He Drugged Me to Forget Him for His Dying First Love

"Look at it, Nora," Julian commanded, shoving the paper closer.

I stared at the black ink on the page. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I forced my muscles to go entirely slack. I let my vision blur, turning the typed letters into meaningless gray smudges.

"Are these... names?" I asked, tipping my head to the side.

I stretched my lips into a wide, vacant smile. I kept my voice feather-light, stripping away every ounce of the sharp executive he used to fear.

"I don't know them," I whispered.

Julian searched my eyes. He stepped into my personal space, his gaze scanning my face for any spark of defiance, any trace of the anger that usually flared when he cornered me. I gave him nothing but hollow glass.

"Read the top line," he demanded.

I blinked slowly, tracing the bold letters at the header of the participant log.

"It says Aegis," I replied, keeping my tone flat.

"And what is Aegis?" he pressed.

"You told me last night," I said, widening my empty smile. "They make painkillers. For my headaches."

His rigid posture finally broke. The tension drained from his shoulders, replaced by a sickening wave of relief.

"Yes," Julian said softly. "They make medicine."

He pulled the participant log from my loose grip and tossed it onto the mahogany desk. He reached out and patted the top of my head. The gesture felt heavy with pity and contempt.

"You are just confused," he murmured. "The medication is still settling."

"Will I have to work today?" I asked. "You said I was your assistant."

"No," Julian replied, adjusting his cuffs. "There is a wedding tomorrow afternoon, and I need you there."

"A wedding?" I echoed.

"Yes." He turned toward the door. "You will stand where I put you, smile when people look at you, and tell anyone who asks that you are my new secretary."

By noon the next day, the heavy scent of white lilies choked the humid countryside air.

I stood at the very edge of the manicured lawn, stationed behind rows of white wooden folding chairs. Thousands of white petals blanketed the grass, forming an aisle that led to a birchwood arch.

"Stand right here," Julian had instructed when we arrived, pointing to the grass behind the last row of seats. "Don't wander off. If anyone speaks to you, tell them you are my new secretary."

I obeyed. I kept my hands folded in front of my pale gray dress, wearing the same vacant expression I had perfected in the study.

Music swelled from a string quartet near the altar.

The guests rose to their feet.

I scanned the rows, my eyes locking onto the place cards tied to the chair backs. I memorized every name, every face.

Row three, aisle seat. Dr. Elias Finch, the lead chemist at Aegis.

Row four. Marcus Thorne, a key investor.

Row six. Senator Davies.

These were not just wedding guests. They were the board members and politicians who signed off on the illegal trials. They were the people who helped Julian bury the evidence.

A collective murmur rippled through the crowd.

Vivienne walked down the petal-strewn aisle.

She wore a heavy ivory gown, but her steps were slow, almost trembling. A thick veil obscured her face. She leaned heavily on the arm of a nurse dressed in unassuming formal wear.

This was the woman who had laughed about locking me in a sanatorium just hours ago. Now, she could barely hold her own weight.

Julian stepped forward and took her hands.

"You look beautiful," he said, his voice carrying over the silent crowd.

"I am tired, Julian," Vivienne whispered. Her voice cracked, lacking the sharp venom she had used in the penthouse last night.

"I know," he replied softly.

I watched them from the back row. My blank smile remained fixed in place, but I curled my fingers inward. I pressed my nails into my palms. I dug the sharp edges into my skin until I felt the warm, wet slide of blood against my lifelines.

"We gather here to witness this union," the officiant began.

Julian did not look at the priest. He kept his eyes entirely on Vivienne.

"I don't need the standard vows," Julian interrupted. He squeezed Vivienne's fragile hands.

The guests murmured again.

Julian ignored them. "Vivienne, I promised I would stay by your side."

"You did," she choked out.

"The trials were harsh," he continued, speaking the words out loud in front of the very people who funded them. "But I will walk this final journey with you."

Final journey.

The words clicked into place. The participant log in his study. Her failing strength. Vivienne was dying, poisoned by the very compound Julian had tested on her. He was marrying her to secure her shares before she expired.

"I will find you in the next life," Julian vowed, his voice thick with rehearsed grief. "We will continue there."

"Julian," she sobbed.

I kept smiling. The blood pooled in my cupped hands, sticky and hot. I stared at the man who had ruined my career, the man who tried to erase my mind, playing the tragic, devoted hero.

"I love you," Julian said.

He lifted her veil and kissed her cheek. The crowd erupted into polite, muffled applause. Several women in the front row dabbed their eyes with tissues.

Julian pulled back. He turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the seated guests until it landed on the back row.

He looked straight at me.

I did not flinch. I tilted my head, widening my eyes in feigned, childlike wonder. I let the corners of my mouth stretch higher, a perfectly empty doll watching a show she did not understand.

Julian reached into his tuxedo jacket.

He pulled out his phone.

He bypassed the professional photographer standing near the birch arch and raised the device himself. He leveled the camera lens directly at my face.

"Julian, what are you doing?" Vivienne asked, her voice raspy.

"Capturing a memory," Julian replied loudly, making sure his voice carried to the back row.

He kept the lens trained on my hollow smile.

"I want to capture what she looks like," he said, his thumb hovering over the screen. "Finally free."

The metal shutter button gleamed under the afternoon sun as his finger pressed down.