From Broken Wife To Billionaire Power

Lying in the hospital bed, I clutched my empty stomach, the doctor' s words about my miscarriage still ringing in my ears.

I called my husband, desperate for comfort, but he sounded annoyed.

"Allison, not now," Erik snapped. "Barbie' s dog is throwing up. She' s hysterical. Just get a cab and stop being so dramatic."

He hung up on his wife who just lost their child to comfort his mistress' s Pomeranian.

When I dragged my broken body home, he didn't hug me. He forced me to apologize to the dog.

Then came the final blow: I watched on TV as he gifted my entire photography portfolio to his mistress, claiming it was her work, while handing me a bottle of perfume he knew I was deadly allergic to.

Broken, I went to a radical clinic to have my memories of him erased forever.

But the procedure didn't leave me blank. It unlocked a door I didn't know existed.

I wasn't the orphan Allison Day.

I was Allison Woodward, the missing billionaire heiress.

And I was done apologizing.

Chapter 1

Allison Day POV:

The world swam into focus, a blurry kaleidoscope of white. White walls, white sheets, the crisp white uniform of the nurse bending over me. But the starkest white was the blank space where hope used to be. The doctor' s words echoed, cold and clinical, twisting my insides.

"We did everything we could, Mrs. Day."

My breath hitched. "My baby?" It wasn't a question, more a choked plea.

The nurse, a woman with tired eyes and a practiced gentleness, avoided my gaze. She adjusted the IV drip, the plastic tubing a cold snake on my arm. A doctor, young and unfeeling, stepped forward. His voice was flat, devoid of any warmth.

"The blood loss was significant, the trauma to your abdomen too severe. He was too small to survive the impact. And given the prolonged exposure to the blizzard conditions... we lost him."

Lost him. The words were a hammer blow, shattering the fragile shell of my reality. My hand instinctively flew to my stomach, a flat, empty landscape now. The small, hopeful bump, the fluttery kicks I' d only just begun to feel-gone. Just like that. A tear trickled down my temple, hot against my cold skin.

"And your injuries," the doctor continued, oblivious to my agony. "The internal bleeding is under control, but the scarring will be extensive. You're lucky to be alive, Mrs. Day."

Lucky. The word tasted like ash. I twisted my neck, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the dark hospital window. A pale, drawn face stared back, eyes hollow, framed by tangled hair. A deep crimson stain peeked from beneath the edge of my gown, a cruel reminder of what I'd lost. My whole body ached, a deep, bruising pain that went beyond the physical. It was a hollow ache, an emptiness that echoed the one inside me.

Despair, thick and suffocating, wrapped around me. I was alone here, utterly, tragically alone. The sterile room amplified the silence, mocking the screams trapped in my throat.

Then, my phone buzzed on the bedside table, a jarring intrusion. I flinched, my hand shaking as I reached for it. The screen glowed, displaying Erik' s name. Hope flickered, sharp and painful. He would be here. He would comfort me. He would understand.

I pressed the answer button, my voice a raw whisper. "Erik?"

His voice, usually so smooth and melodic, was tight with irritation. "Allison? Where are you? What's going on? Barbie's dog, Princess, she's had a bit of a tummy ache, and Barbie's completely hysterical. She needs me."

My heart, already fractured, splintered further. "Erik," I tried again, my voice barely audible. "I was in an accident. The blizzard... I lost the baby."

A beat of silence. Not shock, not grief, but annoyance. "The baby? Allison, now is really not the time for this. Princess is throwing up, and Barbie's crying. You know how sensitive she is." His voice grew colder. "Look, you just need to get home. Barbie says Princess needs quiet. And she wants you to apologize to her for upsetting the dog. Just... deal with it."

My blood ran cold. Apologize? For upsetting a dog? While I was lying in a hospital bed, having just lost our child? The world tilted.

"Erik, please," I pleaded, a desperate, childish wail catching in my throat. "I'm in the hospital. I'm hurt."

"I told you, Allison, Barbie needs me right now. And frankly, you're always so dramatic." His tone hardened even more. "Just get yourself home. And clean up any mess you made on the way."

And then, a click. He hung up. Just like that. The phone slipped from my numb fingers, clattering softly against the bed rail. The dial tone echoed in the sterile quiet. Barbie' s whimper, a faint, distant sound in the background of his call, felt like a deliberate blow.

My eyes burned, but no more tears came. I felt nothing but a vast, terrifying emptiness. An invisible hand clutched my chest, squeezing the last vestiges of air from my lungs.

"Mrs. Day?" the nurse asked, her voice tinged with concern. "Are you alright? You look very pale."

I ignored her. My husband, the man I loved, had just hung up on me. He had chosen a dog over his dying child, chosen a manipulative influencer over his injured wife.

"I need to go," I rasped, pushing myself up despite the searing pain in my abdomen.

The nurse rushed forward. "Mrs. Day, you can't. You just had major surgery. You need to rest."

"I need to go," I repeated, my voice stronger now, laced with a new, chilling resolve. "He needs me to apologize."

"Apologize?" The nurse looked bewildered.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the movement sending a fresh wave of agony through my body. I gritted my teeth, ignoring the dizziness, ignoring the frantic protests of the medical staff. Their words blurred into an indistinct hum. My body screamed, but my mind was eerily quiet.

