In the Aftermath

The sterile room smelled of antiseptic, sharp and unforgiving, the kind of smell that clung to the back of the throat. White walls loomed over Bella as she shifted slightly on the hospital bed, careful not to jostle her injured shoulder. The temporary bandage pressed firmly against bruised skin, a dull, persistent ache radiating down her arm. The pain was manageable. The panic was not.

Every sound set her on edge. The muted hum of fluorescent lights. The squeak of shoes in the corridor. The distant murmur of voices behind closed doors. Her pulse refused to slow.

Stay alert, she told herself. One wrong move and this all collapses.

Across the room lay the man she didn’t know, the man who had thrown himself between her and a bullet without hesitation. Dark hair fell messily across his forehead, his temple marked by an ugly bruise that had darkened to deep violet. His breathing was shallow, uneven, as if his body hadn’t quite decided whether it was done fighting or not.

Hours had passed like this. Waiting. Watching. Wondering.

A doctor finally entered, clipboard in hand, breaking the suffocating stillness.

“How are we doing here?” he asked, already checking the monitors.

Bella’s attention snapped fully to the other bed.

The man stirred. His lashes fluttered. He inhaled sharply, as if surfacing from deep water, then squinted against the harsh light.

“Where… am I?” His voice was rough, scraped raw by confusion.

The doctor leaned closer. “You’re in a hospital. You suffered a head injury.” He paused, studying the man’s unfocused stare. “Do you remember what happened?”

Silence.

The man frowned, brow creasing as if straining against an invisible wall. “I… don’t.” His gaze drifted, landing on Bella. He searched her face openly, almost helplessly. “I don’t remember anything. Not… anything.”

Bella felt something tighten painfully in her chest.

The doctor sighed quietly and scribbled on the clipboard. “Retrograde amnesia. Likely caused by the concussion. Memory loss prior to the injury.” His tone was clinical, detached. “You may not remember your name. Faces. Events. We’ll monitor you closely.”

When the doctor left, the room felt emptier than before.

Bella remained seated, watching him. A stranger. A complete unknown. And yet she had never felt more certain of anything than this: he had saved her life.

I owe him everything.

Time dragged. Nurses passed through, adjusting IVs, checking vitals, offering rehearsed reassurances. Bella barely heard them. Her attention never left the door, never left him.

Then came the click.

Soft. Intentional.

Bella’s heart slammed against her ribs. Footsteps followed—slow, controlled, unhurried. Not hospital staff.

The door opened.

A tall man stepped inside, dressed sharply, eyes cold. A pistol rested easily in his hand.

“Miss Valenti,” he said calmly. “Step aside.”

Bella froze.

No weapon. No escape. No backup.

Her eyes flicked around the room—an IV stand, a metal tray, a chair tipped slightly against the wall. Anything.

Behind her, the man on the bed groaned softly, stirring but not yet fully aware.

I can’t protect him. I can barely protect myself.

The intruder raised the gun.

Then movement exploded behind her.

The man on the bed surged upright, eyes suddenly sharp, body moving on instinct alone. Confusion flashed across his face for a fraction of a second—then vanished beneath pure reflex.

Bella sucked in a breath.

He lunged, grabbing the intruder with brutal precision. Elbows. Leverage. Balance. His body knew what to do even if his mind didn’t.

But he was hurt. Weak.

His movements slowed. His knees buckled.

The intruder shoved back, regaining footing.

Bella didn’t hesitate.

She grabbed the chair and swung.

The impact cracked loudly as it slammed into the man’s legs. He cried out, stumbling. That second was enough. The man beside her forced the intruder down, pinning him.

Bella brought the chair down again, hands shaking, breath ragged, adrenaline screaming through her veins.

Silence fell.

Bella stood there, chest heaving, staring at the restrained attacker. Beside her, the man who had saved her life swayed slightly, fighting dizziness.

She turned to him, awe flooding through her fear.

“You didn’t even hesitate,” she whispered.

He looked at her, eyes dark and searching. Protective. Lost.

She tied the intruder with whatever she could find, hands moving fast.

The silence that followed felt wrong. Too empty.

Then she sensed it.

Low voices, controlled and deliberate, drifting through the corridor. The measured rhythm of footsteps. Unhurried. Certain. More than one pair.

