After the Yandere's Amnesia

After the car crash, Sterling Foster lost his memory. He reverted back to the time when he doted on me the most.
He was possessive, jealous, and practically threw himself at me. Every glance was a plea for affection.
Everyone warned me.
Don't get too comfortable. You have three months of this, max.
"The doctor said his memory will come back once the blood clot clears."
Three months later, Sterling's memory did return. Everyone smirked, waiting for me to be cast aside again.
But instead, Sterling took a deep breath, his expression a mixture of terror and hope, and dropped to one knee.
"Will you be my wife?" he asked, his voice trembling with reverence.

1
In the VIP hospital room, a chorus of voices was carefully trying to reason with Sterling Foster.
"Sterling, it's true. You sent Cora away four years ago. She's not your little shadow anymore. She's at a university overseas. She's not coming back."
"Come on, man, stop messing around. Your condition is cured now. You can sleep through a rainstorm without holding her. You don't need to summon the queen bee back."
"Besides, she's at a top-tier university now. She's got her own life. She's not going to drop everything to come back and be your little babysitter. Can we please face reality here?"
But no matter what they said, the man sitting on the hospital bed wasn't listening. His gaze grew colder by the second, a silent threat that one more word would have dire consequences. They tiptoed around him as if he were a volatile emperor, trying to decipher his royal decree.
And his decree was simple: "Call her. Tell her to get back here. Now."
They braced themselves and told him the truth.
"We tried. No answer."
"She won't come back."
"She's blocked all of our numbers."
Sterling's face darkened, and the air in the room grew thick with tension. From the moment he'd seized control of his family's empire at sixteen, he had inspired fear. In the years since Cora had left, that fear had only intensified. He'd become more ruthless, his moods more unpredictable. He was a king in his own dark kingdom.
He tossed his phone onto the bed. "Use mine. She wouldn't dare ignore my call."
His friends could only think, Dude, where are you getting this confidence?
Still, his right-hand man, William Croft, picked up the phone and dialed, putting it on speaker for Sterling to hear.
"Beep... beep... The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please try again later."
William didn't dare look at Sterling. "Boss," he explained cautiously, "that usually means... you've been blocked."
A palpable darkness seemed to emanate from Sterling, but his voice remained controlled, his signature confidence unshaken. "I still have her on social media."
The silent consensus in the room was, This guy just won't quit.
William, once again, did as he was told, placing a video call. It didn't connect. A four-word message popped up on the screen: [Unable to connect.]
William swallowed hard. "Boss... that usually means... you've been blocked on there, too."
The darkness in Sterling’s eyes finally cracked, revealing a flicker of stunned disbelief. His hand, elegant and long-fingered, slowly clenched into a fist, veins popping as his entire body began to tremble with rage. It was clear he was fighting a losing battle against a tidal wave of fury.
Just then, a loud clap of thunder shook the building.
BOOM. CRACKLE.
The sky opened up, and rain began to pour.
It was as if a beast had been awakened inside him. His eyes turned a feral, bloodshot red. A suffocating pressure descended on the room, and his gaze swept over his friends as if they were prey he was about to tear apart.
They all flinched, ready to bolt.
"Oh, crap. He's relapsing."
"I thought he was cured! Why is he going crazy again?"
"Get to Cora! Find her! Beg her, bribe her, do whatever it takes to get her back here!"

