Chapter 1

The divorce papers sat on the polished mahogany of our dining table, a stark white against the dark wood.

Ethan placed them there, his hand hovering for a moment before retreating.

"It's just temporary, Evie," he said, his voice smooth, persuasive.

The voice I once loved.

"Three days. That's all Chloe is asking for."

Chloe. His college ex-girlfriend.

The one he swore was just a ghost from his past.

Now, apparently, she was dying.

A rare, aggressive cancer, he' d told me last night, his face a mask of sorrow I wasn't sure I believed.

Her last wish? To marry him.

"She wants a wedding, Evie. A real one."

He looked at me then, his eyes, usually so full of easy charm, now pleading.

"And for those three days... I need you to not remember."

He gestured to a small, sterile vial he pulled from his pocket.

My creation.

Compound M-7.

"Your memory drug. The one you said could cause temporary amnesia. You said there's an antidote, right?"

I stared at the vial.

He thought it was temporary. He believed I had an antidote.

He didn't know M-7 was designed to be irreversible.

A clean slate. No trace left behind.

My secret. My burden.

And now, perhaps, my escape.

"Yes," I heard myself say, my voice surprisingly steady. "Temporary."

A lie. The biggest lie I' d ever told him.

But his betrayal felt bigger.

He was asking me, his wife, to erase myself so he could play husband to another woman.

Even if he thought it was just for a weekend.

Loyalty. It was the bedrock of what I thought we had.

He was shattering it.

"So you'll take it?" Hope flared in his eyes, bright and eager.

I nodded slowly.

"For Chloe," he added, as if that made it noble. "It would mean the world to her."

And what about my world?

The one he was casually asking me to dismantle?

He pushed the vial across the table.

"We sign these first," he said, tapping the divorce papers. "Just a formality. To make everything look legitimate for... for the situation."

I picked up the pen. My hand didn't shake.

Dr. Evelyn Hayes. Ethan Cole.

Our names, dissolving a marriage.

"Temporary," he repeated, as I signed.

I didn't look at him.

I looked at the vial. My irreversible ticket out.

He didn't know he was handing me the key to my own cage.

He thought he was just borrowing my memory.

He was giving me my freedom.