Jax finally let go of my face. He pushed my head away with a harsh movement. My neck snapped back.

He turned from me. His eyes found the wall covered in my Post-it notes. His face twisted in a sneer.

He kicked the wall. The sound was loud. A few notes fluttered to the floor.

"What is this garbage?" he growled. "Your life's instructional manual? Don't tell me you need notes to breathe, too."

He started to rip them down. One by one. He read them aloud, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

" 'Remember to eat breakfast.' 'Take medication at 8 AM.' 'Colton calls on Tuesday.' "

He tore another one. " 'This is your home.' "

He laughed, a cruel, harsh sound. "You need a reminder of where you live, Joleen? What a genius. Or is this all part of the act? To get sympathy?"

My Post-it notes. They were my anchors. My lifeboat in a sea of forgotten moments. They were my proof that I was still here.

I tried to get up from the chair. My legs felt like jelly. I slid to the floor.

"Please," I croaked. "Don't. Don't tear them."

I crawled on my hands and knees. Trying to gather the scattered pieces of paper. They were my memories. My instructions. My life.

Jax watched me. A cold, detached look in his eyes.

He put his foot down. Right on top of a small yellow note. My hand reached for it, but his shoe was too heavy.

He bent down. Slowly. He picked up the note from under his foot.

It was an old one. Faded ink.

" 'Happy birthday, Jax,' " he read aloud. His voice was flat. " 'You are my sun.' "

He paused. Just for a second. His fingers tightened around the small paper.

"Still keeping this?," he scoffed. "What, planning to use it for your next victim? Remind them of my past stupidity?"

Then, with a deliberate motion, he tore the note into tiny pieces. He held them up. The paper confetti drifted down. Landing on my hair. My shoulders.

My hand still outstretched. Trying to catch the fragments. But they slipped through my fingers.

Harlow stepped forward. She gently took Jax's arm.

"Jax, darling," she cooed. Her voice was soft. "Don't get yourself worked up over her. She's pathetic. Like a stray dog."

She turned to the cameras that had suddenly appeared. I hadn't even noticed them. They were everywhere.

"This is exactly what I mean," Harlow said to the camera. Her voice was full of fake sympathy. "She's so lost. So broken. It's truly heartbreaking."

She looked back at Jax. "We came here to help, remember? To show everyone your generous spirit. Your forgiveness."

"A reality show," she whispered to him. But it was loud enough for me to hear. "We'll call it 'Rust Belt Redemption.' A story of a compassionate billionaire returning home to save a lost soul. It's gold, Jax. Pure gold."

Jax looked at Harlow. A flicker of something in his eyes. Then he nodded. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face.

He looked at me. Still on the floor, surrounded by torn paper.

"Get up, you brain-damaged trash," he snarled. He kicked a stray note near my head. "You're going to be a star. Everyone will see what a mess you are. And they'll see how I, Jax Mosley, am going to save you."

He turned and walked out, Harlow clinging to his arm. The cameras followed them.

I lay there for a long time. The empty wall stared back at me. Silence. But my head. My head was screaming.

The next morning, I woke up with a dull ache in my head. A Post-it on my wrist said: "Eat oatmeal. Take pills."

I shuffled to the kitchen. My home felt empty. The walls were bare.

Suddenly, the front door burst open. It slammed against the wall. The sound made me jump.

Jax walked in. Behind him, a crew of people. Lights. Cameras. Microphones.

Harlow was there too. Her arm linked through Jax's. She smiled at the cameras. A wide, dazzling smile.

A man with a headset stepped forward. He held a clipboard.

"Joleen Spencer?" he asked, his voice booming. "I'm Mark, the director of 'Rust Belt Redemption.' And this is your chance to turn your life around!"

He gestured to Jax and Harlow. "These two amazing philanthropists, Jax Mosley and Harlow Bridges, have returned to their hometown. They want to give back. To help the less fortunate."

