Chapter 1

The Hayes Foundation Gala.

That's what they called it.

A night for charity, for the city's elite to pat themselves on the back.

For me, it was the night my life broke.

Ethan Vance, Sophia's childhood friend, practically her other half, was co-hosting with her.

He staged some bullshit mishap near the big water fountain in the museum's atrium.

A sudden stumble, a pained cry.

Sophia, mid-speech, dropped everything.

She rushed to Ethan's side, all fluttering concern, while I stood there, trying to discreetly offer her a hand, a word.

She waved me off. A flick of her wrist. Like I was a fly.

The cameras flashed. My humiliation, preserved in glossy print.

Later, in our penthouse, the city lights mocking me, I confronted her.

"How could you?" I asked, my voice raw.

"Oh, Kevin, don't be so pathetic," Sophia said, her voice like ice. "Your jealousy is tiresome."

Pathetic.

That word shattered something inside me.

I stormed out, blinded by tears, by a rage I didn't know I possessed.

The car, the slick street, the impact.

Darkness.

Then, a throbbing pain in my head.

Blinking, I saw a white ceiling. Smelled antiseptic.

A woman in a doctor's coat stood beside a bed. My bed.

"Mr. Miller? Kevin? Can you hear me?" she asked, her voice gentle.

I tried to nod. Pain shot through my skull.

"Easy now," she said. "You were in a car accident. You have a severe concussion."

A woman stood a little behind the doctor.

Tall, stunningly beautiful, but her face was a mask of something I couldn't read. Cold.

"Who... who are you?" I asked, my voice raspy.

I looked at the beautiful, cold woman. "And you?"

The doctor, Carter, her name tag read Dr. Emily Carter, exchanged a look with the woman.

"Kevin," Dr. Carter said slowly. "This is Sophia. Your wife."

My wife?

I stared at Sophia. No flicker of recognition. Just a blank.

"What year is it?" I managed.

"It's 2024, Kevin," Dr. Carter said.

2024?

My mind raced. No. That wasn't right.

"No," I said, panic rising. "It's 2015. I'm a freshman at Columbia. I'm eighteen."

Dr. Carter's expression softened with pity. Sophia's just tightened.

"Kevin," Dr. Carter said. "You have retrograde amnesia. You've lost the last nine years of your memory."

Nine years. Gone.

Sophia finally spoke, her voice sharp. "Kevin, this isn't funny. Stop it. The doctor needs to treat you, not play along with... this."

Her impatience was a slap in the face.

Dr. Carter put a calming hand on Sophia's arm. "Sophia, this is a genuine symptom of his injury. The scans confirm significant trauma."

She turned back to me. "Kevin, you're twenty-seven years old. You're a talented architect. You married Sophia Hayes three years ago."

Architect? I loved architecture. That part felt right.

But married? To this ice queen?

"An architect who hasn't worked in two years," Sophia cut in, her tone biting. "Not since he decided his career wasn't as important as... well, whatever it is he does."

Dr. Carter frowned at Sophia. "We also have records of several hospital visits over the past couple of years. For exhaustion, anxiety attacks..."

"Breakdowns," Sophia supplied, her voice flat. "He has breakdowns."

I stared at her. This woman, my supposed wife, spoke about me like I was a faulty appliance.

The 18-year-old me, full of drive, of ambition, recoiled.

A kept man? Prone to breakdowns? Dependent?

Disgust washed over me. This couldn't be my life.

"I... I don't understand," I stammered. "I wouldn't... I wouldn't live like that."

Dr. Carter left us alone after a while, saying she needed to check on some things.

Sophia stood by the window, her arms crossed, looking out at the city.

She was undeniably beautiful, the kind of woman who turned heads, who commanded rooms.

But her beauty was frosted over.

She turned. "Are you satisfied now, Kevin? Got everyone's attention with this little stunt?"

Her words hit me. Stunt?

"This isn't a stunt," I said, my voice surprisingly firm, even to my own ears.

The confident 18-year-old was surfacing.

"I don't know you. I don't know this life."

I looked her straight in the eye. "If I'm married to you, and living... whatever pathetic life you and the doctor described... then we need to get a divorce."

Sophia's perfectly sculpted eyebrows shot up.

For the first time, a crack appeared in her composure. Shock.

Then it hardened again.

"Divorce?" She let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Is this another one of your pathetic theatrics to get me to feel sorry for you? To pay more attention?"

She shook her head. "You'll get over this 'amnesia,' Kevin. You always get over your episodes."

Episodes. The word dripped with disdain.

"This isn't an episode," I insisted. "This is me. And the me I know wouldn't be married to someone who calls him pathetic."

Sophia walked closer to the bed.

For a moment, something flickered in her eyes – confusion? Hurt?

Then it was gone.

She reached out, as if to smooth my hair or touch my cheek.

A gesture that might have once been familiar, comforting.

Now, it felt like a violation.

I flinched, pulling my head away sharply. "Don't."

Her hand froze in mid-air. She looked genuinely surprised, then offended.

"I'm your wife!" she said, her voice rising.

"A wife I don't remember!" I shot back. "And apparently, a life I already despise without even knowing the details!"

My head throbbed violently. A sharp, stabbing pain. I squeezed my eyes shut.

"You're impossible!" Sophia snapped, her voice like a whip.

The sound, her anger, made the pain in my head worse.

She saw me wince, saw me clutch my head, but her expression didn't soften.

If anything, it hardened with annoyance.

"Oh, here we go again with the theatrics," she muttered, turning away. "You know, Ethan is so worried about you. He's been a rock through all of this. Unlike some people."

Ethan. The name from the gala. The man she rushed to. Her rock.

The door opened, and Dr. Carter came back in, followed by a man.

He was tall, impeccably dressed, with a smooth, handsome face and an air of easy confidence.

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Sophia, darling," he said, his voice like silk.

He kissed her cheek, a familiar, possessive gesture. His eyes flicked to me on the bed.

"Kevin, buddy," he said, approaching. "Terrible business, this. Heard you took quite a spill. How are you holding up?"

I stared at him. Ethan Vance. I knew it instantly.

The way Sophia relaxed slightly in his presence, the way he owned the space.

"I don't know you," I said, my voice flat and cold.

Ethan chuckled, a low, patronizing sound. He looked at Sophia.

"See? Just disoriented. He'll come around. Poor guy's had a shock."

He turned back to me, his smile still in place, but something predatory in his eyes.

"We were all so worried. Sophia's been beside herself."

Sophia nodded, her expression unreadable as she looked at Ethan, then at me.

"He's just... confused, Ethan."

"Of course, he is," Ethan said smoothly, patting her arm.

"What he needs is rest. And familiarity. Don't you worry, Sophia, we'll get him through this."

"You need to be firm, though. Can't let him dwell on these... fancies."

Fancies. Like my nine years of lost memory were a child's make-believe.

I felt a surge of anger, so strong it almost cleared the fog in my head.

This was my life. This cold woman, this manipulative snake.

And I, apparently, had been their plaything.

No more.