Forgotten Love, Unleashed Cold Revenge

Sienna woke up in a hospital room, her body screaming from a severe car accident. Through the glass, a man paced with violent rage, a dark shadow she felt absolutely nothing for.

Her friend Julia burst in, eyes bloodshot, dropping a bomb: "He didn't even try to help you." Dante, Sienna's fiancé, had protected another woman, Valeria, in the crash, leaving Sienna to burn alive.

Her past life unspooled – seven years sacrificed, an architecture degree abandoned, all to serve Dante. Her phone was a shrine to him: his photos, his "taboos," and even "Valeria's preferences," with no trace of Sienna herself.

But amnesia brought no heartbreak, only a cold, calculating fury. She felt disgust for the "idiot" she'd been, stripped of dignity. The memory loss was a release, a blank slate.

With chilling resolve, Sienna deleted every trace of Dante. Ripping out her IV, she declared, "The wedding proceeds." Not for love, but as a weapon: "I need to take back everything that belongs to me before I disappear."

Chapter 1

Sienna POV:

I tried to roll over, and my body immediately punished me.

A sharp, tearing pain ripped through my ribs, forcing me to fall heavily back onto the stiff hospital mattress. I gasped, my fingers digging into the sterile white sheets. My body was conditioned to hide pain, a quiet instinct buried deep in my muscles, but this agony was blinding.

The harsh scent of medical rubbing alcohol flooded my nose. I forced my eyes open. The glaring fluorescent lights above me blurred my vision for a few seconds. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the white spots dancing in my sight.

A heart monitor next to my bed beeped in a rapid, frantic rhythm, breaking the absolute dead silence of the room. It was the only sound keeping me anchored to reality.

I turned my head slowly, ignoring the stiff ache in my neck. Through the semi-transparent glass of the blinds covering the VIP room window, I saw a tall, dark shadow pacing in the hallway.

The shadow stopped abruptly. He slammed a heavy fist right into the wall. The reflection on the glass caught the side of his face. He was a man consumed by violent, explosive rage. My brain registered his aggressive posture, the way his broad shoulders bunched under a tailored suit. He looked like a man who used violence to regain control when things slipped through his fingers.

I stared at the man outside. I waited for a reaction. I waited for my heart to race, for my palms to sweat, for some spark of recognition or fear or love.

Nothing.

There was only a vast, hollow emptiness inside my chest. I felt absolutely nothing for him.

The man yanked at his expensive silk tie, loosening it with a rough jerk of his hand. He turned to a man in a black suit standing nearby-a bodyguard-and roared something. The thick soundproof glass muted his words, but the sheer force of his anger penetrated the barrier.

I frowned slightly, watching him. His charcoal suit was impeccably tailored. It probably cost more than a car. He had the fashion sense of a billionaire, but he was acting like a street thug.

The heavy door to my room clicked open. A doctor in a crisp white coat and gold-rimmed glasses walked in quickly.

He saw my open eyes and let out a massive, visible sigh of relief. He immediately reached over and pressed the nurse call button on the wall.

The doctor pulled a small penlight from his chest pocket. "Miss Sienna, please follow the light," he said, shining the bright beam directly into my pupils. "Do you feel any nausea? Dizziness?"

I instinctively turned my head away, squinting against the harsh glare. "Just my chest," I rasped. My voice sounded like crushed gravel. "My chest hurts."

The doctor nodded, pulling out a tablet and tapping the screen a few times. He looked down at me with a gentle, professional expression. "Do you remember your full name?"

I opened my mouth to answer.

Nothing came out.

I searched my brain, reaching into the dark void for a name, a face, a memory. It was completely blank. The harder I tried to grasp something, the more it slipped away. A sudden, violent migraine spiked behind my eyes.

I grabbed my head with both hands, my breathing turning into short, frantic gasps.

"Okay, okay, stop," the doctor said quickly, lowering his tablet. "Don't force it. This is a normal stress response after a severe trauma."

Outside the glass, the man seemed to notice the sudden movement in my room. He snapped his head toward the door, his dark eyes locking onto the frame like a predator spotting prey.

He took wide, aggressive strides toward the door. I saw his large hand grab the metal handle. Before he could turn it, the bodyguard stepped in, speaking quickly and holding a hand up in a placating gesture.

I watched the metal handle turn slightly, then release.

A massive wave of relief washed over me. I didn't know why, but every cell in my body was screaming in rejection at the thought of that man entering my space.

"You were in a severe car accident," the doctor explained, drawing my attention back. "Based on your current cognitive state, you are experiencing retrograde amnesia."

Amnesia.

