"What?! W-wife?! I… a woman?!"
Beatrice's mind whirled as she grappled with this new reality. Her memories felt disjointed, like pieces of a puzzle that didn't quite fit together.
The mention of being someone's wife, a woman named Beatrice, seemed completely alien to her.
"Take it easy, Mrs. Hawk," the doctor advised calmly, checking the IV line to ensure the sedative flowed properly, aiming to ease her into relaxation.
"It's natural to feel confused after what you've been through. You've had a severe accident, and your memories might be a bit scattered because of the trauma."
"But this doesn't make sense… I can't be… How is this possible?" she stammered.
As he spoke, her eyelids grew heavy, the pain and exhaustion overwhelming her.
The doctor, maintaining his composed demeanor, continued, "Memory loss can be a side effect of severe head injuries. What you're experiencing is called dissociative amnesia; it's where a person temporarily loses touch with personal information and identity due to psychological stress."
"I don't understand… I don't remember any of this… is he the same Atlas?"
She let herself sink back into the pillows, her mind still swirling with unanswered questions. But for now, she was alive. And that was a mystery she would unravel in time.
"Let's keep her comfortable and monitor her closely," the doctor instructed the nurse quietly as Beatrice drifted off.
"When Mr. Hawk arrives, we'll need to assess how she responds to him. It could be crucial for her recovery."
As the door clicked shut, the room filled with a soft, eerie silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and Beatrice's shallow breathing.
As she drifted back into a restless sleep, fragments of memories and dreams mingled in her mind.
The bullet, the crash, the pain—it was all a blur.
But one thing was certain: she had been given a second chance, and she would have to uncover the truth of what had really happened.
*
BANG!!!
Gunfire echoed throughout the abandoned warehouse, where Atlas and his men were locked in a fierce shootout with a rival mafia gang.
Smoke and dust filled the air, bullets whizzed past, shattering the night's silence.
Atlas, with sharp eyes and calculated movements, fired back from behind cover.
Amidst the hail of bullets, his phone rang loudly.
With a swift motion, he pulled the phone from his jacket pocket, checked the screen, and saw his family doctor's name displayed prominently.
With an expression of indifference, he pressed the answer button while still keeping an eye on the enemy from his cover.
"Mr. Hawk, I have good news," the doctor's voice sounded cheerful on the other end. "Your wife, Mrs. Beatrice Hawk, has woken up. It's truly a miracle, she's emerged from her coma after two weeks."
Atlas tilted his head, half-listening while his eyes remained focused on movements across the room.
"Hmm," he responded, his voice flat and uninterested.
He continued to aim his weapon, firing off several shots without looking away from the phone.
"Mr. Hawk, are you listening? Your wife survived. It's truly a miracle!" the doctor pressed, emphasizing the importance of the news.
Atlas, indifferent to Beatrice's condition, considered how useless she had been to his plans.
"Yes, thank you, Doctor," he said in a forced tone before quickly ending the call.
He tossed the phone back into his jacket pocket with a rough gesture and redirected his attention to the ongoing battle, ordering his men to cover him as he moved to a more strategic position.
BANG!!!!
A sudden explosion rocked one side of the warehouse, sending dust and debris flying.
Atlas, with agility and precision, led his men towards victory, though his mind momentarily drifted to the news about his wife.
Yet, his feelings remained cold.
For Atlas, the street war and his dominance in the criminal underworld were his main priorities.
Beatrice, even though she had just escaped death, was nothing more than a burden he had once hoped to shed.
*
In the secluded confines of her private office, Victoria, Beatrice Hawk's younger sister, sat at her mahogany desk, reviewing documents that were critical to her latest, and most ambitious, business venture.
Her phone rang, disrupting the silence. Victoria glanced at the screen, her brow furrowing when she saw it was one of her informants.
"What is it?" she snapped as soon as she answered, her voice laced with impatience.
"Victoria, it's about your sister, Beatrice. She's… she's woken up from her coma," the voice on the other end said hesitantly, knowing the news would not be welcome.
Victoria's grip tightened around the phone, her knuckles whitening. "What did you say?" she hissed, disbelief and anger mixing in equal measure.
"Beatrice has regained consciousness. The doctors are quite optimistic about her recovery," the informant repeated, his voice cautious.
With a roar of frustration, Victoria stood up and swept her arm across the desk, sending papers flying and a crystal paperweight crashing to the floor.
"No! It was supposed to be mine! All of it!" she screamed into the empty room.
Her plan had been so close to fruition; with Beatrice in a coma, Victoria had been steadily gaining control of the family assets and influence.
Beatrice's recovery could unravel everything!
Pacing back and forth, her mind raced with the implications of this setback. Each step echoed in the room like a ticking clock, underscoring the urgency of the situation.
She stopped and took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. "Listen to me very carefully," she spoke into the phone, her voice now cold and calculating.
"Keep a close watch on her. I want updates on her condition every hour. Do you understand?"
"Yes, ma'am," the informant replied, his voice subdued.
"And get me information on who she's been in contact with. Anyone from the hospital staff to visitors. I need to know if she remembers… anything that could be a threat," Victoria added, her mind already turning over new strategies to secure her position.
She ended the call abruptly, tossing the phone onto the sofa. As she gazed out the window at the sprawling city below, her reflection stared back at her — a mirror image of ambition and turmoil.
Victoria knew this was not the end.
It was merely another obstacle to overcome. Beatrice's awakening was a complication, but not a defeat.
She returned to her desk, straightening the papers and smoothing out the creases, her resolve hardening. "I need to be prepared," she muttered to herself. "Beatrice won't go down without a fight, and neither will I."