Chapter 65 Blood Doesn't Lie
Vanessa's POV - Safe House, Scottish Highlands - Next Morning, 7:34 AM
I woke up in a strange bed, in a strange house, with the weight of impossibility pressing down on my chest.
Adrian didn't remember me.
The man I'd loved for eighteen months, the man who'd proposed on a bridge in Paris, the father of my child he looked at me like I was a stranger.
I pressed my hand to my stomach, feeling the slight swell at fifteen weeks. This baby was real. The love I felt was real.
But the photos had been altered. The timeline had inconsistencies.
Which meant either I was being lied to, or I was the liar.
And I genuinely didn't know which.
A soft knock at the door interrupted my spiraling thoughts.
"Ms. Cortez?" A woman's voice. "It's Dr. Morrison. May I come in?"
"Yes," I called, sitting up and trying to arrange myself into something resembling composed.
Dr. Morrison entered, carrying a tablet and a sympathetic expression. She was older, maybe mid-fifties, with the calm demeanor of someone who'd seen everything and couldn't be shocked anymore.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
"Confused. Angry. Terrified." I laughed bitterly. "Take your pick."
"All reasonable responses," Dr. Morrison said, sitting in the chair by the window. "Vanessa, I'd like to talk to you about your memories of Adrian. Not to interrogate you, but to help you understand what might be happening."
"You think my memories were manipulated," I said. "Like his were."
"I think it's possible," Dr. Morrison said carefully. "Project Tabula Rasa the program that targeted Adrian didn't just erase memories. It also implanted false ones. Creating entire relationships, experiences, conversations that never happened. Making them feel completely real to the subject."
"But I remember everything," I protested. "Our first date, the proposal, planning the wedding. I remember the way he looked at me, the things he said. You can't fake that level of detail."
"Actually," Dr. Morrison said gently, "you can. The technology is sophisticated enough to create fully immersive false memories. Complete with emotional resonance, sensory details, even the feeling of time passing. To the person experiencing them, they're indistinguishable from real memories."
I felt sick. "So you're saying I imagined eighteen months of my life?"
"Not imagined," Dr. Morrison corrected. "Implanted. There's a difference. You're not delusional, Vanessa. If your memories were artificially created, you're a victim of the same program that targeted Adrian."
"But why?" I demanded. "Why would anyone do that to me?"
"That's what we're trying to figure out," Dr. Morrison said. She opened her tablet. "I've been researching your background. Your family's company, Cortez Industries, specializes in pharmaceutical distribution. Specifically, medications and compounds used in psychiatric treatment and neurological research."
"Yes," I confirmed. "My father built the company over thirty years. We supply hospitals, research facilities, universities—"
"And according to financial records I was able to access," Dr. Morrison continued, "Cortez Industries has been supplying a private research facility in upstate New York for the past five years. A facility owned by a subsidiary of Stirling-Hale."
My blood ran cold. "What kind of facility?"
"The kind that would need specialized compounds for memory manipulation research," Dr. Morrison said. "Vanessa, I think your father's company has been unknowingly supplying the materials needed for Project Tabula Rasa. And when Stirling-Hale wanted to manipulate Adrian into abandoning a merger or alternatively, forcing him into one they decided to use you."
"My father would never—" I started, then stopped. "He wouldn't knowingly be part of something like that."
"I don't think he was," Dr. Morrison said. "But someone at his company might have been. Someone facilitating the supply chain, making sure the right compounds reached the right facility, no questions asked."
I stood up, pacing. "This is insane. You're telling me that my entire relationship with Adrian might have been manufactured? That someone created false memories in my mind to manipulate both of us?"
"I'm saying it's possible," Dr. Morrison said. "And there's a way to know for certain."
"The paternity test," I said quietly.
"Yes. If the baby you're carrying is Adrian's, then at least part of your relationship must have been real. But if it's not—" Dr. Morrison paused. "—then we need to find out who the father is and why you were made to believe it was Adrian."
The thought made me want to scream. "I only slept with Adrian. I know I did. I remember—" I stopped. "Do I remember? Or was that implanted too?"
