"Where did you learn to be so smooth-talking? You never used to sweet-talk girls before."
The moment Sophie finished saying it, she suddenly regretted her words, afraid that the sharp-minded Ned might pick up on something.
But clearly, Ned didn't focus on that part of her sentence at all. He simply replied, "I'm just speaking from the heart."
Sophie let out a long, quiet breath of relief in her mind. Then she deliberately said to him, "Then just praise me with words. Don't keep staring at me like that. Staring at someone so intently is really weird!"
She intentionally walked back to her room and shut the door with extra force, blocking his line of sight.
Standing behind the closed door, Sophie could feel her heart pounding rapidly…
If Ned never recovers his memories…
If he never recovers them, could this kind of "happiness" last forever?
Four years ago, the contents of the suicide note her mother left her—she had already thought everything through clearly before leaving London and coming to the United States…
She knew there was a ninety percent chance that she and Ned were not blood-related siblings.
And that probability was extremely high. More than twenty years earlier, Uncle Jonathan had deeply detested Victoria. He had been desperate to divorce her and live with her mother. How could he possibly have been passionately in love with her mother at the same time while still conceiving a child with Victoria?
So she was definitely not Uncle Jonathan's biological daughter. She was the child of Victoria and someone else. Her birth mother had also cheated and betrayed her marriage.
Four years ago, the reason she left Ned and left London was not because of blood ties.
She left for the sake of her biological mother, Victoria—and even more so, for Ned's sake.
She could not reveal the contents of that letter. Doing so would expose Ned's status as an illegitimate son! Because she understood him better than anyone. She had even heard him say with her own ears how heavy the shackles and responsibilities were that came with being Jonathan's son, the sole heir of the Harrington family.
Ned was an ambitious man. Responsibility, to him, was a challenge—and he accepted that challenge because he cared deeply about how the world saw him.
Precisely because of that, if Victoria ever found out that Ned was actually Jonathan's illegitimate child, given the circumstances back then, she would have loudly broadcast it to the outside world. She might even have triggered a battle over inheritance rights, dragging the matter into court and turning it into a sensational scandal involving a billionaire family—something the whole world would know about.
Even if the facts ultimately proved that Ned's bloodline was legitimate and he truly held the right of inheritance, the fact that the once-closest mother and son had turned into bitter enemies over a single suicide note—the unbearable process of it all—would have been a crushing blow to anyone involved.
And at that time four years ago, she no longer had the strength to explain or defend anything. Choosing to leave, to silently bury the truth, had been the best option for everyone.
And now…
Ned had lost his memories. As long as his memories had not yet returned, could she pretend there was no past and no future—could she love him freely, without any burden?
"Isn't it true… that right now, you're still in love with him?" Sophie murmured to herself.
If she didn't love him, she would have left long ago—back when he was still in the hospital.
Why did she bring him home instead? Deep down, Sophie knew the answer all too clearly; it had been obvious from the start.
"Sophie?" He knocked on the door from outside.
Startled by the sound, she jumped. "What is it? I'm ironing clothes right now." She quickly grabbed the iron and started pressing the pile of clothes she'd washed and dried at noon, now spread across the bed.
"Need any help?"
"No, it's fine!" Sophie called out loudly toward the door.
She waited a moment. When she heard no more sounds from outside, she couldn't resist anymore. She walked over, opened the door—and there he was, standing right outside, not having moved an inch.
"I can help," he said, flashing her a smile—open, innocent, and completely harmless.
"It's just a few pieces. I'll sort them out tonight." Sophie brushed past him in a hurry. "I'm just going to grab a glass of water, then I'll come sit with you and watch TV, okay?"
"You like wearing clothes like that? I remember you never used to wear anything like this before." Ned followed her all the way to the kitchen.
Sophie froze. She didn't even notice the water overflowing from the cup and spilling over the rim…
"Sophie?" He looked puzzled as he watched the water spill.
"What did you just say? 'Before'?" Her face went pale. She set the kettle down, turned around, and stared at him in shock.
"Before? I…" Ned looked utterly confused, as if the word had slipped out unintentionally—not like he was regaining any memories.
Sophie glared at him. "You really don't remember what you just said?"
His expression was one of genuine bewilderment…
A moment later, Sophie forced herself to calm down. "Maybe… maybe it was just something from your subconscious." She managed a strained smile toward him.
"But why would I say 'before'? Did we know each other before?" he asked, still bewildered.
"No, we didn't. How could we have?" Sophie denied it sharply, then quickly stepped around him.
"Sophie."
"What?" Her whole body tensed like she'd been shocked.
Ned walked over to her side and said gently, "You forgot your glass." His warm hand closed over her cold one, placing the cup firmly in her palm.
"Th-thank you!" She took the cup and hurried back to her room, slamming the door with a bang.
She had almost let something slip just now… but why had Ned said "before"?
Taking a deep breath, Sophie told herself to stay calm…
The next afternoon, while Ned was napping, Sophie slipped out alone and went to the hospital to find Dr. Kent.
"Is it possible… that he never actually lost his memory at all?"
Her question didn't seem to surprise Dr. Kent in the least.
"Because… the things he says to me feel so strange. It's almost like… like he hasn't lost his memory at all."
Dr. Kent narrowed his eyes slightly, smiling as he asked, "What did he say to you?"
"What? Nothing, really." Sophie turned her head away, avoiding the doctor's piercing, all-seeing gaze. "Anyway, I just have this feeling."
"Sophie, are you absolutely sure you've never met Ned before?" Dr. Kent studied her for a long moment.
"Yes, I'm sure. We've never met." She lied. Because he was Ned's psychiatrist.
Dr. Kent was a good doctor—he would seize even the slightest chance to help his patient recover his memories. If he ever learned about her past with Ned, he would surely find ways to persuade her to bring up old details, to trigger Ned's recollection bit by bit.
But those past events were far too painful. She had buried them deep in a corner of her heart, too afraid to touch them.
Besides, she had a small, selfish wish: she hoped his memories wouldn't come back too quickly.
"Next week, bring Ned in for a hypnosis session. I believe this approach will help clarify some of the confusion in his memories right now," Dr. Kent decided.
"Next week? Does he need hypnotherapy?" Sophie asked, looking at him with some confusion.
"Yes. And if possible, I think you should do a session together with him," Dr. Kent said, his words carrying an unspoken implication.
Sophie was a little surprised. "I hope Ned can recover his memories as soon as possible."
At the same moment, the police rang the doorbell at home, waking Ned from his nap.
"Hello, sir. We found this briefcase at the accident scene—it must be yours. We forgot to hand it over earlier." The officer passed him a small black briefcase.
"Thank you!" Ned took it. It was clearly a travel briefcase, the kind used for business trips.
He carried it back to his room and easily opened the combination lock on the outside. Yes, it really was his—he hadn't forgotten the code. Strangely, his memory had chosen to preserve this one small piece.
Inside the briefcase were only a few changes of clothes, a suit, a stack of U.S. dollars, an American Express black card, a passport, ticket stubs, and a single sheet of letter paper folded into a neat square.
The American Express card indeed bore his name in English lettering. The passport had his photo, and the ticket stubs carried his name. This was definitely his briefcase.
Then Ned picked up the folded letter paper. In a briefcase that contained only the bare essentials for travel, the presence of this single sheet felt oddly out of place—almost suspicious.
He slowly unfolded it. As the paper opened, he began to realize that this was a very important letter.
Since this letter had traveled across oceans with him all the way to America, whatever was written inside must be far from ordinary…