Epilogue

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This is the end of the book but not of the story. If you know what I mean. I was an extremely frustrated person when I started this book. And honestly, I'd plotted the story a little more different in my head. But now that I'm calmer, the ending I'd originally plotted is not how I want to end the book. That would be so wrong in a thousand levels.

I know I'm not making sense right now. Haha. But this is me thanking everyone who'd been a part of my looooong journey of writing HMR. I love you guys!

The Present

Just like that, I was back inside that Bentley. Sitting shotgun next to the man I had foolishly married.

Whether it was at childhood, eighteen months ago and... now. I still could not escape the monster.

How I hated myself for that. How my blood boiled. How much fury could run in the veins of a woman whose eyes had been fleeced over by empty promises and my own naivety.

And in the grandest scheme of things, I had to be pregnant too.

Damn it, why now?

My insides felt frozen at the string of memories, my skin burning at all the sudden feeling assaulting my sense all at once. The contrast in sensations spinning my already cracked open head.

Stupid, stupid Scarlett.

It was a crash. Everything coming back at me like this. The memories. The feelings. The hate, never-ending, spiraling higher and higher, that I'd harbored the whole time I was with him.

In a way, it was unfunny—I couldn't fight back. I couldn't run. And I was back to square one. Always falling into his waiting hands as if my whole existence was one slippery slope where he stood and waited at the bottom of it all.

But in the months that I had been with him, I learned a few things. It was almost automatic response for me now. To hide all emotions so none showed on my face, in my actions. To pleasantly, if not blankly, stare back at my husband so all my thoughts were hidden from. I wasn't letting him know I'd regained my memories. He shouldn't know.

When everything was a weapon against you, you're forced to pick up a few trickeries... hold on to whatever trump card that managed to slip within your reach.

And if this ace is the amnesia, I was willing to use it to the full extent of my meager capabilities. I would. I had to. I wasn't going to hesitate anymore.

Even as I'd gathered everything in my power to smoothen my expression, it took one look at him and my resolve took a step back.

Zachary... Zachary Christopher Harrington.

Those blue eyes seemingly looking me over with worry. I always found I couldn't hold that gaze without wanting to believe it as is. My poorly judging eyes needed something else to look at.

Scarlett, stop being so naïve. There was nothing to believe here.

I had earlier clutched his arm. My eyes fell to that. Why was I such a circus monkey? How was it that he had trained me so well in the last two weeks to run to him for cover when he held the gun?

"Red?" That nickname scraped at my ears. I couldn't raise my chin to meet those eyes lest he saw how livid I actually was.

And it happened, his hand raised as if to touch my hand on his sleeve. It was quick, how I hastily snatched back my hand and drew back before I could help myself. Because I did not want his touch. The most revolting thing in this world.

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