The Billionaire in Disguise

The Name I Gave You

დ Elara დ

I stood in the kitchen, as I desperately tried not to cry. I picked at the edge of my sweater while Rowan grilled eggs like the stove had offended him. The sizzling was loud. So was the silence.

“I walked in on him,” I finally said as I broke the silence. Rowan didn’t move. “With her. Scarlett, his secretary,” the spatula froze mid-flip.

“Matthew?” he asked, his voice tight. I nodded as I swallowed around the lump in my throat.

“In our bed. Like it was nothing…like I meant nothing to him,” I said. Rowan muttered something under his breath that I was pretty sure involved the word kill. “I left. I went to the Fig. Got drunk…and you know the rest,” Rowan slammed the pan onto a cold burner and turned to face me.

“So that guy on the couch—”

“I tripped over him,” I interrupted him. “Literally. He was bleeding. David bolted, so I brought him here,”

“You brought a bleeding stranger home?” he asked. He already knew the answer. I crossed my arms across my chest, and I welcomed the anger.

“What was I supposed to do, leave him there? Let the raccoons finish him off?” I questioned, and he ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.

“You have got a dangerous kind of heart, Elara,”

“Thanks,” I muttered. “I think,”

“Let's…look, let’s eat and then we can sort all of this out,” he said, and I slowly nodded. I watched as he finished off breakfast. Fried eggs, crispy bacon, and some toast. The three of us sat around the table, and I nursed the cup of coffee Rowan had poured for me. The stranger didn’t look as if he had much of an appetite either. Not that I could blame him. As soon as we were done, Rowan got to his feet. “Let’s go,” we headed outside to Rowan’s truck. Still, no one spoke. What was there to say anyway? Rowan drove, his jaw set like concrete. I rode in the middle, while the mystery guy half-slumped against the window on my right. I expected him to drive me to the bar, but he missed the turn.

“Uh…Rowan? You missed the turn,”

“We are going to the hospital first,” he said, and I shook my head.

“What? No—”

“You dragged a bleeding man into our house, Elara,” he snapped. “He is getting checked out. I let you have your weird Florence Nightingale moment. Now he is seeing a doctor,” no one said a word after that. The hospital was small, just off Main. Barely two floors. The kind of place where the nurses knew your name and your cousin’s dog's birthday. I hated it already. Rowan parked out front, helped our guest inside, and handed him off to a nurse who looked more tired than curious. After they took him back, Rowan turned to me. “Let’s get your car. I’ll follow you to the apartment,” I nodded. Truth be told, I was already dreading it. The bar lot was half full. The sunlight glinted off dusty windshields. And there was my car. Right where I had left it. The poor thing was alone and had probably wondered if I was ever coming back. I grabbed the keys from a disgruntled David before I slid into the driver’s seat and sighed. Everything still smelled like last night. I drove slowly. Rowan kept close behind. The apartment building looked exactly the same. Quiet and unassuming. Like it hadn’t housed a betrayal. The front door creaked when I pushed it open. The living room was clean. Too clean. He wasn’t here. Relief rushed in so fast I almost cried.

“That’s a relief,” I murmured. Rowan hovered by the door like stepping inside would infect him. I went to the bedroom and started grabbing things: clothes, my laptop, my phone and charger, the necklace my mom left me, and the framed photo of Aria and me from high school. Everything else could burn. I was back at the front door in under five minutes. Rowan raised a brow.

“You good?”

“Let’s get out of here,” I said. By the time we returned to the hospital, the sun was higher, casting long streaks of light across the floor tiles. A nurse led us to a small private room where our mystery guest sat upright, IV gone, bruises cleaned. He looked less like roadkill and more like a man who had been hit by a train and walked it off. The doctor stood nearby, flipping through a chart.

“He has suffered a moderate concussion and some soft tissue trauma,” the doctor said. “The amnesia is likely from the head injury. It could be temporary. It could last longer,”

“Will he be ok?” I asked.

“With rest. No strenuous activity. Monitor for signs of worsening, confusion, vomiting, dizziness,” he answered, and I nodded as I looked at him. Still no name, and mystery guy wasn’t easy on the tongue.

“I would like to keep him overnight,” the doctor continued.

“No,” mystery guy hurriedly said. His voice was firm, the clearest it had sounded yet.

“You’re not stable enough—”

“I’m not staying,” he said again. Then he turned to me. “Please. I just need a place to rest. For a day. Maybe two. I won’t be trouble,” the way he looked at me, it was like something raw. Something desperate, but not weak. Rowan looked like he was about to lose it.

“You have got to be kidding—”

“I’ll take responsibility,” I cut in. “He will stay with us,” Rowan stared at me.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” I confirmed. The doctor frowned but signed the discharge anyway. We walked out minutes later. Rowan muttered something about having vineyard meetings and disappeared in his truck with an angry slam of the door. I turned to the mystery guy. “Are you good to ride with me?” I asked him. He nodded once.

“Yes, thank you,” he said. We walked toward my car in silence. He opened the passenger door and eased in slowly, every movement laced with pain he wouldn’t admit to. I slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Halfway down the road, I glanced at him.

“You need a name,” I stated, and he gave me a side look.

“I thought I had one,”

“Well, you don’t remember it, and you don’t really give off a ‘Steve’ vibe…and I’m tired of referring to you as ‘mystery guy’ in my head,” he didn’t smile, but something flickered in his eyes. “Hmm, I think you look like a Cole,” I said after a few minutes.

“Cole,” he repeated, as if he was trying out the name.

“Yeah, it suits you,” I said, and he turned away and looked out the window.

“Cole, it is then,” and just like that, the man with no past had just been named. By me. And with that came the facts. He was now my problem. My responsibility. Cole.

დ დ დ