Introduction

I woke up in a hospital, my past a blank beyond my 18th year.

The doctor said I was 27, even a talented architect, and married.

But the woman they introduced as my wife, Sophia, was a cold, stunning stranger.

She looked at me with thinly veiled contempt.

She spoke of my nine lost years as a descent into breakdowns and "pathetic" dependence.

My supposed best friend, Ethan Vance, was her true confidante, a smirking rival.

Disgust curdled in my gut.

This wasn't me.

My 18-year-old self, full of ambition and drive, recoiled from this emasculated shadow of a man they described.

How could I have become a "kept man," constantly ridiculed, chasing the approval of an ice queen?

The humiliation was palpable, preserved in flashed cameras and casual insults.

But this amnesia, this blank slate, felt like a gift.

It stripped away the years of self-erasure, leaving behind only the core of who I was.

And that core wanted nothing to do with this suffocating, demeaning life.

"I want a divorce," I told her, my voice surprisingly firm.

"The me I know wouldn't be married to someone who calls him pathetic."

This was no act, no episode.

This was me, fighting to reclaim a life I didn't remember.

A life free from the woman who claimed to be my wife and the rival who wanted me utterly destroyed.

Little did I know, the fight for my true identity would lead to a bloody confrontation and a shocking revelation that would change everything.