"What do you mean my son has amnesia? YOU said his reports came fine!" A man in black clothing with an elegant beard, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, demanded answers. "I-I'm sorry, sir," stammered the doctor, clearly distressed by the situation.
"Mr. Ashford," a voice called out from a distance. It was a beautifully dressed woman in a doctor's uniform. "Hello, doctor. Any news?" the man in black asked with palpable concern, though he seemed incredibly fatigued.
"Yes, he can be discharged anytime," the lady replied with an elegant tone.
"Alright," the man said, pulling out his phone and dialing a number. He excused himself from the others and moved closer to a window. "Hello, sir," someone on the other end of the call greeted him.
"Hey, give me a report," the man requested. The voice on the phone continued, "Yes, he hasn't confessed anything; he refuses to."
"Bastard, so what now?" the man said with a mix of annoyance and disappointment in his voice.
"We're trying our best here to get information out of him, but until he confesses, we can't hold him accountable for what happened to young sir," the voice explained.
The man sighed deeply and replied, "Keep me updated if anything comes up."
"Yes, sir," came the response before the call ended. Alone by the window, he whispered to himself, tears streaming down his face, "Kiddo, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”
"Nothing much happened after the doctor left, but the woman remained by my side, asking me questions every now and then.
“Do you remember your 15th birthday?” she'd ask.
“No,” I responded as I shook my head.
“We celebrated on the private island me and your father gifted you.”
Again, I said “No” and shook my head.
“You said it was the best birthday party you ever had.”
Again, I did not remember, as this never happened. If she didn’t have that expression on her face, I would assume she was making fun of my pathetic life, but those emotions were all too real, genuine love for her son whom she was mistaking for me.
The pattern continued for several hours until exhaustion finally caught up with her, and she fell asleep in the chair beside me. I felt a twinge of guilt for all this, but I couldn’t help it. I simply didn’t know her, and as far as I could tell, these people had the wrong person. With that thought lingering, I drifted off to sleep as well, eager to escape the web of confusion that had enveloped my life.
“Wake up, sir,” “Sir,” “Sir?” I felt a persistent sensation of someone pushing my body, attempting to rouse me from my sleep. Confused and disoriented, I mumbled, “What the fuck..?” My vision cleared, and I slowly woke up from my restless slumber.
As my vision sharpened, I saw a beautiful woman standing before me. She looked familiar, the same one who had brought me food earlier, but now she was wearing a different uniform, one that hinted at a secretarial role. Her voice, soft and melodious, broke the silence.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said with a gentle and apologetic tone. Her concern for my well-being was evident in her expression and words. I blinked, trying to gather my thoughts. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I replied, realizing I had been somewhat curt earlier.
“It’s fine,” she simply replied.
As I tried to stand back up, pain coursed through my entire body, and I fell back down. “OWWW,” I screamed in pain.
Shit, I forgot how painful it was. This wound... It's still there.
A part of me wished that it was all just a bad dream, but this was much too real.
“Please be careful, sir,” she seemed genuinely worried about my discomfort, but why? Who was she? And why was she so concerned?
I allowed the woman to help me sit back up, grateful for her assistance. “Thank you,” I said to her, to which she replied, “You’re welcome, Sir.” She continued to address me as “Sir.” Though it struck me as unusual, it didn’t bother me.
The woman who had been assisting me with such care and courtesy suddenly mentioned a car that would be arriving soon. I furrowed my brow in confusion. What car was she talking about? I couldn't recall ever owning or using a car in my past.
“Ok,” I replied. Moments later, the door to the room swung open, and a nurse entered, pushing a wheelchair in. The nurse, too, addressed me as “Sir,” and I couldn't help but feel a growing sense of unease at this formality.
The woman who had been by my side earlier walked up to the nurse, and they engaged in a hushed conversation. Their voices were too low for me to overhear. My curiosity grew, and I couldn’t help but think that they were plotting something.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"Let's go, Sir," she said.
Go? Where?
“Where?” I said, to which she replied, “Home.”
