buried under the anger, the amnesia, and the chaos... there was a truth clawing to the surface.
And it sounded a lot like:
"You've done this before. You'll do it again. And this time... he might not survive you."