Chapter 1

After the car accident, my father lost his memory and had been living in a care facility. I visited him every week.

He was in good spirits today, sitting quietly by the window, fiddling with a chess set.

The caretaker smiled and told me he'd become obsessed with it lately, and was getting quite good.

But I felt ice run through my veins. I couldn't bring myself to take another step toward him.

That chess set had belonged to my late mother. My father had sworn in front of every family member we had that he would never touch a chess set again for as long as he lived.

The care facility was quiet.

Afternoon sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, coating everything in the room with a soft gold.

My "father" sat in that golden light with his back to me, a chess set laid out in front of him.

He wore a clean striped patient's gown, his hair combed neatly back, a faint shine of pomade catching the light.

The caretaker walked in behind me, keeping her tone light. "Miss Thorne, look how well Mr. Thorne is doing today. He's been obsessed with chess lately — plays for hours every day. He's improving fast."

My feet felt nailed to the floor. The blood in my body turned cold all at once.

I stared at that silhouette — the man I had called "Dad" for over a decade — and felt a chill cut straight to the bone.

Chess.

That single word was like a rusted blade jammed into my chest.

My mother's death was connected to chess.

She had a serious heart condition. One day, She had a brief argument with her father over something trivial, and in the heat of the moment, she suffered an attack."

She collapsed in the living room, just a few feet from his study.

My father had been sitting at his desk with his headphones on, lost in an online match, completely unaware of anything happening outside.

By the time he finished the game and pulled off his headphones, it was too late.

At my mother's funeral, my father stood in front of every family member we had and smashed his most prized chess set — white jade, hand-carved — to pieces with a hammer.

His eyes were red. His voice was steady, every word deliberate. "From this day forward, I, Richard Thorne, will never touch a chess set again for as long as I live. May heaven and earth strike me down if I break this oath."

Those words still rang in my ears. And yet that figure sat calmly before me, turning a cannon over in his hand.

The caretaker noticed I hadn't moved. "Miss Thorne? Is everything alright?"

I took a slow breath, trying to keep my voice steady.

"I'm fine. Just a little surprised, that's all."

I walked over and moved to his side.

He seemed to sense something and looked up. When he saw me, a warm smile spread across his face.

"Blair, you're here."

His voice was the same as always — deep, with a richness to it.

His face was the same face I'd known all my life, only a little pale and thin from the accident and the long recovery.

Everyone said that after the crash he'd lost his memory — forgotten so many people, so many things — but that the one thing he hadn't forgotten was me, his daughter.

Every time I came to visit, he would smile and call me by name, just like that.

But now, looking at that face, all I felt was a stranger staring back at me.

"Dad," I said softly, pointing to the board on the table. "When did you start playing the chess?"

He glanced down and smiled. "Just a few days ago. The caretaker brought it in to keep me busy. Turns out I kind of like it."

"Is that right?" My voice wavered slightly. "Did you... used to like chess? Before?"

He paused. A flicker of confusion crossed his eyes.

"Before? I can't remember. Probably not, I'd guess. Otherwise I'd have some memory of it."

He said it so naturally. So easily.

And I felt my heart sink — down and down, into something bottomless.

This man was not my father.

My father, Richard Thorne, could forget the entire world, but he would never forget the guilt he carried for my mother. He would never forget the oath soaked in blood and tears.

This man had taken my father's identity, moved into my father's care facility, spent my father's money — and now he wanted to take me too.

I pressed my nails into my palms until they dug into the skin.

"Maybe so." I looked down, hiding the cold fury in my eyes. "You should rest. I'll come see you again soon."