He leaned in conspiratorially, but his voice was still loud. "We heard about your struggles, Joleen. Your... condition. We want to document your journey. To inspire others. To raise awareness. And, of course, to get you the help you desperately need."

I huddled in my chair, trying to make myself small. Mark's words swirled around me. I couldn't make sense of them. Why would Jax want to help me? He was the one who ripped my notes. He was the one who called me trash.

My eyes drifted to the empty wall. My mind felt blank, just like the plaster. No notes. No instructions. Just a vast, empty space.

Jax stepped forward. The cameras zoomed in. Their lenses were like hungry eyes.

"Joleen," he said. His voice was harsh. "Seven years. And you still can't take care of yourself? What have you done with your life?"

I looked at him. I remembered his face. The one tearing up my life. The one with the cruel smile. But his name… it was still a blur.

Jax' s face darkened. He hated being forgotten.

Harlow immediately stepped in front of him. Her hand on his chest. A concerned look on her face for the cameras.

"Jax, darling, don't be mad. She can't help it. Her memory is... fragile." She patted his arm. "Don't take it to heart."

Then, she turned to the cameras. Her face softened into a performance of pity.

"We heard about Joleen's situation," Harlow explained to the lens. "I mean, we really thought she was doing well. Seven years ago, we were told she left for... a better life."

She paused, shaking her head sadly. "We never imagined she'd end up like this. So alone. So vulnerable."

"Jax has always felt a deep regret," she continued, her voice full of emotion. "He blamed himself. Thought he wasn't good enough for her. That's why she 'left' him, you see."

"When we came back, the first thing he wanted to do was find her. To make amends. To give her a second chance." Harlow choked back a fake sob. "We just want to fix what was broken."

A few people from the crew murmured words of approval. "So selfless," someone whispered. "What a beautiful story."

My head pounded. Their voices. Their faces. It was too much. I just wanted them to stop.

I stood up. I needed to get away. Back to my room. Back to silence.

Jax's hand shot out. He grabbed my wrist. His grip was like iron.

"Where do you think you're going?" he snarled. His eyes were cold. "You're the star of the show now, Joleen. You don't get to leave."

"You weren't this quiet before," he mocked. "Seven years ago, you had plenty to say. Plenty of fight."

He shoved me back into the chair. Hard. The old wood groaned.

"Start filming!" he snapped at Mark.

Mark nodded eagerly. Cameras swiveled. Lenses focused on me.

"Can we get a tour of the premises?" Mark asked. "Show the viewers her living conditions? Really highlight her struggle?"

Jax waved a dismissive hand. "Go ahead. Film whatever you want. She has nothing to hide. Nothing left, anyway."

The crew swarmed my small house. They filmed my threadbare couch. My faded curtains. My chipped teacups.

They filmed my clothes, hanging on a line to dry. Pale and worn.

They filmed the half-eaten can of soup on my table.

They filmed my bed. The quilt patched in a dozen places.

Then, the neighbors started crowding in. Drawn by the commotion. Drawn by the cameras.

Mrs. Henderson, from next door, pushed her way to the front. She pointed a finger at me.

"Look at her now!" she screeched, her voice shrill. "Used to be such a pretty thing. Thought she was too good for this town. Too good for Jax."

"Ran off with some rich old man, they said. Two-timing little hussy. Thought she hit the jackpot."

"Serves her right, I say! The way she dumped Jax, practically at the altar. Left him heartbroken. Now look at her. What goes around, comes around."

"That rich man probably used her up and tossed her out," another neighbor chimed in. "Now she's got nothing. Brain's gone. Stares into space all day. If her parents hadn't left her this house, she'd be begging on the streets."

I couldn't understand all their words. They were just a jumble of angry sounds. But I felt their eyes. Staring. Judging. Like I was a broken exhibit in a museum.

Harlow floated over. She put a hand on my shoulder. Her touch felt icy.

"Please, everyone," she said, her voice dripping with fake concern. "Let's not dwell on the past. It's so sad to see Joleen like this."

