Chapter 6 - Pretend You’re the Woman I Love
Martin Vale had spent fifteen years hiding from the consequences of what he helped create.
He told us everything.
The original compound had been developed to weaken traumatic memory.
David Keller saw another use.
Control.
Not mind control.
Nothing so theatrical.
Something more useful.
Confusion.
Doubt.
Suggestibility.
A person who distrusted their own memories could be persuaded that meetings happened when they hadn’t.
That promises were made when they weren’t.
That signatures were theirs.
That betrayals were imagined.
For a corporation worth billions, that was power.
Leon had been a teenage test subject because Keller believed his father would someday hand him control of Cooper Global.
“Why me?” Leon asked.
Martin looked ashamed.
“Because you were accessible.”
“That’s your answer?”
“You attended therapy after your mother’s sister died. Keller arranged for medication to be administered through a clinic controlled by our research group.”
Leon’s jaw tightened.
“And my mother?”
“She discovered it.”
“Did Keller kill her?”
Martin looked down.
“I don’t know.”
Leon grabbed his shirt.
“You know something.”
“I know Keller ordered surveillance.”
“Did he order the crash?”
“I never heard him say it.”
Leon released him.
Barely.
I stepped closer.
“Why seventy-two hours?”
Martin looked at me.
“Because the compound in Leon’s blood wasn’t the original version.”
“What was it?”
“A primer.”
Leon’s face changed.
“For what?”
“A second dose.”
“If he gets it?”
Martin swallowed.
“The brain becomes highly vulnerable to association disruption.”
I hated the clinical language.
“Say it plainly.”
“He could lose emotional recognition connected to specific people.”
I stared.
“Specific people?”
“Yes.”
Leon looked at me.
“Abigail.”
Martin nodded.
“Keller constructed the false photograph so Leon would associate Abigail with the event.”
“Why?”
“So the second dose could be paired with her image.”
I felt cold.
“He wants Leon to forget me?”
“Not simply forget.”
Martin looked at Leon.
“He wants you to distrust her.”
Leon laughed bitterly.
“Why does he care about Abigail?”
“Because her mother left evidence.”
“What evidence?”
Martin nodded toward my key.
“The vial.”
“But the tapes said she hid it.”
“She did.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why target me?”
“Because Keller believes Margaret told you.”
“She died when I was twelve.”
“He doesn’t care what is reasonable.”
Leon’s security detained Martin voluntarily for protection.
Then we returned to Manhattan.
Seventy-two hours.
Keller had disappeared.
His phone off.
House empty.
Private jet unused.
Leon’s board convened emergency meetings.
Naomi pushed for immediate suspension of Keller’s authority.
Elliot stayed close.
And I tried not to think about the strangest part.
Someone wanted Leon to forget me.
A man who had known me less than two days.
That night, Leon found me alone in the hotel suite kitchen.
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
“I tried.”
“And?”
“I remembered something.”
I turned.
“What?”
“The elevator.”
My heart jumped.
“How much?”
“Your hands.”
I looked down.
“Tying the knot.”
He smiled faintly.
“And you were angry.”
“I was terrified.”
“You looked angry.”
“Maybe both.”
He stepped closer.
“I remember asking your name.”
“Yes.”
“I remember repeating it.”
“Yes.”
“I remember thinking…”
He stopped.
“What?”
“That I couldn’t let myself forget you.”
Silence.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“No.”
“We had just met.”
“I know.”
He looked at me for a long time.
Then he said, “Maybe part of me knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That you were connected to something I’d been trying to remember my whole life.”
That was safer than the other possibility.
I nodded.
Leon didn’t.
He moved closer.
“Abigail.”
“What?”
“If Keller gets to me…”
“He won’t.”
“If he does.”
“He won’t.”
“Listen.”
I did.
“If I look at you and don’t know you, don’t believe me.”
My throat tightened.
“Leon.”
“Make me remember.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
I tried to joke.
“I could tie you up again.”
“That worked once.”
His smile disappeared.
Then he asked something I did not expect.
“Come to the Cooper Foundation gala with me tomorrow.”
I stared.
“There is a gala?”
“Already scheduled.”
“Cancel it.”
“Keller expects me to hide.”
“So?”
“So I want him to think I’m not afraid.”
