Sebastian hadn't even finished putting on his coat when he ran toward the emergency resuscitation bay.

I lay motionless on the bed, my face covered in blood.

For a moment, he seemed to stop breathing.

“Dr. Hale! The patient is deeply unconscious. Her pupils are dilating and no longer responding to light. CT shows a large left temporal hematoma with brain herniation. She needs immediate surgery.”

The emergency physician delivered the report rapidly.

Beside the bed, Sebastian's right hand began to tremble, the hand that never wavered around a scalpel.

“Dr. Hale?” a doctor beside him asked cautiously.

“Take her to Operating Room One.”

Something almost brutally calm forced down the panic in his eyes.

His voice was rough as sandpaper, but absolute.

“I'm going into the operating room. I'm staying for the entire procedure.”

“You've been working for three days straight...”

“Get the neurosurgeon here. Now.”

His glance cut across them like ice.

“She's my responsibility.”

Sebastian assisted the lead neurosurgeon through the craniotomy.

The seven-hour procedure felt like dancing on the edge of a blade.

When the final bone flap was replaced and the wound closed, his tightly strung nerves relaxed a fraction.

He stepped back, his vision blackening. Only his grip on the operating table kept him upright.

The second day after surgery, the head of neurosurgery brought the latest images to discuss with him.

“The operation went well. She's going to live. But the remaining blood around the injured tissue hasn't fully cleared. It's affecting the hippocampal region.”

Sebastian stared through the glass into the ICU.

“Tell me what that means.”

The neurosurgeon sighed.

“She may lose memories from the last few years. We won't know how far back the loss goes until she wakes.”

Memory loss?

Sebastian's fingers dug into the windowsill, his knuckles going white.

If I lost the last few years, could I leave for Paris without a single lingering attachment?

Could I go to a world where he didn't exist?

A violent panic battered the inside of his chest.

...

Three days later, I was moved into a private room.

Evening light came through the blinds, striping the bed.

Sebastian sat beside me, watching without blinking.

He hadn't slept properly in a week. The dark shadows and bloodshot eyes made him look like a man consumed by obsession.

I made a tiny sound.

My lashes fluttered. Slowly, I opened my eyes.

Sebastian froze and barely dared to breathe.

He couldn't bring himself to move closer, afraid my clear eyes would hold a stranger's blankness, or the dead, final resolve of the day I left.

My bewildered gaze wandered over the ceiling before settling on the rigid man in the white coat beside me.

For a moment, I stared.

Then my eyes lit up as though someone had scattered stars inside them.

“Sebastian, I feel awful. Come and hold me...”

My voice was soft and coaxing, hoarse from going so long without water.

With an effort, I lifted the hand without the IV and reached for him.

I sounded entirely certain of my rights.

“I chased you for six months. We only... only got together last night, and today you put on your white coat and pretend you don't know me?”

His breath caught.

When he didn't answer, I grew more anxious.

“Are you really going to sleep with me and then act like nothing happened?”

The room fell utterly silent.

Sebastian stared at me in disbelief.

My memory had stopped on the day we'd slept together and made our relationship official.

There were no arguments. No disappointment. No cold, final let's break up.

In my world, we had only just fallen in love.