Chapter 2 Chapter 2: I Do Know You

My first day at Auremont University began with a cup of coffee I had not made. I stopped at the kitchen entrance, one hand still resting against the strap of my handbag. A ceramic mug sat beneath the coffee machine, and thin wisps of steam curled from its surface as though it had been prepared only moments before I entered.

There was no cinnamon floating over the cream-colored foam. Then, a small white card rested against the saucer.

I approached slowly, already knowing what I would find before I turned it over.

You'll be late, Cornelia.

My fingers tightened around the card. I had checked the lock twice before going to bed. The housekeeper was not scheduled to arrive until that afternoon, and the building staff had been instructed not to enter the condominium without permission. 

Yet, someone had walked into my kitchen, prepared my coffee exactly the way I apparently preferred it, and left another message addressed to a name no one in my family used.

The first card remained inside my handbag.

No cinnamon. You hate it.

I should have called Uncle Richard. He would have sent security to search the entire building and questioned every employee who had access to the floor. By the end of the morning, Mother would have packed my belongings and returned me to the Beauchamp mansion.

That was precisely why I remained silent.

I folded the second card and placed it beside the first, leaving the untouched coffee on the counter before heading downstairs.

A man stood across the street when I emerged from the condominium. He wore a dark blue jacket and lingered beneath the striped awning of a café that had not yet opened. A phone rested in his hand, though his attention was clearly fixed on me rather than the screen.

The instant our gazes met, he turned away and raised the phone to his ear as I slowed beside the waiting car.

"Is something wrong, Miss Beauchamp?" the driver asked as he opened the rear door. His attention followed mine, but the man in the blue jacket had already begun walking toward the corner.

"No," I murmured. "Nothing." I slid into the car before the driver could question me further.

The two cards inside my handbag seemed to grow heavier throughout the journey. I could feel their presence even without touching them, quiet proof that someone knew far more about me than I knew about myself.

Forty minutes later, the same dark blue jacket appeared outside Auremont University.

The campus stretched across several blocks, its oldest stone buildings standing alongside modern structures of steel and glass. Students crowded the tree-lined paths, clutching folders, coffee cups, and folded campus maps while banners bearing Auremont's silver crest stirred gently above them.

The driver parked near the administration building and stepped out after me. "I'll accompany you inside."

"That won't be necessary."

"Mr. Beauchamp instructed me to make sure you were settled."

"He instructed you to drive me here." I adjusted my handbag over my shoulder. "You did."

His mouth tightened. "Miss Beauchamp—"

"I'm attending university, not entering a war zone." I closed the door before he could respond.

For the first time since leaving the hospital, I stood somewhere without a relative or household employee hovering beside me. The freedom should have felt exhilarating. Instead, I found myself searching the university gates.

The man in the blue jacket stood beside a row of parked vehicles, pretending to study something on his phone.

Perhaps Uncle Richard had hired him. The possibility hardly seemed unreasonable after the number of conditions he had placed on my move. Still, knowing the man might belong to my family did little to ease the tension beneath my skin.

I entered the administration building and approached the registration desk.

A woman wearing silver-framed glasses greeted me with a professional smile. "Good morning. Name?"

"Judith Beauchamp."

Her fingers paused above the keyboard. "Of course. Welcome back, Mrs.—" She stopped abruptly. I stared at her while a faint flush crept across her cheeks. "Miss Beauchamp," she corrected. "Welcome to Auremont."

"Were you about to call me something else?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You said Mrs."

Her smile tightened. "I must have misread your admission record."

"The hospital made the same mistake."

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know anything about that." She turned the monitor slightly away from me and began clicking through several windows with unnecessary speed. 

Before I could question her again, she handed me a university identification card and a printed schedule.

"Your orientation begins at ten in the Westmore Building. Fourth floor, Conference Hall B."

I glanced toward the campus map mounted beside the desk. 

"I can arrange for a student volunteer to guide you," she offered.

"No, thank you."

For some reason, I already knew where Westmore was. The realization did not strike me until I stepped beneath the administration building's stone archway. Across the courtyard stood a bronze statue surrounded by a circular fountain. Beyond it, a narrow path curved between two rows of trees toward an ivy-covered building.

Westmore waited at the end as a chill passed down my arms. My family claimed I had never studied at Auremont, yet my feet seemed to recognize the campus. I knew which path would reach Westmore most quickly. I knew the stairs beside the fountain became slippery after rain. I even knew the narrow passage behind the library opened into another courtyard.

None of those details came with memories. They existed only as certainty.

