Weston’s calm words hit her like a cold wave. Guinevere realized then that if she refused to undergo the check-up, they wouldn’t get married.
Her whole body trembled, but she forced herself to sit back down.
She couldn’t even look Dr. Quirk in the eye.
Dr. Quirk, ever the professional, adjusted his glasses without any change in his expression.
Guinevere, with her undeniable beauty—sensual, elegant, and captivating—was a star in the entertainment industry. Yet, Dr. Quirk remained focused, his demeanor impassive in the face of such allure.
“Do you know which part of your memory you’ve lost, Ms. Cohen?” he asked calmly.
Guinevere shook her head vigorously. “I didn’t lose any memories. I really didn’t,” she insisted. Despite the dazed look in her eyes, she reaffirmed her statement.
They had come here for a psychological test, but this wasn’t what she had expected.
Dr. Quirk’s voice remained steady as he pressed on, “Do you truly have no recollection, Ms. Cohen? Your medical report indicates you experienced amnesia a year ago.”
She covered her ears, shaking her head. “I don’t remember. I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I never forgot anything…”
She tried to recall. A year ago.
A year ago was when she and Weston officially got together.
She had known Weston for years, and he had never been in a relationship. She was the only woman close to him, and everyone assumed they were a couple. But they weren’t.
It wasn’t until the day after they accidentally slept together that they officially got together. How could she forget that?
She wouldn’t.
Frantically shaking her head, she repeated, “What report? I’ve never seen a psychologist before. Why would you have my report?”
Her voice was trembling now, as she mumbled to herself. Dr. Quirk frowned and glanced at Weston.
“Mr. Ford, her situation is more complicated than I imagined.”
Weston, looking unsurprised, remained silent for a moment before asking, “Is there a possibility of recovery?”
“It’s difficult, given her current circumstances,” Dr. Quirk replied.
After a pause, he added, “Part of the treatment involves addressing the patient’s privacy, which isn’t documented. If I’m to help her, I need to understand the source of her trauma.”
Guinevere listened to their conversation, understanding every word, yet feeling completely lost.
“I’ve never suffered any trauma!” she suddenly stood up, her frustration boiling over. Unable to stay still, she grabbed her bag, ready to walk out.
“Gwen.” Weston’s voice stopped her in her tracks as he grabbed her wrist, his grip firm.
“Sit down.”
Guinevere jerked her arm away violently. “I understand you don’t want to marry me. You blame me for Stella’s death, but it has nothing to do with me! It’s all the kidnappers’ fault!”
Tears began to stream down her face. “Do you regret saving me? Stella would still be alive if you hadn’t rescued me.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Weston’s voice was cold, his expression emotionless.
“Sit down and continue the treatment,” he said firmly.
“I told you, I’m not sick!” Guinevere shouted. The pressure of the situation was too much, and she was on the verge of breaking down.
Suddenly, the door swung open.
“Weston, come out here!” an unexpected guest called out, their face grim.
Skip to content