Chapter 3 - The Forgotten Fragments
Clara sat on the edge of her small bed in the servant's quarters, rubbing her aching temples.
A blinding, agonizing headache was pulsing behind her eyes, a familiar pain that haunted her every night.
She had lost her memory three years ago, waking up in a charity hospital with severe burns and zero identification.
The doctors had reconstructed her face as best as they could, but they could not reconstruct her past.
She had chosen the name Clara because it was written on a nurse's name tag that she saw when she first opened her eyes.
Ever since she stepped foot into the Sterling mansion, the headaches had become unbearable.
The massive staircases, the smell of the rose garden, the intricate wallpaper in the nursery.
Everything felt like a ghost brushing against her skin, whispering secrets she could not quite hear.
And then there were the twins, Lily and Rose.
The very first time Clara saw them, her heart had seized in her chest, overwhelmed by a love so fierce it physically hurt.
When they started crying earlier tonight, the melody had simply poured out of her lips without a single thought.
There was a soft knock on her door, snapping her out of her painful reverie.
Clara stood up nervously, smoothing out her apron before opening the door.
Arthur stood in the dimly lit hallway, looking incredibly tired and impossibly handsome.
"May I come in?" he asked politely, though his commanding presence completely filled the small doorway.
"Of course, Mr. Sterling," Clara whispered, stepping aside and keeping her head bowed respectfully.
Arthur stepped into the small room, his tall frame making the space feel entirely claustrophobic.
He did not look at her with the usual disdain that wealthy employers reserved for their staff.
He looked at her with a desperate, searching hunger, as if trying to read a book written in a forgotten language.
"Tell me about your scars, Clara," Arthur requested softly, his dark eyes focusing on her neck.
Clara instinctively reached up to cover the jagged red lines with her collar.
"It was an accident, sir," she answered, her voice shaking with vulnerability.
"Three years ago, a terrible fire, but I do not remember how it happened."
Arthur stepped closer, the scent of his expensive cologne and aged whiskey wrapping around her senses.
It was a scent that made her heart flutter with an inexplicable, agonizing familiarity.
"You do not remember anything before the fire?" Arthur pressed, his voice tight with an emotion she could not name.
"Nothing," Clara admitted, a single tear slipping down her scarred cheek.
"I am a woman with no past, Mr. Sterling, just trying to survive."
Arthur reached out slowly, his large, warm hand gently wiping the tear from her face.
The physical contact sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to Clara's heart, stealing the breath from her lungs.
Suddenly, a fragmented image flashed brilliantly across Clara's mind.
She saw this exact man, laughing in a sunlit garden, placing a diamond ring on her finger.
May you like
Clara gasped violently, staggering backward and clutching her head as the pain spiked.
"Clara!" Arthur shouted, rushing forward to catch her before she hit the floor.
