Chapter 188 Amnesia
The revelation hit them like a bolt from the blue. Matthew, their longtime colleague and friend, stood before them with no flicker of recognition in his eyes. Dorian and Quentin exchanged bewildered glances, silently questioning if this could truly be the case of amnesia they had heard about but never witnessed firsthand. The situation was a textbook scenario, yet the reality of it being part of their lives seemed implausible. As they were ushered into the grand interior of the ship, the intricate web of mystery continued to enshroud their minds, begging for a solution they desperately needed.
Quentin and Dorian trailed behind the woman as they stepped into the cabin. Quentin's mind buzzed with concern about Matthew's well-being. The woman, however, seemed to have little interest in leading them to Matthew. Instead, she busied herself with settling them into two different rooms within the cabin.
No sooner had Dorian crossed the threshold of his assigned room than he dialed Victor's number. He rattled off the name of the cruise ship to Victor and urged him to monitor the vessel closely, hinting that their ultimate port of call would likely be Lunaria. He made sure to stress that both he and Quentin were on board and dropped the critical piece of information, "Matthew is on the cruise ship."
Taking stock of the journey ahead, Dorian summarized that reaching the dock would likely require some additional time.
The news hit Victor like a bolt of lightning—Matthew was still alive! Without a moment’s delay, he mobilized his crew to comb through everyone's details aboard the cruise ship and dispatched a contingent of agents to converge on the dock.
The investigation swiftly uncovered intriguing intelligence regarding the cruise ship. Despite originating from a relatively minor nation, it was found to possess significant reserves of oil and diamonds, hinting at an underlying current of substantial wealth.
Victor had made a discovery, and he promptly sent his findings to Dorian. As Dorian scanned the information on his phone, a theory began to take shape in his mind— the woman they had recently encountered must have been a high-profile figure from a rich country.
Putting his phone away, Dorian made his way to the room next door, where Quentin was staying. He knocked but received no response, which sent a wave of concern through him. The fear gripped him that something terrible might have happened to Quentin. Driven by urgency, Dorian pressed down the handle and swung the door open. Inside, he found Quentin sitting on the bed, immobile, with a distant gaze fixed on the ocean beyond the window. A sigh of relief escaped Dorian as he closed the gap between them.
"You holding up, okay?" Dorian inquired gently, knowing full well the inner turmoil Quentin was likely experiencing.
Learning that the partner you thought was yours alone was actually caught in a web of relationships with others and failing to recognize you would shake anyone to the core.
Quentin turned to face Dorian, his eyes heavy with unspoken thoughts, and shook his head slightly. "I'm fine," he murmured, though his voice betrayed the struggle within.
She was definitely upset, but what she truly felt thankful for was that she knew Matthew was alive. Even in her heartbreak, her sense of gratitude and fortune was stronger than her sorrow.
"I've been in touch with Victor," Dorian told Quentin. "He'll have a team ready at the docks. When the cruise ship pulls in, they'll make sure we can get Matthew back."
Quentin simply nodded, her mind swirling with worry. What if Matthew didn't want to return with them? She couldn't bear to think about the look in his eyes that day – it had been so distant, like an arrow through her heart.
Seeing her anxious expression, Dorian felt compelled to comfort her. "Don't overthink things," he suggested. "Why not just ask him what's going on? Don't worry, I'll make sure you two can have a private conversation."
Quentin gazed at Dorian in utter astonishment. Amid the bustling crowds on the cruise ship, not even knowing the number of Matthew's cabin – how on earth would he manage to deliver Matthew to her, particularly now that Matthew appeared not to recognize them?
Dorian exuded a reassuring sense of certainty. "Just stay calm. I have everything under control. You'll be reunited with Matthew today," he promised before leaving Quentin's quarters.
As she watched him depart, Quentin fought the urge to call after him, to suggest they wait until they reached port to avoid complications. Yet the overwhelming fact that Matthew was still alive trumped her cautious instincts. By the time she considered voicing her concerns, Dorian had disappeared into the sea of passengers.
Seated on her bed, Quentin's mind drifted. She yearned for a private conversation with Matthew. The look of distress on his face earlier still haunted her; what was his state now? She was desperate for answers from him directly—had he truly lost his memories? And who was the mysterious woman by his side?
Quentin was taken aback by Dorian's swift actions. In what felt like no more than thirty minutes, he had returned and was urgently knocking on her door, insisting that she accompany him immediately to see Matthew.
Feeling caught up in the whirlwind of sudden activity, Quentin was led to a room on the upper deck of the cruise ship. Turning to Dorian with a puzzled expression, she asked, "What's happening?"
She couldn't help but wonder if Matthew had intentionally feigned ignorance of their acquaintance earlier, and now felt it was safe to reveal himself. However, another troubling thought crossed her mind—if Matthew truly was alright, wouldn't he have sought her out himself?
As they reached the door to Matthew's room, Quentin paused, feeling her pulse quicken. What if the room contained someone unexpected, like the woman with the blonde hair and striking blue eyes she had seen before? Quentin braced herself mentally for whatever the situation might be.
Dorian, growing impatient with her moment of delay, knocked and nudged Quentin gently forward. "I'll stand guard out here. You need to go in and see what's going on," he urged her.
Quentin, caught off guard by Dorian's unexpected shove, stumbled through the door. Anticipating the door to open outward, she pushed forward only to collide with what felt like a solid barricade of muscle and bone.
"Ouch!" she yelped, her hands instinctively flying to her forehead where a sharp sting of pain had erupted.
As her eyes adjusted, the figure before her came into sharp focus. It was the man Quentin had been yearning to see. But Matthew's eyes were not warm as he looked at her. His brow furrowed, his voice icy, he said, "Is it you?"
Quentin could hardly believe it. He was right there in front of her—Matthew, the one she had missed so much. Her emotions overpowered her, and tears sprang to her eyes before she had the chance to say anything. Matthew saw the tears and felt an aching tightness in his chest. He had the urge to comfort her, to touch her, but he held back, asking again, with a coldness he felt compelled to maintain, "What do you want from me?"
"I..." Quentin's voice broke, rough with emotion. She was speechless, overwhelmed by the moment, uncertain of how to bridge the gap time and hurt had built between them.
Matt's look was puzzled but not scornful. He seemed to be giving Quentin time to make her case. Steeling herself, she finally blurted out, "Matthew, don't you recognize me?"
"I go by Matt," he clarified, signaling that Quentin might have mistaken him for someone else.
Quentin's smile was tinged with pain as she persisted, "Matt might be a name you left behind. I'm Quentin, your wife, Quentin. We're husband and wife, with the cutest twin four-year-old boys. I can show you their picture if you don't believe me."
Without hesitation, Quentin retrieved her phone and displayed a family snapshot taken during their outing to the zoo. Each was cradling one of the twins. Even Matt, who was known for his stern demeanor, was seen with a trace of a smile. The joy radiating from the family was unmistakable.
As Matt examined the photo, his forehead creased in a frown, and a burgeoning headache began to take hold. Jumbled flashes sprang to mind—echoes of a woman's laughter mingled with the merry chuckles of children.
He doubled over in pain, and Quentin, concerned, quickly pocketed her phone and knelt beside him. "Matthew, what's wrong? Are you okay?"
Matthew was drenched in a cold sweat until the pain ebbed away. Shaking his head, he finally confessed, "I don't remember..."
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