The Stranger You Married (eBook)

Vejai Etwaroo (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
204 Seiten
Publishdrive (Verlag)
9780001065512 (ISBN)

Infos

Emily Wells has everything a woman could want: a beautiful home, financial security, and a husband who seems too good to be true. The problem? She can't remember choosing any of it.

After waking up from what David claims was a car accident, Emily struggles with gaps in her memory that feel less like trauma and more like theft. Her reflection looks wrong, her handwriting has changed, and her own sister has mysteriously disappeared from her life. When she discovers a diary hidden in the basement-written by a previous wife who died under suspicious circumstances-Emily realizes her perfect marriage is actually a sophisticated trap.

But the truth is even more sinister than she imagined. David isn't just controlling-he's artificial. Emily isn't recovering from an accident-she's Subject 7 in Project Phoenix, a clandestine program that erases women's identities and implants them with false memories, creating ideal candidates for relationships with synthetic partners.

Her real name is Rebecca Martinez, and she's been legally dead for two years while researchers studied how artificial personalities integrate with human consciousness. David is a Generation Two synthetic human, designed to be the perfect husband while monitoring and manipulating his subject's psychological development.

Now Emily-who chooses to call herself Eva-must escape not just an abusive relationship, but an entire network of facilities conducting illegal human experimentation. With the help of other survivors and a journalist determined to expose the truth, Eva wages war against a conspiracy that threatens to reshape human society itself.

As she fights to reclaim her stolen identity, Eva discovers that the program extends far beyond her own experience. Dozens of women are trapped in synthetic relationships, entire communities are being populated with artificial humans, and the technology that created David is evolving toward even more disturbing applications.

The Stranger You Married is a chilling exploration of identity, autonomy, and resistance in an age where technology can literally rewrite human consciousness. It poses the fundamental question: if everything you remember about yourself is a lie, what truly defines who you are?

Textauszug

Chapter 1: The Wrong Bed

The sheets were the wrong color.

Emily's eyes snapped open to unfamiliar cream-colored Egyptian cotton where there should have been her favorite navy-blue flannel. The morning light filtered through heavy burgundy curtains she'd never seen before, casting shadows across a bedroom that belonged in someone else's life.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as she sat up, the silk nightgown she was wearing sliding against skin that felt too sensitive, too aware. She never wore silk. The fabric made her itch. Yet here she was, dressed in expensive lingerie in a room that smelled of vanilla candles and a cologne she didn't recognize.

"David?" The name left her lips before she could stop it, surprising her with its familiarity. She knew that name. David was... her husband? The thought felt wrong, like trying to force a puzzle piece into the wrong space.

Footsteps echoed from somewhere downstairs—measured, deliberate steps that made her stomach clench with inexplicable dread. She swung her legs over the edge of the massive king-size bed, her bare feet sinking into plush carpet that cost more than her monthly salary. Or what she remembered as her monthly salary. The memories felt slippery, like trying to hold water in cupped hands.

"Emily? You're awake." The voice drifted up from the hallway, warm and concerned, tinged with what might have been relief. "I was getting worried."

She padded to the bedroom door on unsteady legs, her reflection catching in a full-length mirror that dominated the opposite wall. The woman staring back at her was familiar yet foreign—the same auburn hair, the same green eyes, but everything else seemed wrong. Her skin looked healthier, glowing with an expensive radiance she'd never possessed. Her body was leaner, more toned, as if months of personal training had sculpted away the soft edges she remembered.

When had she gotten so thin?

"Emily?" The voice called again, closer now. Footsteps on the stairs.

She opened the bedroom door and stepped into a hallway lined with abstract paintings that probably cost more than a car. The house stretched around her like a museum—all clean lines, muted colors, and that peculiar stillness that money could buy. Nothing about it felt like home.

A man appeared at the top of the stairs, and Emily's breath caught. He was handsome in that catalog-perfect way—sandy brown hair with just enough silver at the temples to suggest distinguished maturity, blue eyes that crinkled with practiced concern, a smile that belonged on a politician or a pharmaceutical commercial.

"There you are," he said, relief flooding his features. "You had me scared. Dr. Martinez said the memory issues might be worse in the mornings, but you've been sleeping for fourteen hours."

Memory issues? Emily's hand flew to her head, fingers searching for some sign of injury. Her skull felt intact, but there was a tenderness behind her left ear, like the ghost of a bruise.

"I don't..." She started to speak, then stopped. The words felt thick and strange in her mouth. "I don't remember you."

David's face fell, but there was something underneath the disappointment that made her skin crawl. A flicker of satisfaction, quickly suppressed. "The accident," he said gently, moving closer with the careful steps of someone approaching a skittish animal. "You don't remember the accident?"

"What accident?"

"You fell down the stairs three weeks ago. Hit your head pretty badly." His hand reached toward her face, and she found herself stepping back instinctively. "The doctor said there might be some retrograde amnesia. That you might not remember recent events."

