In the Guest House, the air was thick with tension. Victoria–still clinging to the identity of “Elena”–sat at the grand piano Marcus had requested to keep her calm.
She played a chord. Then another. Without thinking, her fingers drifted into a complex, melancholic melody–the same one William used to hum when he couldn’t sleep.
Across the lawn, in the Main House, William froze. The windows were open. The sound drifted through the damp night air, an “Echo” of the life they had lost.
He moved to the window, his hand pressing against the glass. In the Guest House, Victoria stopped playing. She looked up, her eyes locking onto the distant figure in the main window. She didn’t know who he was, but she felt a terrifying, magnetic pull in her chest that scared her more than the amnesia. They were separated by lawns and lawyers, but the “Divided Heart” was beating in sync.