I can't stop watching the video.
Again and again, the flickering projection paints the room with lies. The woman in white lace — me, allegedly — glows under strings of fairy lights, holding Julian's hand with tears in her eyes. Her voice is muted, but her lips move like she's reciting vows.
I promise to love you, to honor you…
But those words never passed my lips.
My fingers grip the remote. My pulse thunders. I don't remember the garden, the dress, or the way Julian kisses her forehead like she's precious. Like she's his.
"Is this supposed to convince me?" I whisper.
Julian stands quietly beside me, arms folded. "It's you. You just don't remember."
"No," I say. "It's not."
He sighs like a man burdened with patience. "Memory loss can distort perception. We talked about this. You've been under extreme stress."
I rise from the velvet couch, blood pounding in my ears. "Julian… I don't feel married. I don't feel like I know you."
He doesn't move. "But you are. You do. It's just buried."
A beat of silence. Then he walks over slowly and brushes a piece of hair behind my ear.
"I don't blame you for forgetting," he murmurs. "But I'll remind you… every day, if I have to."
His voice is soft. Gentle. But underneath it, I feel something steel-like — an unspoken warning.
You are mine.