I chewed on the word. I tested it in my mind. I didn't feel panic. I didn't feel the terrifying loss of identity that people in movies portrayed. Instead, I felt a strange, weightless sense of relief. It felt like a massive chain had just been cut from my neck.

The doctor pointed a finger toward the door. "Would you like me to let your fiancé come in?"

I followed his finger. I looked at the dark silhouette pacing outside the glass. My eyes were completely cold.

"Why would I want to see a lunatic who punches walls?" I asked flatly.

The doctor coughed awkwardly, clearly not expecting that answer. "Right. I need to go adjust your pain medication dosage. I will be right back." He turned and quickly left the room.

The room fell silent again. I looked down at my hand. A clear IV tube was taped to the back of it, feeding clear liquid into my vein.

The sound of frantic, clicking heels echoed on the marble floor outside.

The heavy door was shoved open with a loud bang. A woman with bright red hair, wearing a worn leather jacket, rushed into the room. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen.

She ran to the side of my bed. She hovered her shaking hands over me, too terrified to actually touch me. Tears spilled over her eyelashes and ran down her cheeks.

I shrank back into the mattress, my muscles tensing. I stared at this crying stranger with high alert.

The woman saw the defensive, guarded look in my eyes. She gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. Her shoulders shook violently.

"Sienna, don't you remember? When the crash happened, he didn't even try to help you."

Sienna POV:

I stared at the red-haired woman. The words she just spoke hung in the sterile air, heavy and sharp. I didn't know her, but the raw devastation in her voice felt genuine.

I frowned, ignoring the throbbing pain in my ribs. "Explain. Tell me exactly what you mean."

The woman-Julia, I assumed, though I didn't know how I knew that-pulled a plastic visitor's chair to the side of the bed. She sat down heavily, wiping her wet cheeks with the back of her leather sleeve. She glanced nervously at the door, ensuring the bodyguard outside wasn't looking in. She carried the cautious, paranoid energy of someone who lived her entire life under surveillance.

She took a deep, shaky breath. "The man outside. His name is Dante. He is your fiancé."

I let out a short, cold laugh. "My fiancé? My taste in men couldn't possibly be that bad."

Julia shook her head, a bitter, sad smile touching her lips. "For the last seven years, you practically gave up your entire soul for him."

A sudden wave of physical nausea hit my stomach. The idea of being subservient to the violent thug outside made my skin crawl. I pushed my palms against the mattress, trying to force myself into a sitting position.

"Hey, don't move," Julia panicked, jumping up to support my back. She carefully arranged the pillows behind me, avoiding my wrapped ribs.

I settled back, breathing heavily. I looked down at my hands resting on my lap. These hands felt like they should be holding a drafting pencil or a paintbrush.

Instead, I noticed the skin. The backs of my hands and my knuckles were covered in faint, pale scars. Tiny burn marks. Small, faded slices from kitchen knives. They were the hands of someone who spent hours standing over a hot stove, or burning herself on an iron to make sure a custom suit was perfectly pressed.

I rubbed my thumb over a burn scar on my left wrist. "What exactly have I been doing for the last seven years?"

Julia bit her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. "You walked away from a master's degree in architecture at Cornell. You dropped everything just to be the perfect hostess for the Moretti family."

I sucked in a sharp breath of cold air. I looked at the scars again. "I was an absolute idiot."

Julia reached out and gently grabbed my hand. Her voice dropped to a frantic whisper. "Sienna, listen to me. The night of the car crash."

My eyes narrowed. "What about it? Give me the details."

"An oncoming truck lost control and swerved into your lane," Julia said, her voice shaking with residual terror. "In that split second, Dante unbuckled his seatbelt."

My chest tightened slightly. My logical brain assumed he unbuckled to shield me. To protect his supposed fiancée.

Julia shattered that logic in a second. "He threw himself into the backseat. To cover Valeria."

I froze. "Who the hell is Valeria?"

Disgust flashed in Julia's red-rimmed eyes. "The widow of one of his men who died in combat. Dante feels responsible for her."

I stared at the white blanket covering my legs. The sheer absurdity of the situation washed over me. My fiancé, in the exact moment of a life-or-death impact, chose to protect another woman.

"The car rolled," Julia continued, her tears falling onto my hospital gown. "It caught fire. Dante kicked the door open. He carried Valeria out of the wreckage."

I closed my eyes. A sudden, violent flash of orange fire burned behind my eyelids. The suffocating, toxic smell of burning rubber and melting plastic filled my nose. I heard the crunch of metal.

My eyes snapped open. I was panting, my chest rising and falling rapidly.

"If a passing truck driver hadn't smashed your window with a fire extinguisher and dragged you out, you would have burned alive in that passenger seat," Julia cried.