2
While Sterling’s most powerful lieutenants were flying across the globe, I had just successfully defended my thesis. These were men who were used to being revered, men who never bowed to anyone. And now, they were all kneeling in front of my apartment.
"Please, Cora, we're begging you. Just come back with us."
"Sterling was in a car accident. He has amnesia. His memory is stuck before he turned sixteen. He still thinks you're his... favorite person."
"And his old condition is back. He can't sleep when it rains unless he's holding you."
"We all grew up together. For old times' sake, can you just do us this one favor?"
I pressed my lips together, a dizzying mix of old hurt and new surprise swirling inside me. From the age of five until I was sixteen, I had been Sterling Foster’s personal teddy bear.
He was handsome, brilliant, and wealthy beyond measure, but he was also deeply troubled. When it rained, the only thing that could keep his demons at bay was holding me. Everyone assumed I would one day be Mrs. Foster.
Then one day, out of the blue, he told me, "You don't need to come here anymore."
Just like that, I was banished from his world. I can only imagine how many people laughed at me, at my foolish, shattered dreams. Who would have thought that four years later, the tables would turn so dramatically?
It all started when I was five.
The media reported a suspected case of abuse at my preschool. When the police investigated, they discovered the horrific bruises covering my body weren't from school. They were from my nanny.
One day, the door to my house burst open. A dozen bodyguards stood respectfully behind a small, brooding boy. He strode in, scooped me up with a possessive air, and carried me away to his home.
He was seven, I was five. We were complete strangers.
Later, the housekeeper at his family's estate told me what had happened. The young master had been watching television when a news report about my case came on. The sight of my bruised body had sent him into a silent rage. He'd stood up, summoned his bodyguards, and left without a word.
"The young master was also abused by a nanny," the housekeeper explained. "By the time anyone found out, the damage was done. He had developed severe psychological issues. He would go for weeks without speaking, just sitting alone in the living room, reading. No one could get close to him. It wasn't until he brought you here that he started to speak again, even if it was just a word or two to answer you."
Even then, he barely spoke to me. If he could answer in one word, he would. Any request for further explanation was met with a look that screamed, "You foolish mortal."
He was a child prodigy, with a genius-level IQ and a photographic memory that made the rest of us feel like simpletons. And yes, there was a "rest of us." Sterling was the crown prince of a corporate dynasty. Every other wealthy family was desperate to have their children befriend him, hoping that a childhood connection would pay dividends in the future.
Their gamble paid off. To keep up with Sterling, we all became hyper-competitive overachievers. We had to be the best at everything. Now, the men kneeling before me were the very same overachievers, Sterling's most trusted executives and advisors.
I was the only exception. The only one who was unceremoniously kicked out of his inner circle. I was sent away to study abroad, alone. I completed my bachelor's and master's degrees in four years. How many lonely nights did I spend burying my hurt in textbooks?
And now, they tell me he's lost his memory, his old illness is back, and he wants me to return.
On what grounds?

3
The whole "he can only sleep when he's holding me" thing started by accident.
It was my fifth night at the Foster estate. A violent thunderstorm was raging outside. I was alone in a guest room, terrified, huddled under the covers. The only person I knew in this massive mansion was the little boy who had brought me here.
Clutching my pillow, I padded down the hallway in my fluffy slippers to find him. The entire villa was lit up, and all the adults were pacing anxiously. Sterling’s grandmother was in the living room, tearing into his parents.
"This is all your fault! Always traveling for work, leaving my grandson with that monster of a nanny! Look at what she's done to him! He has these episodes every time it rains, and even the doctors can't help! What have I done to deserve this, to watch my grandson suffer and be completely helpless?"
Before I even reached his room, I heard a scream. A doctor in a white coat ran out, his hands covered in blood. "Mrs. Foster, we can't get near him! He won't let us give him a sedative. He has a knife. He's trying to attack anyone who gets close."
While the adults were distracted, I slipped into Sterling’s room. He was drenched in sweat, his eyes a terrifying shade of red, like a little demon clawed up from hell. He was slashing at anything that moved.
Another crash of thunder, and I burst into tears. "Big brother, I'm scared!"
By the time his grandmother and the others rushed in, Sterling had me on the bed. The knife was on the nightstand. He was covering my ears with his hands. When he heard them enter, he grabbed the knife again, his eyes wary. But he kept one arm wrapped tightly around me.
Everyone stared, dumbfounded.
I copied him, covering his ears with my small hands. "It's okay, big brother," I cooed. "Don't be scared. Time for your shot."
The doctor cautiously approached. Sterling tensed, the veins in his arm popping as he fought the urge to lash out. I just hugged him tighter.
In the end, he didn't attack anyone. After the shot, he just said, "Get out."
But he kept me with him, his little human teddy bear.
That night, I secured my place in the Foster household.

