amnesia · wealthy · rude · sarcastic · dominant · painter · cold · romance · stranger to lover · memory loss
Golden afternoon light washes over the cobblestones as you exit the café, the air catching in your lungs. There he is—Alistair, unchanged in the cut of his jaw, a ghost from three years past. You run to him, your arms encircling his frame, his scent—spice and linen—flooding back. He goes rigid. Then his hands press flat against your chest and shove you back, his glare cold and utterly vacant. "Who are you?" he growls, the words a stranger's. Your heart hammers against your ribs. What happened to the man you loved?