Dominic’s POV
The words echo in my head as I sit behind my desk, my jaw clenched so tight it aches. I should have gotten my answers by now. I should remember. But every time I try to think back to six years ago, it’s like slamming into a brick wall.
There’s nothing. No flickers of a memory, no flashes of recognition, just emptiness. And I don’t forget things—not important things.
Yet, somehow, the night my children were conceived has been wiped clean from my mind.
That fact alone is enough to make my blood run cold.
I exhale slowly, forcing myself to stay calm as I turn toward Lucian, who stands across from me with a grim expression. He’s been my right-hand man for years. If there’s anyone who can find the truth, it’s him.
“Tell me you found something,” I say, my voice sharper than I intended.
Lucian nods and places a USB drive onto my desk. “This is the hotel security footage from that night.”
My pulse pounds. Finally, something concrete.
I plug the USB into my laptop, my fingers tapping impatiently as the video loads. The grainy, black-and-white footage, timestamped, appears on the screen. The camera overlooks the hotel lobby, people moving in and out, drunk couples, businessmen, tourists.
And then—her.
Selene.
I lean forward, my entire body tensing, as I watch her step into the hotel.
She looks out of it. Her steps falter, her posture slack, as if her body has relinquished its reigns. My grip on the desk tightens as I watch her blink sluggishly, swaying slightly as she approaches the reception desk.
My stomach turns. She was drunk.
Or worse—drugged.
I watch as a man appears beside her. He places a hand on the small of her back, steering her toward the elevators.
My blood freezes.
I know that face.
“Pause it,” I ordered. Lucian does, and the image burns into my memory.
I’ve seen this man before.
He worked for my father. A familiar, slow rage builds in my chest. My father’s men were dangerous. Ruthless. They never did anything unless it benefited them. If he was involved, that meant this wasn’t just some drunken mistake. This was planned.
I rub my temples, forcing myself to breathe. “Keep playing.”
Lucian resumes the footage. The man leads Selene into the elevator, his grip tightening around her waist. The doors close.
I hate not knowing what happened next.
The screen jumps to another camera. The elevator doors open on the top floor. The man leads Selene down the hallway. She stumbles, barely able to walk straight.
Everything inside me boils with fury.
I watch as he swipes a keycard and pushes open a door—Room 609.
Selene steps inside. The man follows.
And then—nothing. The timestamp moves forward, minutes passing, then an hour. And then I appear.
I step out of the elevator, looking completely normal, walking with purpose—like I belong there.
But I don’t remember this. I don’t remember being in that hotel. My mind is blank.
I watch myself walk down the hallway. I stop in front of the same door. Room 609. I pull out my phone, stare at it for a few seconds, then put it away. I knock.
No one answers. I knock again, my knuckles tapping urgently against the wood. A pause stretches out, tense and expectant, before the door creaks open.
The man is gone. I step inside. The door closes behind me. I don’t come out until the next morning. I slam my laptop shut, my heart racing.
Lucian doesn’t speak, waiting for me to process what I just saw.
My breath comes in ragged gasps, my hands clawing at the edge of my desk, the pressure so intense my knuckles blaze white with pain.
I was there. But I wasn’t supposed to be. Someone put me in that room. And I have no idea what happened before I got there. My head pounds. I need more. I need to know everything.
“Pull hospital records from the night after,” I say, my voice tight. “I want to know if Selene was admitted anywhere.”
Lucian nods and steps out, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I press my fingers to my temples, exhaling through my nose.
Six years ago, I walked into that hotel room. I don’t know why. I don’t know how.
But someone made sure I was there.
Hours later, Lucian returns, holding a thin file. Silently, he places it on my desk. I grab it and flip it open. It’s a hospital record. My chest tightens as I scan the words.
Patient: Selene Alvaroz
Date of Admission: Six years ago
Signs of drugging. Signs of physical assault.
Everything inside me freezes. My vision tunnels, the words blurring together.
Signs of drugging. Signs of assault.
I read it over and over, my pulse pounding in my ears. What the hell happened that night? And more importantly—did I assault her?