The next two weeks passed in a blur of work. I took on the full Shattered series campaign and threw myself into it, working around the clock, trying to numb everything else out.

Then Hazel tossed an invitation onto my desk.

Hazel Wright had been my best friend since childhood. After Iris disappeared, she was the one who stayed by my side through everything.

"Go clear your head," she said, looking at me with concern. "It's a charity gala. Lots of collectors will be there. It could be good for your designs."

I rubbed my throbbing temples. "Not interested."

"I heard one of Iris' paintings is being auctioned off tonight," Hazel said casually, dangling the bait. "It's called Years in the Mountains. The starting bid is half a million."

I froze.

"Half a million?" I let out a bitter laugh. "Her paintings used to sell for five grand on a good day, when anyone bothered to buy them at all."

"That was before. Now she's the genius painter who came back from the dead with a tragic mountain love story to boot. Of course, her work's worth more."

I stared at the invitation for a long moment before finally deciding to go.

The night of the gala, I walked in with Hazel on my arm.

Across the room, Iris and Jack were surrounded by a crowd of admirers. Iris wore a perfectly tailored evening gown, while Jack clung to her side, looking nervous and out of place.

I stopped in my tracks. The white suit Jack was wearing was the one I'd had custom-made three years ago for our wedding.

Because it was bespoke, my initials were embroidered on the cuff. Right now, those initials sat against Jack's wrist, half-hidden and warped beneath his watch strap.

She actually gave him that suit.

My gaze snapped to Violet. She looked away guiltily. She was the one who'd taken it from my place, claiming she didn't want me torturing myself over it.

When Iris noticed me and Hazel, her eyes lingered on our linked arms for a few seconds. Something flickered in her expression.

"Who's that?" she asked Violet.

Violet glanced at me, then mumbled awkwardly, "That's Hazel Wright. The Wright family's daughter. She and Graham grew up together."

Iris pressed her lips together and said nothing. Then Jack spotted me. His face lit up, and he pulled Iris over.

"Mr. Stevens!" His voice rang out cheerfully, loud enough to draw attention from everyone nearby.

"You're here too! Violet mentioned this was an old suit you didn't want anymore, so Iris let me wear it. She said I look good in it, don't you think?"

I looked at Iris. She avoided my gaze and instinctively tried to pull Jack back, but he slipped out of her grip.

Jack stepped closer and leaned in, lowering his voice so only I could hear. "Nice fabric, Graham. Too bad it's yours, though. It feels unlucky, you know? Still, Iris insisted I wear it. She said it looked perfect on me."

His face was all sweetness and light, but the words dripping from his mouth were pure poison. The innocent act had dropped completely.

Jack blinked and stepped back, his expression shifting back to wide-eyed sincerity as he raised his voice again. "Mr. Stevens, I think I understand what happened between you and Iris now, after what I saw at the gallery. But you were both so young back then. It's easy to confuse gratitude with love.

"Iris loves me now. So please, Mr. Stevens, let us be happy together."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd around us.

"What kind of messy love triangle is this?"

"I mean, she didn't marry him. Trying to break them up now would be pretty tacky."

Iris' face darkened. She grabbed Jack's arm. "Jack, stop."

"Why should I stop?" Jack pouted, looking wounded.

"Iris, are you worried about hurting his feelings? But if you don't love someone anymore, you have to make it clear."

He turned his gaze back to me, eyes glinting with something sharp.

"Mr. Stevens, did you know Iris has this adorable little habit? Whenever we get into an elevator or we're walking somewhere at night, she taps the back of my hand three times. She says it's her secret code for saying she loves me.

"Did she ever do that for you, Mr. Stevens? Or is that just ours?"

Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice.

During our junior year of college, Iris and I were trapped in a broken elevator for five straight hours.

I have severe claustrophobia. In that darkness, I could barely breathe. Iris held my hand tight and tapped three times against my palm, over and over again.

She told me, "Graham, whenever you're scared, I'll tap three times. It means I'm here. You're safe."

From that day on, it became our secret signal for help.

But Iris lost her memory. How could someone with amnesia remember that?

My mind reeled. Then the auction began.

Iris' painting, Years in the Mountains, was brought out as the final lot. The canvas showed a quiet wooden cabin. In front of it sat a young man chopping firewood, sunlight spilling over him. It looked peaceful and idyllic.

It was her three years with Jack.

"Ms. Ford," a collector in the front row called out, curiosity in his voice, "the light in this painting is remarkably tender. What was your emotional state when you created it?"

Iris held the microphone, her gaze soft as it landed on Jack. "When I first woke up, I didn't remember anything. The world felt like a blank slate.

"Jack gave me a second chance at life. When I saw him chopping wood in the yard with the sunlight falling across his shoulders, I thought... This is the kind of peace I want to protect for the rest of my life.

"This painting is of my love. And my salvation."

The room erupted in applause.

Jack's eyes welled up with tears. In front of everyone, he threw himself into Iris' arms.

"Iris, I love you too. We're going to be together forever."

The two of them embraced under the spotlight. I stood in the shadows, my heart shattering into a thousand pieces.

Salvation? Love? Then what was I?

"Graham, don't look." Hazel reached up and covered my eyes with her warm hand. "Let's go."

I took a deep breath and started to turn away. Suddenly, every light in the ballroom went out. The crowd erupted into chaos.

I froze. My claustrophobia kicked in like a reflex, my throat tightening until I couldn't breathe.

For a moment, I was back in that broken elevator during junior year. Back then, someone had gripped my hand tight.

"Graham, don't be scared. As long as I'm here, nothing will happen to you.

"If you're afraid, I'll tap three times."

Her taps didn't just reach my palm, but also my heart.

The next second, a warm hand cut through the panicking crowd and grabbed my wrist. I knew those calluses, earned from years of holding a paintbrush. Her fingertips found my trembling palm and tapped three times.

"Graham, don't be scared. I'm here."

The present and the past collided. In the darkness, I heard Iris' ragged breathing close by.

This wasn't some stranger who'd lost her memory. This was my Iris, the woman who once valued my life more than her own.

"Iris? Iris, where are you? I'm scared!"

Jack's panicked sobbing echoed from somewhere nearby. Iris' body went rigid.

A low hum sounded as the backup power kicked in. Harsh white light flooded the ballroom all at once.

When my eyes adjusted, I froze. Every pair of eyes in the room was locked on our joined hands.

Iris seemed to snap awake. She jerked her hand away like she'd been burned and stumbled backward.

I stared at my empty palm. I could still feel the warmth she'd left behind.

It burned. It ached. It made me want to laugh.

I lifted my head and looked at the disheveled woman standing in front of me. Tears streamed down my face.

"Iris, you never lost your memory at all, did you?"