Halfway across the courtyard, I noticed the man again. He stood beneath a tree near the library, his attention fixed on his phone. I changed direction and entered the campus bookstore.

Several minutes later, his reflection appeared in the glass windows. I left through the opposite exit and crossed another courtyard.

He followed.

By the third time I saw him, I could no longer dismiss his presence as coincidence. Rather than return to the driver and admit that Uncle Richard had been right to surround me with protection, I entered Westmore through a side door. 

The corridor leading toward orientation stretched to my left, but I continued toward a narrower hallway marked Faculty and Administrative Access.

The man appeared near the far end of the main corridor.

My pulse quickened. A security door stood ahead. Someone emerged from the other side, and I caught it before it closed, slipping through just as the lock engaged behind me.

The man reached it seconds later. Through the narrow glass panel, I watched him tug at the handle before lifting his phone to his ear.

Only then did I allow myself to breathe.

The restricted hallway was empty, its dark wood-paneled walls lined with framed photographs of former university presidents. I continued until I reached an elevator bearing a small brass plaque.

Executive Access.

The call button illuminated beneath my finger. When the doors opened, Alexander Laurent Devereux stood inside.

For several seconds, I forgot why I had been running. He looked exactly as I remembered him from the hospital—tall, composed, and dressed in a dark suit that made him appear too severe for a university filled with casually dressed students.

The last time I had seen him, doctors and nurses had called me Mrs. Devereux while he stood beside my hospital bed and claimed to be my husband. He had not argued when I denied knowing him. He had merely looked at me as though I had delivered a blow he had no right to defend himself against.

Uncle Richard's warning returned immediately. "If Alexander Devereux contacts you, you are not to meet him alone."

The elevator was empty except for him. I should have stepped back and allowed the doors to close. Instead, I remained frozen while Alexander held them open with one hand.

Voices approached from behind me. A group of students entered the hallway, and one muttered impatiently when I continued blocking the entrance.

My feet moved before I reached a conscious decision. I stepped inside. The doors slid shut, cutting off the noise and enclosing me in silence with the man I had been ordered to avoid.

Before I could touch the panel, Alexander selected the fourth floor. My hand stopped halfway. "How... did you know?"

"Your orientation is in Conference Hall B."

"You know my schedule?"

His gaze moved toward me. "I know you."

The certainty in his voice unsettled me more than any denial would have.

The elevator stopped on the second floor, where several students waited. They began moving forward, but Alexander pressed the close button before any of them could enter.

I turned toward him in disbelief.

"You still hate crowded elevators," he said after a moment.

I creased my forehead. "I never told you that."

"You didn't need to."

The elevator gave a sudden shudder. My stomach dropped as I lost my balance and collided with him. Alexander caught me around the waist before I could fall, while my hands instinctively closed around the front of his coat.

For one suspended moment, neither of us moved. His palm rested firmly against my waist, its warmth seeping through the fabric of my blouse. Rather than recoiling, my body settled against him with a familiarity that made my breath catch.

Alexander lowered his gaze to my hands gripping his coat. "You always held on to me when elevators stopped."

I released him and stepped away so quickly that my shoulder nearly struck the wall.

His arm fell from my waist with visible reluctance, and something dark moved through his expression before he regained control.

"Stop talking as though you know me."

"I do know you, Cornelia."

The name struck through me. My fingers immediately tightened around the strap of my handbag, where both cards remained hidden. I wanted to demand whether he had entered my condominium. Whether he had prepared the coffee. Whether he had been watching while I slept.

Uncle Richard's warning stopped the questions before they escaped.

Alexander's attention dropped briefly to my hand. "Someone left you something."

It was not a question.

"How would you know?" I asked suspiciously. 

"Because you've been gripping that bag as though it contains a weapon since you entered." He stepped closer, reducing the space between us without touching me. "And because you press your thumb against the strap whenever you're hiding something, Cornelia."

Heat rose beneath my skin. "Stop calling me Cornelia."

"No." The refusal was quiet but absolute. "The rest of the world may call you Judith. But you were always Cornelia to me."

"You've been watching me," I said.

"Yes." His immediate admission left me momentarily speechless. Alexander did not apologize or attempt to soften the answer. "Someone tried to kill my wife," he continued. "I stopped caring whether protecting her made me look unreasonable."

"You don't know someone tried to kill me."

"I know more about your accident than your family has told you."

My phone vibrated before I could demand an explanation. Uncle Richard's name glowed across the screen.

Alexander glanced at it. "Don't answer."