She glanced at a cameraman, a subtle wink.

I flinched. Her touch felt wrong. I pushed her hand away. I stood up. I just wanted to hide. To disappear.

"Please," I whispered. My voice was hoarse. "Stop. Go away."

Jax was there in an instant. His hand clamped around my arm. "Don't you dare," he growled. "Don't you dare ruin this."

"You love money, right?" he sneered. "Well, this show will bring in plenty of donations. Enough for you to live comfortably. For the rest of your pathetic life."

He squeezed my arm. "Or are you trying to play coy again? Trying to make me feel guilty? Cry and scream like you used to? Like seven years ago?"

A few muffled laughs from the crew. The sound felt like sandpaper on my skin.

My head pulsed. The noise, the lights, the angry faces. It was all swirling around me. My brain felt like it was going to explode.

"Get out!" I screamed. My voice was raw. Louder than I thought it could be. "All of you! Get out of my house!"

My vision went black. The floor rushed up to meet me.

I woke up to the smell of antiseptic. A hospital bed beneath me. A needle in my hand. Clear liquid dripping into my veins.

A doctor stood by the bed. His brow was furrowed. He looked worried.

"Joleen Spencer?" he asked softly.

I nodded. My throat felt dry.

"We couldn't reach your emergency contact," he said. "Your brother, Colton. Do you know where he is?"

Colton. My brother. The Post-it notes mentioned him. But where was he?

"I don't know," I whispered.

The doctor sighed. He looked at me with sad eyes.

"You collapsed from severe malnutrition and extreme emotional stress," he explained gently. "You need to stay here for observation. We've contacted the police to help find your brother."

Just then, the door creaked open. Footsteps.

Jax and Harlow walked in. They carried a fruit basket. And a bouquet of flowers. Smiling. Concerned.

Behind them, a cameraman. His lens pointed directly at me.

"Joleen, darling, you're awake!" Harlow exclaimed, rushing to my bedside. Her voice was too bright. "How are you feeling, sweetie? The doctor said you'll be fine, just need some rest and good food."

She placed the fruit basket on the nightstand. It felt heavy. Too heavy.

Jax stood by the door. Just watching. His eyes were unreadable.

I looked at them. Then at the camera. I pulled the blanket higher, trying to hide.

The doctor turned to Jax and Harlow. His eyebrows were practically touching his hairline.

"Who are you people?" he demanded. His voice was firm. "This patient needs rest. You need to leave. Now."

Harlow chuckled. A light, airy sound. "Oh, we're Joleen's friends. And this is our film crew. We're just here to check on her. And to inform the public about her situation, so people can help."

The doctor opened his mouth to argue. But Jax cut him off.

"We won't be long," Jax said. His voice was low, laced with an unspoken threat. "Just a few shots. Then we'll be gone."

The doctor looked at Jax. Then at the cameras. He sighed again. He turned and walked out, his shoulders slumped.

Harlow sat on the edge of my bed. She took my hand. Her touch was still cold.

"Don't worry, Joleen," she cooed. "We'll take care of you. It's just so sad you're all alone. No one to look after you."

She squeezed my hand. "Once the show airs, your brother will see. He'll rush back. He'll want to protect you. Just like Jax is protecting you now."

I tried to pull my hand away. Her fingers were like ice around mine.

Jax saw my movement. He let out a cold laugh.

"What now, Joleen?" he sneered. "Too good to even be touched? Look at yourself. What dignity do you have left?"

He stepped closer to the bed. "You will cooperate. You will finish this show. Or I promise you, I have a hundred ways to make you disappear."

My body started to tremble. I didn't know what to do. I just wanted them to leave.

Suddenly, the door to the hospital room burst open. It slammed against the wall with a crash.

A man stood there. Tall and broad-shouldered. His eyes swept across the room. They landed on me.

His voice was like a storm. Cold. Furious. "Who the hell touched my sister?"