I lifted my scarred hand and pressed it flat against my chest. I waited for the heartbreak. I waited for the crushing devastation of a woman who had just realized her lover left her to die.

There was no heartbreak. There was only a cold, calculating anger.

I lifted my chin. My vision was crystal clear. The fog of the amnesia didn't matter anymore. I knew exactly what kind of situation I was in.

I looked over at the small bedside table. A smartphone sat next to a plastic water cup. The screen was severely cracked, resembling a spiderweb, but the casing was intact.

I pointed at it. "Give me the phone."

Julia hesitated, looking from the phone to my face. "Sienna, you don't need to-"

"Bring it to me," I commanded. My voice was low, but it held no room for argument.

Julia swallowed hard and handed the device over.

I took the heavy phone in my hand. I stared at the shattered black screen, seeing the pale, bruised reflection of my own face in the glass. I pressed the power button on the side.

"Let me see exactly how stupid I was."

Sienna POV:

The cracked screen flared to life, casting a harsh blue glow over my pale face. A prompt appeared, demanding a six-digit passcode.

I hovered my thumb over the shattered glass. My mind was completely blank. I didn't know my own birthday, let alone a random string of numbers.

Julia let out a long, pathetic sigh from the chair beside me. She leaned in and quietly recited Dante's birthdate.

I rolled my eyes so hard it physically hurt. Of course. Because my entire pathetic existence revolved around him. I punched in the numbers. The phone unlocked with a soft click.

The home screen loaded, and a wave of pure, physical revulsion hit me. The wallpaper was a candid, close-up photo of Dante sleeping. His dark hair was messy against a white pillow, his sharp jawline relaxed.

I grimaced, my stomach turning. I immediately opened the settings, navigated to the display options, and changed the wallpaper to a solid, pitch-black background.

Breathing a little easier, I tapped the photo gallery icon. The number at the top of the screen mocked me: over three thousand photos.

I started scrolling rapidly. Picture after picture. Dante sitting at his desk. Dante's back as he walked away. Close-ups of Dante's silk ties. Pictures of his half-empty coffee cups.

I kept swiping, searching for myself. I couldn't find a single selfie. I couldn't find a single picture of me smiling, or doing anything that didn't involve serving him. I was a ghost in my own phone, a mere accessory to his life.

I closed the gallery and opened the Notes app.

The very first note was pinned to the top. The title was written in bold: *Dante's Absolute Taboos*.

I tapped it. A massive, meticulously detailed list appeared. *No cilantro in anything. Shirts must be hand-washed only and scented with cedarwood. Never, ever ask about his daily schedule.*

I let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Was I his fiancée, or his senior in-home nurse?"

Julia looked down at her boots, refusing to meet my eyes. Her silence was a loud confirmation.

I kept scrolling down the notes. My finger stopped over a title that made my blood run cold: *Valeria's Preferences*.

I opened it. It was a detailed guide on how to pick birthday gifts for the other woman. It listed her favorite flowers, her clothing size, and a strict list of conversation topics to avoid so I wouldn't "upset her delicate nerves."

My fingers started to tremble. This wasn't the trembling of a broken heart. This was pure, unadulterated rage. I was angry at myself. I was furious at the woman who had allowed herself to be stripped of all dignity.

I closed the notes and opened the messaging app.

The pinned conversation at the top was with Dante. I opened the chat log.

The screen was a wall of green text bubbles. Paragraphs of me asking if he ate, telling him to drive safe, begging him to come home early.

His replies were scattered gray bubbles. *Yeah. Busy. Stop bothering me.*

I scrolled to the very bottom. The last message was sent two hours before the crash. *Honey, will you come to the wedding dress fitting tonight?*

There was no reply. I stared at that pathetic green bubble until my eyes burned. It was the most pathetic thing I had ever seen.

I took a deep, steadying breath. I closed the messaging app and went back to the home screen.

Without a single second of hesitation, I opened the photo gallery again. I tapped the 'Select' button in the top right corner.

I dragged my finger down the shattered glass, selecting every single one of the three thousand photos of his face, his suits, his life.

Julia gasped, leaning forward. "Sienna, are you sure you want to do that?"

My eyes were dead. I pressed the trash can icon. A prompt asked me to confirm. I hit delete. Then I went into the 'Recently Deleted' folder and emptied that too.

Next, I opened the Notes app. I swiped left on the taboos. Deleted. I swiped left on Valeria's preferences. Deleted.

Finally, I opened the messaging app. I swiped left on Dante's pinned contact. I hit block, and then I hit delete.

I stared at the phone. It was completely empty. A clean, blank slate. I tossed the heavy device onto the bedside table. It landed with a plastic clatter.

"Seven years of garbage, cleared in one second."