Chapter 1

The Déjà vu was the worst part.

It was a sick, heavy feeling that started in my gut and crawled up my spine, a feeling I' d had nine times before. I stood outside the sleek, minimalist house I had designed, the house where I was supposed to build a future with my fiancée, Dr. Vivian Hayes. The lights were on, casting long shadows across the manicured lawn. I knew what I would find inside.

For the ninth time, I would find her with him.

Each time, the scene was slightly different, but the core betrayal was always the same. Vivian, a brilliant neuroscientist, would be with her research assistant, Kyle Vance. And each time, after the fight, after the tears and the screaming, she would use her skills on me. She' d sit me down, her voice calm and soothing, her instruments humming softly, and she would erase the memory. She would snip away the pain, leaving a clean, blank space where the hurt used to be. I' d wake up the next morning feeling a little groggy, a little off, but with no memory of her infidelity. I' d just know I loved her.

Our relationship was a cycle of her betrayal and my forgetting. She was the architect of my reality, and I was her unwitting subject. She built our love on a foundation of lies, and I kept living in it, clueless. I loved a woman who didn't exist, a faithful, loving version of Vivian she presented to me after each reset.

This time, the discovery felt different. It was the eve of our wedding. Her "single life farewell" party was supposed to be a small gathering with her closest friends. I had been working late, finalizing a project I was proud of, a project I thought would be the cornerstone of our new life together. When I called, she didn't answer. A familiar dread settled over me.

I walked up to the large picture window, staying in the shadows. Inside, the party was loud. Music pulsed, and people were laughing. And there she was. Vivian, looking radiant in a white dress, was backed into a corner by Kyle. He had his hand on the wall next to her head, leaning in close. They weren't kissing, not yet, but the air between them was thick with it.

Then I saw something that made my blood run cold. Vivian was laughing, a brazen, confident laugh. She was talking to Kyle, her voice low, but her expression was clear even through the glass. She was boasting. I couldn't hear the words, but I knew what she was saying. She was telling him not to worry. She was telling him that I, Ethan Miller, the man she was supposed to marry tomorrow, would forget everything. She was telling him I' d still be at the altar, begging to put a ring on her finger.

It wasn't just the affair this time. It was the casual cruelty, the absolute certainty of her control over me.

A recent visit to my doctor had given me a terrifying piece of information. He' d discovered a unique physiological condition in my brain, a side effect of the repeated hypnotic manipulation. He warned me, his face grim.

"Ethan, your neural pathways are becoming dangerously fragile. One more session, one more erasure... it won' t just take the bad memory. It could take everything associated with it. The tenth time might wipe her from your memory completely. Not just the fights, but her. Vivian herself."

The tenth time. This would be the tenth time.

I pushed open the front door. The music was so loud that no one noticed me at first. I walked through the crowd of her friends and colleagues, my eyes locked on her. I saw them in the kitchen, a half-empty bottle of expensive champagne on the counter between them. Kyle' s arm was around her waist now, his fingers tracing patterns on the silk of her dress. Her head was tilted back, her lips just inches from his.

They were disheveled. Her hair was a mess, and Kyle' s shirt was untucked. They looked like they had just been interrupted. The air was thick with the scent of her perfume and his cologne, a sickening mix. The whole scene was a punch to the gut, a replay of a nightmare I couldn't fully remember but could always feel.

Kyle saw me first. A slow, arrogant smirk spread across his face. He didn't move his arm from Vivian' s waist. He wanted me to see. He enjoyed it.

"Look who's home," Kyle said, his voice dripping with condescension.

Vivian turned, her eyes widening for a fraction of a second before her professional calm settled back over her face. She smoothed her dress, a gesture of composure that did nothing to hide the guilt in her eyes.

"Ethan, honey. You're early," she said, her voice a little too bright.

Her friends had started to notice. The music seemed to fade as a circle of onlookers formed. Their faces were a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity. They had seen this show before too, maybe not all nine times, but they knew the script. Their whispers were like the hissing of snakes.

"Here we go again."

"Poor Ethan."

"She' s got him so wrapped around her finger."

Their words hit me harder than the sight of Vivian and Kyle. I was a spectacle. My pain was their entertainment. I was trapped, isolated in a prison of erased memories, and everyone else had a front-row seat to my humiliation. I looked at Vivian, the woman I loved, the woman who was systematically destroying me, and I knew. The tenth time was coming. But this time, I would be ready.