Home? Last I remembered, I lived in a one-bedroom apartment in some corner of an alley, and the rent is overdue too, so what is she talking about?
I simply nod, and then she walks up to me and lifts me. As the woman lifted me up, my initial shock and pain led to an outburst of discomfort. I cried out, "AAHH...PUT ME DOWNN!" It was a reflexive response to the sudden movement, and I hadn't expected her to be so strong.
This woman, who seemed so soft and gentle mere moments ago, just lifted me like I was a human-sized teddy bear. I've got to weigh at least 80 kilos, so for her to lift me with such ease meant she was really strong.
She apologized immediately, her voice filled with sincerity. "I'm sorry, sir," she said, clearly concerned that she had caused me pain.
I quickly tried to regain my composure and alleviate any awkwardness. "It's fine," I replied. Honestly, I overreacted quite a bit. Now she probably thinks I'm some kind of bitch or something. After all, she had been nothing but gentle and caring since I woke up in this strange situation.
As she placed me in the wheelchair, the pain from the wound still gnawed at me. At least I was leaving this place. It had been nice here, but that machine... It kept me up for most of the nights, going “beep, beep” every time I fell asleep. I really hoped I never had to come here again.
After she settled me into the wheelchair, she began to push me out of the room, and we made our way down a long hallway. I could feel the gazes of nurses and others, their curious eyes fixed on me. I mean, I knew I wasn't a supermodel, And was rather ugly but not too ugly that I’d garner this much attention. I tried to shrug it off and engage in some small talk to fill the silence.
"So, what's your name?" I asked her, making an effort to be more sociable.
She responded with a simple, "Freya," though her expression seemed to carry a hint of sadness.
Feeling a bit self-conscious, I decide to keep the conversation going. "Nice hospital, huh?"
What the fuck? My virgin ass who’s never talked to women was revealing itself. I sink into internal depression as soon as those words left my mouth, wishing that the floor would open up and swallow me whole.
But to my surprise, she laughs and says, “It really is.” She was being nice, and it caught me off guard. After that, it was just quiet as we continued to make our way outside.
I spotted a McLaren, black and white in colour, which left me utterly speechless. "Wow," I murmured as I admired the car. I couldn't help but wish I owned something like that. Next to the luxurious McLaren was a very common, rather ugly-looking car, but even that seemed like a fantasy to me given my circumstances.
As we approached the cars, I noticed a man getting into the common-looking car. I immediately informed Freya, "He's stealing our car!" I exclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of the people around us. Freya gave me a crazy look as I glanced up at her. She calmly corrected me, "It's not our car, sir."
Its not? Had I missed the car that was supposed to be ours?
Freya continued leading me towards the McLaren, and she stopped in front of it. I muttered a confused "Huh?" as I watched her unlock the car door.
“Wha—t?” Is she stealing this car right now? I didn’t she was the type to-
Then, it hit me like a lightning bolt – this car belonged to her. She must be quite wealthy, I thought. She lifted me up again, and I overreacted with another loud cry of "AAHHH," thoroughly embarrassing myself. She gently placed me inside the car, and after that, she effortlessly folded the wheelchair as though it were made of paper, stashing it in the trunk of the McLaren. Finally, she got into the car herself, and we were ready to depart.
The inside of the car was something else, a level of luxury I had never experienced before. It was all so new to me, and my brain struggled to process the fact that I was sitting in this upscale vehicle. It felt like I was suddenly thrust into a world of opulence.
The drive was long and awkward, and I found myself gazing out the window, captivated by the beautiful weather. As we continued down the road, I noticed an enormous house, more like a castle, in the distance. I couldn't help but ask Freya about it, my voice tinged with curiosity and a faint smile on my face, "Hey, Freya, whose castle is that?"
Her response left me dumbfounded. "It's yours," she replied matter-of-factly.
Huh?
Did I mishear that?
Did she say it was mine?
Oh, she must be joking I thought. So I let out a small, awkward laugh, fully aware of my social ineptitude. She didn't join in the laughter, only smiled. She probably thought I was strange, but I didn't particularly care. After all, I assumed I wouldn't be seeing her again once I left this place.