"That's what we need to determine," Dr. Morrison said gently.
Emily/Evelyn's POV - Medical Room - 8:47 AM
I sat on the exam table while Dr. Ashford drew blood for my routine prenatal screening.
"How are you feeling today?" he asked.
"Like my life is a nightmare that keeps getting worse," I said honestly. "But physically? Fine, I guess."
"No more cramping?"
"No. The spotting stopped. Baby seems to be holding on despite my terrible life choices."
Dr. Ashford smiled slightly. "Babies are resilient. More resilient than we give them credit for."
He labeled the vial of my blood and set it aside. "I should have your results back this afternoon. Along with" He paused. "—the paternity results for Ms. Cortez."
"Forty-eight hours," I said. "That's what you told her."
"I may have... expedited the process," Dr. Ashford admitted. "Given the circumstances, I thought everyone deserved answers sooner rather than later. We should have preliminary results by this evening."
My stomach churned. "And if the baby is Adrian's?"
"Then Adrian has two children on the way, and we figure out how to navigate that reality," Dr. Ashford said. "It's not ideal, but it's manageable."
"And if it's not his?"
"Then Vanessa Cortez has been manipulated even more extensively than we thought, and we need to find out who did this to her and why."
After Dr. Ashford left, I sat alone in the medical room, staring at the ultrasound machine in the corner.
Somewhere in this building, Vanessa was going through the same uncertainty I was. Wondering if her memories were real. Wondering if the man she loved had ever loved her back. Wondering if the baby she carried would bind her to Adrian or prove she'd been living a lie.
I should have hated her. She was the woman who claimed Adrian first, who had a ring and photos and a whole history I could never compete with.
But I couldn't hate her. Because if her memories had been implanted, if she'd been used as a pawn in Stirling-Hale's game then she was as much a victim as Adrian and I were.
The door opened. Vanessa stood there, looking hesitant.
"Can I come in?" she asked.
"It's not my room," I said. "But yes."
She entered, closing the door behind her. For a moment, we just looked at each other two pregnant women caught in an impossible situation.
"Dr. Morrison told me about your memory suppression," Vanessa said finally. "About how you don't know who you really are."
"Dr. Evelyn Grant," I said. "Apparently. Neuroscientist. Created the program that destroyed all our lives. Then became its first victim."
"That must be terrifying," Vanessa said quietly. "Not knowing who you are."
"It is," I admitted. "But you know what's worse? Knowing that whoever I was, whatever I created, it's being used to hurt people. Including you."
Vanessa moved to sit in the chair across from me. "I don't want to hate you," she said. "I came here prepared to. Prepared to fight for Adrian, to demand my place as his fiancée. But after talking to Dr. Morrison—" She pressed her hand to her stomach. "I'm not sure I have any more right to him than you do. If my memories were implanted, if our relationship was fabricated, then I'm just another manipulation. Another lie."
"We don't know that yet," I said. "The paternity test—"
"Will tell us if he's the father," Vanessa finished. "But not if he loved me. Not if he chose me. Those memories could still be false even if the baby is his."
I hadn't thought of that. The possibility that they'd had a real relationship, conceived a real child, but had their memories of it altered or erased.
"This is so complicated," I said.
"Yes," Vanessa agreed. "And I think I think whoever did this wanted it to be complicated. Wanted us to fight each other instead of fighting them."
"You're probably right," I said. "Classic divide and conquer strategy. Make us enemies so we don't work together."
Vanessa looked at me directly. "So let's not do that. Let's not be enemies."
"What are you suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting," Vanessa said carefully, "that regardless of what the paternity test shows, regardless of whose memories are real and whose are false we're both in impossible situations. Both pregnant, both involved with a man who can't trust his own mind, both potential victims of the same conspiracy. So maybe—" She paused. "—maybe we help each other figure out the truth. Together."
I studied her face, looking for deception or manipulation. But all I saw was exhaustion, fear, and a desperate hope for allies in a situation where allies were scarce.
"Okay," I said finally. "Partners in confusion."
Vanessa almost smiled. "Partners in confusion.