The pain in my ribs was a dull roar, a constant, throbbing reminder of the crash, but the doctor had insisted that walking would help prevent blood clots.

I shuffled down the pristine white corridor of the VIP wing, clutching the IV pole like a lifeline.

I needed air.

I needed to escape the stinging smell of antiseptic and the suffocating weight of my own history.

I turned the corner and nearly collided with a wall of muscle.

I looked up.

It was him.

Dante Moretti.

Up close, he was even more intimidating than the blurry memories suggested.

He smelled of gunpowder, expensive cologne, and stale smoke-a volatile mix.

He looked down at me, his jaw tight.

"You're out of bed," he stated.

It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.

"I need to walk," I said, my voice flat.

He narrowed his eyes, scanning my face for the usual adoration I apparently used to drown him in.

He seemed unsettled when he didn't find it.

"You shouldn't be wandering," he said, stepping around me. "You're prone to dizziness."

"How would you know?" I asked. "You weren't in the ambulance."

He stopped.

His back stiffened.

He turned slowly, his eyes narrowing into slits.

"Are we doing this, Sienna? I made a tactical decision. Valeria was in the front seat. She was trapped."

I looked at him, really looked at him.

He was handsome in a cruel, sharp way.

But all I saw was the man who calculated my life was worth less than his guilt over a dead soldier.

"I'm not doing anything, Dante," I said. "I'm just stating facts."

A door down the hall clicked open.

Valeria Rossi stepped out.

She was wearing a silk robe that looked soft enough to sleep on, her dark hair perfectly cascaded over one shoulder.

She had a small bandage on her forehead. A scratch.

Dante's entire demeanor shifted.

The ice melted instantly.

He walked past me as if I were a piece of furniture and went to her.

"Val," he said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming tender. "You should be resting. The doctor said you have mild shock."

"I'm okay, Dante," she said, her voice breathy and fragile. "I was just looking for you."

She looked over his shoulder and saw me.

Her eyes widened, but there was a glint of triumph in them.

"Oh, Sienna. You're awake."

Dante put a protective hand on her lower back.

"Sienna was just going for a walk," he said dismissively.

He didn't introduce me as his fiancée.

He didn't ask about my concussion.

He introduced me like I was an inconvenience he hadn't figured out how to schedule yet.

"This is Giulia's friend," he said to a nurse passing by. "Make sure she gets back to her room."

Giulia's friend.

I felt a laugh bubble up in my chest, but I swallowed it down.

It tasted like ash.

I looked at the two of them.

The King and his fragile favorite.

I realized then that my amnesia was the greatest gift God could have given me.

It stripped away the delusion.

I didn't say a word.

I didn't beg for his attention.

I didn't ask him why he was holding her like she was made of glass while I was holding myself together with stitches.

I just turned around and continued my walk.

I heard his footsteps pause.

He was watching me leave.

He was waiting for me to turn back, to look at him with those puppy-dog eyes Giulia told me about.

I kept walking.

I didn't look back once.

Chapter 2

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