For the longest time, I despised rich people. In this world where the rich ruled and the poor were ruled over, the wealthy seemed selfish and cruel. I was thrust into this world much earlier than anyone else, experiencing firsthand the unfairness and cruelty. I grew accustomed to the harsh reality, but it was almost too harsh. Had I not adapted, it would've consumed me entirely.
For people like them, it didn’t matter what happened to others, only themselves. But occasionally, they felt weak and powerless—things out of their control, out of anyone’s control. So, when the rich couldn’t buy it, they lost hope and succumbed to despair.
Out there, no one would bat an eye at what was happening to someone as weak as me. But for some reason, I was being taken care of. Could it be ulterior motives? It felt selfless, but why?
As we approached the "castle," a guard dressed in a proper military uniform, a symbol of his skill and discipline, approached the car window. He greeted me with a polite, "Good afternoon, sir." Again with the "sir"? I responded in kind, saying, "Good afternoon to you too," with a neutral expression. Freya handed him something, and he nodded, allowing us to proceed. She continued to drive forward, and the mysterious journey continued.
Freya continued to drive through this vast and opulent estate, revealing more of its grandeur with every passing moment. I couldn't help but marvel at the multiple swimming pools, basketball and football courts, volleyball courts, and various other sports facilities in the distance. It was a stark reminder of just how different my life was from this world of luxury.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I asked Freya once again, this time with a hint of seriousness, "Hey, Freya, seriously, who lives here?" Her response left me utterly perplexed. "You," she replied matter-of-factly. Me? The idea was beyond my comprehension, and I decided to keep my thoughts to myself. First, those people at the hospital, and now her? Just who did they all think I am?
"Eventually, she parked the car and got out, moving to retrieve the wheelchair from earlier. I had a feeling she was going to lift me again, but this time, I decided to resist. "Ha," I exclaimed, attempting to stand up on my own. However, my body wasn't ready, and I stumbled, falling face-first toward the ground. Fortunately, Freya reacted quickly and caught me before I could hit the ground. "It's still too soon," she scolded me, her face showing a mix of emotions—sadness, worry, and fear. I apologized sincerely, feeling guilty for not listening to her earlier. "I am really sorry," I said. Freya sighed deeply and pleaded with me, "Please, sir, it's still too soon for you to be moving like that. Please be careful." I nodded in understanding, my frustration replaced by gratitude for her concern.
Then she proceeds to lift me up. This time I do not scream. Nope, not a single word escaped from my lips; I didn't embarrass myself. And then she put me down."
"OWWW," I exclaimed as I sat on something.
it was the phone from before. The panic surged through me as I realized I had sat on the expensive phone, which cost more than me. My heart raced as I imagined the consequences of breaking such a valuable device. I considered running away as far as I could, but quickly dismissed the idea, knowing it wasn't an option in my current condition. My next instinct was to beg for mercy.
"PLEASEEE!" I pleaded desperately, my voice filled with genuine fear. "I DIDN'T MEAN TO SIT ON IT! PLEASE DON'T SELL MY ORGANS TO THE BLACK MARKET!" I blurted out in a rush, my eyes wide with terror. I felt like I was on the verge of a heart attack.
It didn't break, but my heart still pounded at the mere thought of damaging it. My mind raced with possible consequences. My first instinct was to run as far as I could, but then I realized that wasn't an option in my current condition. My second instinct was to beg for mercy."
To my surprise, I heard laughter, a soft, feminine giggle. Confused and anxious, I turned to the source of the sound—Freya. She was laughing, and I couldn't comprehend why. As I looked at her, she finally managed to speak through her laughter.
"It's fine, sir. Don't worry about it," she assured me between giggles.
Relief washed over me, and I let out a shaky breath. It seemed like I had avoided a disaster, and Freya's laughter was a testament to her understanding nature. She apologized for laughing, and I managed a weak smile, grateful that my mishap hadn't caused any real harm."