Chapter 431: I’m Your Most Important Person

That was absurd.

Even though my mind felt like it was wrapped in fog, my impression of Julian was still strong. We had grown up together. He had saved my life once. There was no way he would ever betray me.

“Why would I need a psychiatrist?” I asked.

Sergio’s gaze softened. “Elena, a lot has happened. Let me explain everything.”

I sat on the porch swing, the salt air brushing my skin, and quietly listened as he walked me through the past decade.

My bond with Julian had shattered the moment my fake sister, Wisteria, stepped into our lives. The pain she left behind drove me into a darkness so deep I barely recognized myself. That was when Sergio found me — steady, patient, pulling me back toward the light through years of quiet support. Then came Julian, abandoning me on what should have been the most sacred night of our lives, the night I was supposed to become his mate. And then I died. But fate wasn’t finished with me. I came back, crossed paths with Sergio again, and somewhere in that second chance, we built something real — a family, a future, children growing inside me right now.

But then a threat emerged. Something dangerous enough that he’d brought me here, to this island, to keep me safe until the birth.

“So I can’t leave?” I asked quietly.

“Things have been chaotic, Elena. Someone sent you a severed head. Someone drugged you.” His jaw tightened. “The outside world isn’t safe right now. Staying here protects you and the babies.”

He pulled out his phone and held up a photo. I turned away before my eyes could fully register it, but something about it nagged at me — familiar in a way that made my stomach turn.

“For the children’s sake, just stay and recover.”

He reached up and stroked my cheek, his eyes heavy with something that looked a lot like devotion. “I can’t lose you again, Elena.”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. But I want a phone.”

He exhaled slowly. “The entire island runs on a signal-blocking system. It’s the only way to make sure no one can track your location. I’m sorry.”

Something about his words sat uneasy in my chest, though I couldn’t find a reason to call him a liar. When he mentioned Wisteria, a wave of disgust moved through me before I’d even fully processed her name — instinct, raw and immediate. When he described Julian leaving me at the altar and the night of my death, broken images surfaced: snow, a blood-streaked wedding dress, fireworks bursting against a dark sky.

But something was still missing.

There was a hollow place in me, like a word sitting right on the edge of my tongue that I couldn’t quite reach.

“What is it?” Sergio was watching me, his expression careful.

“I feel like there’s someone I should remember,” I said. “But I can’t get to them.”

He reached toward me, and my body stepped back on its own before I could think about it. “Sorry. I don’t even remember you.”

“That’s alright.” He pulled his hand back, composed but a little stiff. “From now on, I’ll be the most important person in your life.”

A breeze moved between us. He suggested we go inside, and I followed, watching the line of his shoulders.

Something felt off. A quiet, stubborn part of me kept insisting that the person I called my husband should carry himself differently — broader, more grounded, like someone built to anchor a pack. I shook the thought away. Why would I even think that?

“How did I lose my memory?” I asked.

He stopped and turned. “Someone who envied what we had drugged you. Wiped everything about us from your mind.” His eyes were full of a fear he wasn’t trying to hide. “I finally found you, Elena. I’m not letting you go again.”

Inside, I noticed the studio walls. Paintings everywhere, each one signed with a single letter — S.

“You made these during the three years we had together,” he said. “Do they feel familiar?”

I stood in front of them, studying each one. They did feel like mine — I could almost feel the sorrow baked into the brushstrokes, the specific shade of grief I must have been carrying when I made them.

“I don’t remember exactly,” I murmured. “But they feel like my work.”

“You were in the dark,” he said softly. “I stayed beside you and helped you find your way through, step by step.”

“Thank you.”

Even as I said it, the distance between us remained. He was familiar the way a photograph is familiar — I could recognize the shape of him without feeling anything close to his. He wasn’t someone I could simply trust. Not yet. Right now, he felt like a stranger wearing a husband’s face.

By nightfall, I was leaning against the window, restless and quiet.

“Is something wrong? Did you not like dinner?”

He’d clearly put real thought into every dish, tailoring each one to things he remembered about me. His love for me was written in every detail. And still, beneath all of it, unease moved through me like a current I couldn’t locate the source of.

I didn’t want to be here. Every instinct I had was pulling me toward the door.

“Do I have to stay until the babies are born?”

“You once told me you dreamed of this,” he said gently, bringing out a painting. “An island, away from the noise — just you and the person you loved, living simply.” He’d built this place around that dream, piece by piece. Standing in the middle of it, I felt the weight of his effort and the smallness of my own gratitude.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“You don’t have to apologize. Your memories are scattered right now. That’s not your fault.” He offered a small smile. “In a few days, you’ll have a 4D scan. Don’t you want to see them?”

Five and a half months. I’d be able to see their faces on the screen soon.

“But there’s no equipment here. No doctor.”

“I’ve arranged everything. The equipment’s already here. A doctor will be on standby for the entire pregnancy and the delivery.” He rested a hand gently on my head. “Sleep, Elena. Your only job right now is to take care of yourself and the babies. Leave the rest to me.”

I climbed into bed and pulled the blanket up. Before I closed my eyes, I glanced at him. “What about you?”

A small tension moved through me as I waited for his answer.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take the floor. I won’t rush you.”

“The room next door is big enough. You don’t have to sleep in here.”

“A pregnant woman shouldn’t be alone this far along,” he said, firm but gentle. “If something happened in the night and you fell, you’d need someone right there. We’re mates, Elena. Can’t you trust me that much?”

I let out a quiet breath. “Alright.”

He pulled the blanket snug around me and rested his hand briefly on my forehead. “A few more months, and you’ll finally meet them. Don’t worry about anything else. Just rest.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

Sleep came quickly, and in the dream that followed, a man stood in a white shirt. His face was blurred, like something seen through rain, but his eyes were sharp and full of a grief I could feel in my own chest.

He was calling my name.

“Elena… where are you?”

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