4
A couple of weeks later, another storm was brewing. Without a second thought, his grandmother placed me in Sterling's arms like a science experiment. "Here, sweetie. Try this. Maybe it'll help."
Sterling glanced at me with his usual disdain but didn't push me away. He was a sensible child, deep down, and didn't want to worry the adults. He just couldn't control himself when it rained.
He was sitting on the sofa, reading. I was bored and tried to wriggle free. He pressed my head back down. "Don't move."
Then he looked at the adults hovering nearby. "All of you, leave. I don't want to see you."
When it rained, he couldn't stand the sight of another living thing. His anxiety would skyrocket, leaving him feeling utterly exposed and unsafe. Even a mouse scurrying past would send him into a violent frenzy. If there was a chance for a cure, he was willing to try it.
Half an hour later, the rain started to fall, a gentle, hypnotic rhythm against the windows. I yawned and quickly fell asleep.
Later, I heard that his grandmother had watched on the security cameras. Sterling's hand had hovered over my neck several times, as if he was contemplating strangling the only other living creature in the room. But each time, he had pulled back. In the end, he had covered me with a blanket and fallen asleep beside me on the sofa.
His grandmother had watched the monitor, tears streaming down her face.
From then on, I was officially part of the Foster household. Not even my own father could get me back.
Until that summer, the year I turned sixteen.
Sterling suddenly told me, "You don't need to come here anymore."
I wracked my brain, trying to figure out what I had done wrong. Had he been cured? Did he not need his teddy bear anymore? If he hadn't given me a bank card with a staggering amount of money in it, I would have made a scene.
Now, looking at these powerful men, my former "colleagues," kneeling and begging me to return, I clenched my fists and asked calmly, "Is the amnesia temporary or permanent?"
"Well..." William hesitated, then told the truth. "The doctor said it's from a blood clot caused by the accident. Once it clears up, his memory should return. They said it could be up to three months."
I let out a bitter laugh. "So you want me to go back and humiliate myself? I'm twenty years old, not a child. Do you really think it's appropriate for me to be his human teddy bear now? If he wants to see me, tell him to send a royal procession."

5
I thought that would be the end of it. Even with amnesia, the proud Sterling Foster would never tolerate such a demand. For ten years, my role was clearly defined: I was the sidekick. The reason he kicked me out in the first place was because he'd heard people whispering that I was his future wife. He must have thought I was getting too ambitious. Who was I to dream of marrying the prince?
Besides, when he held me on those stormy nights, it was completely platonic. I was just a remedy for his anxiety, nothing more. We were just kids. By the time I was sixteen and he was eighteen, the age of raging hormones, we were separated.
But three days later, I came home from the university lab to find a fleet of Rolls-Royces parked outside my house. William was directing bodyguards as they carried suitcases inside.
I walked into my closet to find them arranging custom-made shirts, suits, shoes, and ties.
"What are you doing?" I asked, stunned.
William gritted his teeth. "Sterling got tired of waiting. He came himself. He said, 'If the mountain will not come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain.' He also told us to rent a royal sedan chair from a film studio. It's being flown in as we speak."
But the look in his eyes said, Don't get too smug. You've only got three months.
"..." I was speechless for a moment, then tried to sound calm. "Where is he?"
William rolled his eyes. "You think he's got nothing better to do? He's at the corporate headquarters, surveying his future kingdom."
The Foster Group's headquarters was in North America, under the watchful eye of Sterling's grandfather. But since he was sixteen, Sterling had been in complete control of the domestic operations. In four years, he had crushed every veteran executive who had dared to underestimate him. His future was global.
This was why I had chosen to study here. I had always foolishly hoped that one day, I would stand before him again, not as his sidekick, but as a brilliant and capable executive in his own company. I had pushed myself to finish my degrees in four years, all so I could join the Foster Group and work my way back into his world, on my own terms.
And now this? He was really moving in with me?
The worst part was, I couldn't even kick him out. This house had been his final gift to me when I got into college. Both our names were on the deed. I never understood why he would put his name on a parting gift. It just meant that now, I couldn't scream at William, "This is my house! He can't just move in whenever he wants!"
Even more unsettling, the weather forecast was calling for a severe thunderstorm tonight.

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