Reinforcements.

Her blood ran cold.

“They’re coming,” she hissed, turning toward the man beside her.

He was still standing, barely. Sweat clung to his brow, his jaw tight as he fought the lingering dizziness. His eyes darted toward the door, instinct flaring again, sharp and immediate.

“We can’t stay here,” Bella said. “If they find us—”

He didn’t need the rest of the sentence.

She grabbed his wrist without thinking and pulled. “Come on. Move.”

He stumbled slightly, catching himself against the bed, then followed her lead. His movements were slower now, heavier, every step costing him more than he wanted to admit. His head throbbed violently, fragments of sensation crashing against emptiness. No memory. No name. Just urgency.

Bella pushed the door open just enough to peer into the corridor.

Men in dark suits moved down the hall in a tight formation, voices low, weapons hidden but obvious to anyone who knew where to look. They stopped at the room across the corridor. One of them gestured sharply, and the group slipped inside, the door closing behind them.

Bella’s breath caught.

They were searching. But they weren’t looking here.

Not yet.

Her gaze snapped to the narrow door farther down the hall. Staff Only.

Now, she thought. Now or never.

“There,” she whispered.

She half-dragged him across the corridor, heart pounding loud enough that she was sure someone would hear it. The door opened into a cramped staff changing room, lined with metal lockers and hanging coats. Fluorescent light flickered overhead.

She slammed the door shut and locked it.

Only then did she let herself breathe.

The man leaned heavily against a locker, chest rising and falling unevenly. He slid down until he was sitting on the floor, one hand pressed to his temple.

“I’m… slowing you down,” he muttered, frustration biting through the haze.

Bella crouched in front of him instantly. “No. You’re alive. That’s what matters.”

She scanned the room desperately. Lockers. Benches. A small desk in the corner.

Please. Please.

She yanked open drawers until her fingers closed around cold plastic.

A phone.

Relief hit her so hard her knees almost buckled.

She turned away, hands shaking as she dialed. It rang once. Twice.

“Marco,” she whispered the second he answered. “It’s me.”

His breath hitched audibly. “Bella. Where are you?”

“I’m alive. I’m at the hospital. But they’re here. Someone came for me. We had to hide.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she lied, glancing back at the man on the floor. “But listen to me. I need you now.”

There was a pause. Then, tighter. Sharper. “Who’s with you?”

She hesitated. “A man. He saved my life at the gala. He lost his memory. He doesn’t know who he is.”

Silence stretched.

“Bella,” Marco said carefully, “anyone who was at that gala could be dangerous.”

“I know,” she replied, voice breaking despite herself. “But I can’t leave him. He saved me. He’s hurt. He’s lost.”

Another pause. Then a breath. Controlled. Calculated.

“I’m coming,” Marco said. “Stay where you are. Keep him with you. I’ll handle the rest.”

Bella lowered the phone slowly, relief flooding through her.

She turned back to him.

He looked up at her, eyes dark and unsettled. “You called someone,” he said. Not a question.

“My brother,” she replied. “He’ll get us out.”

He nodded, though tension still coiled through him. “I don’t remember who I am,” he admitted quietly. “I don’t know why people are trying to kill you. I don’t even know why I followed you.”

Bella swallowed hard.

“I don’t know either,” she said honestly. “But you didn’t hesitate. And that matters.”

Footsteps passed outside the door. Voices. Orders.

They stayed still. Silent.

When Marco finally arrived, he moved fast. Efficient. His eyes took everything in at once: the locked door, the bruised stranger, Bella’s pale face.

“This him?” Marco asked quietly.

“Yes.”

Marco’s gaze sharpened. “He stays where I can see him.”

Bella nodded. She wouldn’t argue. Not now.

They moved quickly through service corridors and out into the night. When the car doors finally closed, Bella sagged back into the seat, breath shuddering as the tension drained from her body.

For the first time since the gala, she felt safe enough to breathe.

Beside her, the man leaned back too, exhaustion dragging at him. Relief flickered briefly… then frustration returned.

I don’t know who I am.
I don’t know who she is.
I don’t know what I’ve walked into.

Marco’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror again. And again.

Watching them both.

The car pulled into the city, carrying three people bound together by chaos, distrust, and a debt that could not be ignored.