Drawing
Chapter Thirty–Seven
Morning came quietly, without ceremony.
The faint hum of traffic seeped through the glass, mingling with the soft scent of herbs that still lingered in the air. Adrian sat on the edge of the bed for a while, his mind clearer than it had been in months. The fog that had clouded his thoughts had finally lifted and with it, fragments of his life had returned, threading together like long–lost pages of a story he had once known by heart.
He reached for his phone and scrolled through his contacts until his thumb paused on her name.
Isabella Reyes.
He pressed call.
The line clicked. “Young Master?” Her tone was bright, lighter than usual. “You’re calling early today.”
“I remember,” Adrian said quietly.
There was a beat of silence. Then her voice rose, almost breathless, “You–what?”
“I remember everything,” he said again. “The mansion. My mother. The day I left. Everything that happened before I lost my memory.”
On the other end, Isabella didn’t speak for a moment. Then a small, trembling laugh slipped through. “That’s… unbelievable,” she said softly. “You finally did it.”
Adrian leaned back against the headboard, exhaling. “Almost everything,” he corrected. “There’s still one thing
I can’t shake off.”
“What is it?”
“I saw someone,” he said, rubbing his temple slowly. “In the memory – at the moment everything went dark. Someone was there, standing close to me. I couldn’t see his face clearly, but I know he’s the one who sealed my memories. Whoever he is, he knows about magic. About things no ordinary man should understand.”
Isabella’s tone turned serious. “Someone with knowledge of sealing spells?”
“Yes.” His voice dropped. “He wasn’t guessing. He knew what he was doing.”
For a while, all Adrian could hear was the soft sound of her breathing through the line. Then she said, “Should I get an artist for you, so you can describe what you saw?”
Adrian shook his head even though she couldn’t see him. “No need. I can draw him myself. If we meet tonight, I’ll have it ready by then.”
“All right,” she said. There was a pause, then she added in her usual calm tone, “Then I’ll come to see you tonight, Young Master.”
“Fine,” he replied quietly. “Tonight then.”
The call ended, the faint click echoing in the stillness of the room.
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Crowing
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Adrian placed the phone beside the ring on the table. He sat there for a moment, staring at both — the modern piece of glass and metal that connected him to the world, and the ancient symbol of his past glinting faintly in the morning light.
He reached for a clean sheet of paper, his hand steady, the muscles in his forearm tightening slightly as he held the pencil. He closed his eyes, trying to summon the image.
The man’s voice was the first thing he remembered – calm, deep, commanding. Then the shadowed outline of his face, the faint glimmer of light against his temple, and the coldness in his eyes as he spoke.
Adrian began to draw.
His strokes were confident, methodical, each line uncovering more of the memory. The more he sketched, the clearer the face became – not perfect, but familiar enough to make his chest tighten.
Half an hour passed before he finally set the pencil down.
He studied the portrait in silence.
The man on the paper stared back at him–expression unreadable, the eyes dark and sharp. Adrian tilted the page under the sunlight. The image didn’t fade.
He frowned.
He had never seen this man before in his life. Not at the mansion, not at the medical city, not anywhere. Yet the memory of him felt real – too real to dismiss as imagination.
Leaning back in his chair, Adrian rubbed the bridge of his nose and muttered under his breath, “Who are you? And why go this far just to make me forget?”
The room stayed silent, but in the distance, he could hear the faint rhythm of the city waking. He sat there for a long while, lost in thought.
Then, finally, he folded the paper carefully and slipped it into a file on the desk. He’d show it to Isabella later that night and maybe, just maybe, he’d get his answer.
–
Adrian leaned back and glanced at the ring again, the one his mother left him. It caught the light just so, glinting like a quiet promise.
He exhaled slowly, murmuring to himself,
“Let’s see where this leads.”
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
