Chapter 1

The bright white light hurt my eyes.

I blinked, trying to focus. A hospital room.

Why was I in a hospital room?

My head throbbed, a dull, heavy pain.

A woman sat beside my bed, her face etched with worry. Chloe. My best friend.

"Ava? You're awake!"

Her voice was a lifeline in the fog.

"Chloe? What happened?" I tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through my ribs.

"Easy, easy. You were in an accident. A bad one."

An accident? I searched my memory. The last thing I remembered was the wind in my hair, the roar of my custom café racer, the thrill of a late-night ride. I was twenty-one, free, an art student with paint under my nails and rebellion in my heart.

"My bike... is it okay?"

Chloe's expression tightened. "Ava, we need to talk."

She told me I was twenty-six.

Twenty-six.

Five years. Gone.

She said I'd been in a coma for three days after a motorcycle crash.

"And, Ava... there's someone else here. He's been waiting."

A man walked in. Tall, impeccably dressed, his face handsome but cold, like a statue.

Ethan Hayes.

I remembered him. From parties, from a distance. He was older, always surrounded by an air of serious business. I'd seen him kissing some blonde girl, Zoe, just... yesterday? No, five years ago, if Chloe was right.

"Ava," he said, his voice flat, devoid of warmth. "You're awake."

Chloe took a deep breath. "Ava, this is Ethan. Ethan Hayes. He's... he's your husband."

Husband?

The word hit me like a physical blow.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head. "That's not possible. I don't know him. Not like that."

Ethan's jaw clenched. He looked at Chloe, then back at me, his eyes unreadable.

"The doctor said you might have some memory loss," he stated, as if discussing a business report.

"Memory loss? I remember being twenty-one. I remember my art, my bike. I don't remember... this." I gestured vaguely between us.

Chloe gently took my hand. Her touch was grounding.

"Ava, honey, it's true. You and Ethan have been married for four years."

Four years.

My mind reeled. How could I lose five years? How could I be married to him?

"Why?" I asked, the question raw. "Why would I marry him?"

Chloe looked at Ethan, a silent question in her eyes. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

"It was... complicated, Ava," Chloe began, her voice soft. "Your families. Miller Estates and Hayes Hospitality. It was a merger, a strategic alliance. And the marriage... it solidified the deal."

A business deal. I was a bargaining chip.

"And my art?" I asked, a growing dread in my stomach. "My studio in the Mission? My murals?"

Chloe's eyes filled with sadness. "You... you gave it up, Ava. After you married Ethan. You said it wasn't fitting for Mrs. Hayes."

The words were like acid. Mrs. Hayes. Not Ava Miller, the artist.

"And my bike?" I pressed, needing to know the extent of this stranger's life I was supposedly living. "My phoenix?" That was her name, my beautiful, custom-built machine.

"You sold it," Chloe said quietly. "A long time ago. You said... you said Ethan didn't like you riding."

Sold my phoenix? For him?

A wave of nausea washed over me. This wasn't me. This couldn't be me.

"There was a tattoo," I said, my voice barely a whisper, remembering the large, intricate phoenix that covered my back, a symbol of my spirit. "A phoenix. On my back."

Chloe winced. "You had it removed, Ava. Laser removal. Soon after the wedding."

Removed. Erased.

Like I had been erased.

I looked at Ethan, this stranger who was supposedly my husband. His face was a mask of indifference.

"I need to call him," I said later, after Ethan had left with a curt nod, promising to have his assistant arrange things. My head was clearer, but the horror remained. I needed answers, from him, not just Chloe.

Chloe handed me my phone, a sleek, unfamiliar model.

"His number is under 'Husband'," she said, her voice gentle.

I found it. Pressed call.

It rang. And rang.

Finally, a cool, professional voice answered. "Mr. Hayes' office, Peterson speaking."

Not Ethan. His assistant.

"I need to speak to Ethan," I said, my voice tight. "It's Ava. His wife."

A pause. "Mrs. Hayes. Mr. Hayes is in a very important meeting. He left instructions not to be disturbed unless it's an emergency."

"I just woke up from a coma after a motorcycle crash that he apparently knows about. I think that qualifies," I snapped, my old fire flaring.

Another pause, longer this time. I could hear muffled voices.

Then Peterson was back. "Mr. Hayes asks if you are dying. If not, he is busy."

The line went dead.

Busy.

My husband, the man I supposedly shared a life with for four years, couldn't be bothered because he was busy.

Anger, hot and fierce, surged through me.

"I'm going to see him," I told Chloe, struggling to sit up again.

"Ava, no, you're not strong enough."

"Watch me."

Somehow, I got dressed in the clothes Chloe had brought. My body ached, but my will was stronger.

I took a cab to Hayes Hospitality headquarters, a towering glass and steel monument to corporate power.

The lobby was opulent, cold.

I bypassed the reception desk, heading for the executive elevators. A security guard stepped in my way.

"Ma'am, can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Ethan Hayes. I'm his wife."

He looked skeptical. He probably heard that a dozen times a day.

Before he could stop me, I saw him. Ethan. Striding out of an elevator, talking to a woman.

A blonde woman.

Zoe Chandler. The woman I remembered him kissing five years ago. She was looking up at him, her expression adoring.

"Ethan!" I called out, my voice raw.

He stopped. Turned. His eyes, cold and distant, swept over me.

He looked right through me.

Then he turned back to Zoe, a small, dismissive frown on his face. "Who is that?" he asked her, loud enough for me to hear.

Zoe glanced at me, a flicker of something – triumph? – in her eyes. "No idea, Mr. Hayes. Shall we continue to your office?"

He nodded, and they walked away, leaving me standing there, a stranger in my own life, publicly denied by the man who was supposedly my husband.

Humiliation burned through me.

I stumbled back, tears stinging my eyes.

Chloe caught up to me as I exited the building, her face full of concern.

"Ava, what happened?"

"He... he pretended he didn't know me," I choked out.

Chloe sighed, a deep, weary sound. "Oh, Ava. There's something else you need to know. About the wedding, about why it was so... private."

I braced myself.

"It was your idea, Ava," Chloe said softly. "To keep the marriage quiet, at first. You said it was for business reasons, to avoid unsettling the markets with a public merger of the families. But... it also meant no one really knew you were Mrs. Hayes unless you told them. Or unless Ethan acknowledged it."

My idea?

I had engineered my own erasure.

The weight of it all pressed down on me, suffocating.

Who was I? And what had I done?