"You don't get to decide that." I reached for the call, but he took the phone from my hand and declined it before returning the device. Anger cut through my confusion. "Hey! Give that back to me!"

What the hell was wrong with him? 

"He has spent three weeks answering for you."

"And you think you're different?" I tried to reach for it, but he was too tall for me to reach the phone from his hand. 

"No, Cornelia." Alexander's voice lowered as he held my gaze. "I think I'm the only one willing to let you discover which of us is lying."

"You're trying to control me, too."

"Your uncle wants you obedient." His eyes moved over my face with an intensity that held me still. "I want you alive."

The elevator reached the fourth floor but did not open until Alexander pressed a keycard against the panel. The doors revealed another private corridor, empty of students, faculty, and security guards.

"You're being followed," he said.

I pressed my lips into a thin line. I stared at him, seeing if he was behind this, but I couldn't see it lingering in his eyes. "The man in the blue jacket?" I asked after a moment of silence.

"He works for Halcyon Security. His name is Victor Hale. Richard hired him two days ago. Another guard is positioned near the south entrance, and a third is waiting near your driver."

My stomach tightened. "How do you know that?"

"Because I knew your uncle would have you watched."

"That doesn't explain how you know their names."

"No. It doesn't." His refusal to elaborate was deliberate.

"If they see you with me—"

He chimed in. "They won't. This section of Auremont is inaccessible without authorization."

Understanding settled uneasily over me. "You arranged this..."

"I saw you trying to lose them."

"And happened to be waiting inside the only elevator they couldn't access?"

A faint smile touched his mouth. "I rarely rely on coincidence." He stepped into the corridor while I remained inside the elevator.

"You planned to approach me without anyone knowing."

"I planned to make sure you were safe."

"That sounds exactly like the excuse Uncle Richard uses."

Something tightened in his expression. "I know." The admission disarmed me more effectively than denial would have. "The guard is waiting near the main staircase," he continued. "Take the corridor to your left and use the second stairwell. It will bring you directly to Conference Hall B."

"You expect me to trust you?"

"No." His answer came without hesitation. "I expect you to verify everything I tell you. Begin with Victor."

I stepped into the corridor. Alexander moved aside, but the passage was narrow enough that I still felt his warmth as I passed him. My body responded to his nearness with an ache my mind could neither recognize nor explain.

"Why are you at Auremont?" I asked.

"University business."

"Uncle Richard chose this place because he believed you had no connection to it."

A trace of amusement appeared in Alexander's eyes. "Your uncle believes many things." Before I could press him further, he glanced toward the security camera above the elevator. "If Richard learns I'm here, you'll be returned to the Beauchamp mansion before sunset. For now, it is better that his men believe you haven't seen me." He turned toward another secured door. "Go to orientation, Cornelia."

I frowned, feeling something tickle when I heard my second name. "How did you know which elevator I would take?"

Alexander paused with his hand against the lock. "I didn't."

"Then, why were you inside it?"

He looked over his shoulder, holding my gaze for one long, breathless moment. "Because I knew you would eventually find your way back to me." He disappeared through the door before I could answer.

A few minutes later, I found the man in the blue jacket standing beside the main staircase. "Victor Hale?"

His surprise confirmed Alexander's story before he spoke. "Miss Beauchamp—"

"Did Uncle Richard hire you to follow me?"

"I was instructed to ensure your safety."

Exactly as Alexander had predicted.

When Victor asked whether anyone had spoken to me, I looked him directly in the eyes. "No."

It was the first lie I had told my family since waking in the hospital. I entered the orientation hall and closed the doors behind me, my fingers curling around the cards inside my handbag.

Alexander knew my schedule, my fear of crowded elevators, and the men Uncle Richard had assigned to watch me. He called me Cornelia, which was my second name, and when he caught me, my body had clung to him before I remembered that I was supposed to be afraid.

Uncle Richard had chosen Auremont because he believed Alexander Devereux could not reach me here.

He was wrong.

~

Alexander's POV

From the private security room, I watched Cornelia confront Victor exactly as I had known she would. She had always despised being controlled. Losing ten years of her memories had not changed that part of her.

A notification appeared on my phone.

Richard Beauchamp has been informed that Mrs. Devereux disappeared for eleven minutes.

Eleven minutes.

That was all I had been allowed alone with my wife.

Eleven minutes close enough to feel her fingers close around my coat and her body settle against mine as though it remembered precisely where it belonged.

My hand tightened around the edge of the desk. Three weeks without touching her had tested every limit of my restraint.

The next time I had Cornelia alone, I was no longer certain conversation would satisfy me.