“That’s billionaire nonsense.”
“Probably.”
“Why do you need me?”
He hesitated.
Then said, “Pretend you’re the woman I love.”
I stared at him.
“That may be the worst invitation I’ve ever received.”
“Hear me out.”
“I’m trying.”
“Keller believes you’re leverage.”
“He’s right.”
“Then let him think you matter more than you do.”
For some reason, that stung.
Leon saw it.
“I meant strategically.”
“Excellent recovery.”
He rubbed his face.
“I’m bad at this.”
“At pretending to be in love?”
“At asking people to trust me.”
I softened despite myself.
“What exactly do you want?”
“Attend the gala as my girlfriend.”
“Fake girlfriend.”
“Yes.”
“Smile for cameras?”
“Yes.”
“Hold your hand?”
“If necessary.”
“Kiss you?”
He paused.
“If necessary.”
“That hesitation was suspicious.”
His mouth twitched.
“Occupational hazard.”
I thought about it.
Danger.
Keller.
My mother.
The vial.
Everything had become tangled.
“Fine.”
Leon looked surprised.
“That easy?”
“No. I have conditions.”
“Of course.”
“You do what I say if anything feels wrong.”
“That seems aggressive.”
“You hired me.”
“For event consulting.”
“Then consider staying alive part of event management.”
The next evening, every camera in Manhattan seemed aimed at us.
I wore a midnight-blue gown borrowed from a designer Naomi knew.
Leon wore black.
His hand rested at my waist.
We walked into the ballroom.
Flashbulbs exploded.
Reporters shouted.
“Leon, who is she?”
“Is this serious?”
“Abigail, how did you meet?”
Leon looked at me.
I whispered, “Don’t say elevator.”
He smiled.
Then told reporters, “She saved me from making a very bad decision.”
Not technically false.
Inside, he leaned close.
“You’re shaking.”
“I hate cameras.”
“You’re doing fine.”
“You have no idea.”
“I have some idea.”
Across the room, Elliot watched.
Naomi watched.
Board members watched.
Everybody seemed dangerous.
Then Leon stiffened.
“What?”
He nodded toward a waiter.
The man carried champagne.
Same silver tray.
Same brand.
Leon’s breathing changed.
I touched his hand.
“Stay with me.”
The waiter approached.
“Mr. Cooper?”
Leon didn’t move.
The waiter offered a glass.
I took it first.
“No.”
The man looked at me.
Then smiled.
“Ms. Reed.”
My blood went cold.
He knew my name.
Security moved.
The waiter dropped the tray.
Glasses shattered.
He ran.
Leon’s team tackled him near the ballroom doors.
Chaos erupted.
Naomi pushed us toward a private corridor.
“Move.”
Leon stumbled.
I caught him.
“What’s wrong?”
He looked at me.
Confused.
“Abigail?”
“Yes.”
He touched his neck.
A tiny dart protruded below his collar.
My heart stopped.
“Leon.”
He pulled it out.
Security shouted for a medic.
Leon stared at me.
His eyes changed.
Recognition flickered.
Then weakened.
I held his face.
“Look at me.”
“Abigail.”
“Yes.”
“Reed.”
“Yes.”
His knees gave out.
I caught him.
“Leon.”
He whispered, “Don’t let me forget.”
Then his eyes closed.
When he woke twenty minutes later, I was beside him.
He looked straight at me.
No recognition.
Then fear.
“Who are you?”
My throat closed.
“Abigail.”
He stared.
“I don’t know you.”
The doctor moved toward us.
Leon backed away.
“Why is she here?”
Nobody answered.
Then his gaze fell on my hand.
Our fingers were intertwined.
He yanked his hand away.
“What did you do to me?”
Before I could answer, his phone buzzed.
A scheduled video opened automatically.
Leon appeared on the screen.
Recorded earlier that day.
“If you’re watching this, Keller got to you.”
The Leon beside me went still.
Video Leon continued.
“The woman next to you is Abigail Reed.”
A pause.
“You may not remember her.”
Another pause.
“But I loved her before I had the courage to tell her.”
I stopped breathing.
So did he.
Then the video ended with one sentence.
“Trust her with your life.”
May you like
Leon slowly looked at me.
And someone outside the room began pounding on the locked door.
