11. Test or Trap

Anastasiya Van Houten

He stood at the far end of the room, like a predator watching his prey, his keen interest could have easily been mistaken as concern. Even when the doctors and nurses rushed in to check on me, he remained. Back against the wall, watching me with beady eyes. Stepping up multiple times to remind the nurses to be gentle.

The old Anastasiya would never have settled for this. Within minutes, there would have been a bloodbath—either Malcolm died, or we both did. No time for pretense.

That Anastasiya had never felt this vulnerable before. It wasn't every day you switched souls with the fiancée of a man you had every intention of killing.

Every inhale, every twitch of my fingers, every flicker of emotion that crossed my face—it was all being analyzed, dissected, and tucked away for later.

He was testing me.

And I couldn’t fail.

So I played my part.

I kept my shoulders slack, my expression carefully blank, my eyes clouded with just the right amount of uncertainty, the right amount of fear. I let my fingers twitch slightly against the thin hospital blanket, as though I were still coming to terms with my reality.

I was walking a razor-thin edge.

One wrong move, one misplaced breath, and Malcolm would know.

That I wasn’t confused.

That I wasn’t disoriented.

That I wasn’t the helpless, amnesiac fiancée he wanted me to be.

That I remembered

I had to give him just enough to believe I was buying into his twisted lie—but not enough to give him control.

The silence between us stretched, filled only by the steady beep of the heart monitor beside me. The doctors and nurses had gone, promising to draft a meal plan for me and advising that I refrain from eating until given the go-ahead.

Trust me, food—which I usually shoved down my throat like a starved caveman—was the least of my worries right now.

The air grew stale with unspoken words and masked tension until finally, Malcolm sighed, running his hands through his hair, the golden strands fell wildly across his face, untamed and unbridled.

“It’s late.” He exhaled, lifting of the wall with robotic agility.“I should go.”

A chill crawled down my spine at his words.

He wasn’t saying them as a courtesy.

He moved closer, crossing the distance between us in a few seconds, eyes never leaving mine as he leaned down, pulling me gently into his arms.

My skin prickled with disgust, but I forced myself to remain still even when his hand skimmed through my hair.

"I was so scared, baby… seeing you with all that blood," he murmured, his shoulders trembling along with the ache in his voice, his hands tightening around me. "I couldn't... I wasn't fast enough to save you."

He pulled back just enough for me to get a front-row seat to his acting class. His eyes were glossy, shining with unshed tears. There was a sliver of pain glistening there, like he was trying to hide it.

The sheer audacity of it made my nerves boil.

Instead, I kept my expression neutral, letting the moment stretch just long enough to make him wonder what I was thinking.

Then, I shook my head, offering the smallest, most hesitant of smiles.

"It's not your fault. It was an accident," I said softly, like I was still struggling to place him in my mind. "No one's to blame."

A flicker of something flashed through his eyes.

Approval.

But beneath it, something darker.

Something that made my stomach twist.

He pressed a kiss to my cheek before stepping back, running a hand through his hair. "Thank you."

He turned toward the door, pausing just before he reached it.

“I’ll be back soon.” His voice was smooth, practiced. “Rest for now.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

It was a command.

And buried within his words was a subtle warning. A silent message beneath the surface:

Don’t do anything stupid.

He was waiting for it. The slip-up. The flinch. The tell-tale sign that I remembered exactly who he was and what he had done.

And for a second, I almost gave him what he wanted.

Because I did remember.

I remembered the last time I had seen Malcolm Reece.

I remembered the lack of hesitation when he shot his fiancée off a cliff.

I remembered running.

I remembered the bruises and the fear on her face.

But that was the past.

Right now, I was Valencia. A woman who had just woken up in a hospital bed, with no memories of her past. A woman who had no reason to fear the man standing in front of her.

I inhaled slowly, steadying myself.

Then, just as he reached for the doorknob—

"Wait."

Malcolm stopped.

His fingers stilled against the metal handle, but he didn’t turn around immediately.

He was waiting.

I could feel the shift in the air, the sharp way his focus honed in on me in an instant.

I had his attention now.

Slowly, deliberately, he turned. His gaze flickered over my face, searching for something.

I met his eyes, doing my best to look hesitant, to feign the nervous curiosity of a woman who had lost pieces of herself.

"How did I end up here? I mean... everyone keeps saying it was an accident, but I think I deserve to know how I ended up here." I blurted out, reaching to wrap the blanket around me tighter.

I watched as Malcolm’s eyes darkened.

"If it's not too much to ask, I'd like to know how. After all... I don't... I don't even know who I am."

A sharp, barely-there breath left his lips. It was gone before I could be sure it had even happened, but I had seen it. I had seen the moment his expression shifted.

That was the thing about Malcolm Reece.

No matter how well he wore his masks, there were always cracks.

And if I paid close enough attention, I could see them.

A heartbeat of silence passed between us.

Then, he exhaled, his lips curling into something reassuring.

"It wasn't an accident."