Three weeks. The number hung in the air like a threat. Three weeks of her life, gone. But it wasn't just three weeks, was it? Standing in this unfamiliar house, wearing clothes that weren't hers, married to a man she couldn't remember marrying—it felt like years of her life had been stolen.

"I need to see a mirror," she said suddenly.

"You just looked in the mirror upstairs—"

"A different mirror. In better light."

David's smile tightened almost imperceptibly. "Of course. The bathroom downstairs has excellent lighting."

He led her down a staircase that belonged in a magazine spread, all gleaming hardwood and wrought-iron railings. The house revealed itself in glimpses as they descended—soaring ceilings, expensive art, windows that looked out onto manicured gardens she'd never seen before.

The downstairs bathroom was a testament to luxury—marble countertops, gold fixtures, and lighting that made everyone look like they were posing for a portrait. Emily gripped the edge of the sink and stared at her reflection, searching for some sign of the woman she remembered being.

The face was hers, but perfected. Her nose looked straighter, her lips fuller. The faint scar on her chin from falling off her bike at age seven was gone. Her teeth were a uniform white that suggested expensive dental work.

"I look different," she whispered.

"The swelling from the accident changed your facial structure temporarily," David explained, his voice carefully neutral. "The doctor said it would settle back to normal soon."

But Emily was looking at her hands now, turning them over in the harsh bathroom light. Her palms were soft, unmarked by the calluses she'd earned from years of gardening. The small burn scar on her right hand from touching a hot stove at age twelve had vanished completely.

"Where are my scars?" The question came out strangled.

David's reflection appeared behind hers in the mirror. "Scars?"

"I had a scar on my chin. From when I was little. And on my hand." She held up her right palm, smooth and perfect. "They're gone."

"Honey, you're confused. You never had those scars." His voice was patient, the tone someone might use with a child or someone having a breakdown. "The head injury is making you remember things that never happened. Dr. Martinez warned us this might occur."

Emily spun around to face him, her back pressed against the marble counter. "That's not possible. I remember getting these scars. I remember—"

"What do you remember about us?" David interrupted gently. "About our marriage?"

The question hit her like a physical blow. She searched her mind, desperate for some memory of falling in love with this man, of choosing to spend her life with him. But there was nothing. No first kiss, no proposal, no wedding day. Just a vast blank space where their entire relationship should have been.

"I don't remember you at all," she admitted, the words barely above a whisper.

Something flickered in David's eyes—triumph, maybe, or relief. But his face arranged itself into an expression of gentle sadness. "The doctors said this might happen. The memories will come back gradually. We just have to be patient."

"How long were we married?"

"Two years. We met at a conference in Chicago—you were presenting on sustainable urban planning, and I was there for the medical symposium. You were so passionate about your work, so brilliant." The words rolled off his tongue with practiced ease, like a story he'd told many times. "We fell in love over bad conference coffee and late-night conversations about changing the world."

Emily's head spun. Sustainable urban planning? She worked in a bookstore. Had worked in a bookstore. The memory felt solid, real—the smell of old paper, the weight of books in her hands, the satisfaction of recommending the perfect novel to a customer.

"I work in a bookstore," she said.

David's smile never wavered, but his eyes went cold for just a moment. "No, sweetheart. You're an urban planner. You have your master's degree from Northwestern. We have your diploma hanging in the study."

"That's not right." Emily's voice was getting stronger, more certain. "I work at Chapters & Verse on Maple Street. I've worked there for three years. Mrs. Henderson is the owner—she has a cat named Fitzgerald who sleeps on the philosophy section."

"Emily." David's voice was firmer now, with an edge that made her stomach clench. "You're having false memories. It's a documented side effect of your type of head injury. You need to trust me. Trust the doctors. I'm your husband, and I love you. I would never lie to you."

But even as he spoke, Emily's eyes were drawn to something behind him. There, tucked between the towels in a small cabinet, was a flash of navy blue. Her heart began to race as she moved toward it, pushing past David's restraining hand.

It was a small notebook, bound in navy leather and worn from use. Her notebook. She knew it the moment her fingers touched it, the way you know your own heartbeat.

"What's that?" David asked, his voice sharp.

Emily opened the notebook, her hands trembling. The first page was blank, but on the second page, written in her own handwriting, were four words that made her blood freeze:

Don't trust your husband.

The notebook fell from her nerveless fingers, hitting the marble floor with a sound like a gunshot. David lunged forward, snatching it up before she could react.

"Where did this come from?" His voice was different now—harder, more demanding.

"It's mine. I wrote it." The words came out stronger than she felt. "That's my handwriting."

"This is exactly what Dr. Martinez warned us about. You're creating false narratives to fill in the gaps in your memory. Making up threats that don't exist." But David was leafing through the notebook as he spoke, his face growing paler with each page.

Emily caught glimpses of her handwriting, fragments of words and phrases that...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 25.9.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror
• ISBN-13: 9780001065512 / 9780001065512