I pulled on the clothes they had laid out for me-a loose-fitting top and sweatpants, stiff with dried blood. Each movement was a battle, but I fought through it. I had to get home. I had to apologize.

The hospital doors slid open, revealing the bitter chill of the blizzard. Snow stung my face, icy needles against my raw skin. The wind howled, a mournful cry that matched the one trapped inside me. My body throbbed, every nerve screaming in protest.

I limped to the curb, shivering violently. Taxis were scarce in this weather. My phone was dead. I had no money, no coat, just the thin clothes and the crushing weight of Erik's indifference. Panic flared, cold and sharp. I had to get back. He was waiting. Barbie was waiting. Princess was waiting.

A snow-covered public bus rumbled by, spewing exhaust. I hailed it, my voice weak, but the driver stopped. I scrambled aboard, clutching my side, the pain a hot, searing ribbon across my abdomen. The warmth inside the bus was a small mercy, but it couldn't thaw the ice spreading through my veins.

The journey was endless, each bump of the bus sending fresh jolts of agony. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the pain, tried to block out the image of Erik' s face, cold and indifferent.

Finally, I reached our apartment building. The grand facade, usually so welcoming, now seemed to loom over me, a silent judge. I pushed through the heavy doors, my legs trembling. The lobby was warm, but I felt nothing but a deep, penetrating cold.

I rode the elevator up, the silence deafening. Each floor ascended felt like another step into an abyss. My hand trembled as I keyed in the code to our penthouse. The door swung open.

Erik was there, standing in the living room, his back to me. Barbie was draped on the sofa, a pristine silk scarf wrapped around her neck, dabbing at her eyes with a delicate lace handkerchief. Princess, a fluffy white Pomeranian, sat regally on her lap, looking perfectly fine. The scene was perfectly staged, a tableau of manufactured distress.

"Erik," I whispered, my voice cracked and raw. I reached out a hand, wanting to touch him, to feel some connection, some warmth.

He turned, his eyes narrowing. "You're finally here." There was no relief in his voice, only a chilling impatience.

He didn't move towards me. He didn't ask if I was okay. He didn't even notice the bloodstain on my clothes or the pallor of my face. He just stared, his gaze cold, devoid of any recognition of the woman who had just lost his child.

My hand dropped, limp and useless.

Allison Day POV:

Erik' s eyes, devoid of warmth, landed on my outstretched hand, then flicked away, dismissing me. The rejection was a physical blow, a fresh bruise on my already battered soul. I stumbled, my injured body protesting, and nearly fell. It was Barbie who spoke first, her voice a sickly sweet concern.

"Oh, Allison, darling, you look dreadful. Are you quite alright? Princess has been so worried about you." She pouted, her perfectly manicured hand stroking the dog' s fluffy head. Princess, sensing her cue, let out a tiny, aggressive yelp, baring miniature teeth at me.

I flinched back, the yelp cutting through the fragile remnants of my composure. Then, just as quickly, Princess tucked her tail and whimpered, burying her head into Barbie' s chest, a picture of innocent distress. Barbie looked up at Erik, her eyes wide and tearful.

"Oh, Erik, look. Allison's upset Princess. She's so delicate."

Erik' s jaw tightened. He didn' t even glance at me. His gaze was fixed on Barbie, on her feigned distress, on the dog he seemed to value more than his own family.

"Allison," he said, his voice a low growl. "What did I tell you? You always manage to upset Barbie, or Princess. Can't you be more careful?"

My breath hitched. "Careful?" I stared at him, my vision blurring. "Erik, look at me. I was just in a car crash. I lost our baby. I'm bleeding." I gestured wildly at the stain on my clothes, a desperate plea for him to see me.

Barbie gasped dramatically, her hands flying to her mouth. "Oh my goodness! Allison, are you trying to get attention? You know how delicate Princess's stomach is. She's had such a fright already."

Erik' s cold eyes finally swept over me, lingering for a fraction of a second on the blood-soaked fabric. Then, his mouth twisted in disgust. "You're a mess, Allison. Just like always."

He walked towards me, not with concern, not with comfort, but with a terrifying anger. I braced myself, expecting a harsh word, a shove. Instead, he grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong, sending a jolt of pain through my already aching side.

"You need to apologize to Barbie," he commanded, his voice raw with fury. "Now. For upsetting Princess. And for making such a scene."

My mind reeled. Apologize? For what? For bleeding? For losing a child? For existing? The bitterness rose in my throat, a metallic taste. I could feel the burning resentment bubbling up, mixed with an overwhelming sense of helplessness. Tears, hot and furious, finally streamed down my face.

"Apologize?" I choked out, trying to pull my arm free. "Erik, how can you? I lost our baby. Our son."

Barbie let out a theatrical sob. "Oh, Erik, she's so cruel! She knows how much I adore Princess. And now she's trying to make me feel bad about Princess's little upset stomach!" She held up a small, exquisitely wrapped box. "And look what she did to this! I found it on the floor downstairs. My new limited-edition diamond necklace. She must have dropped it on her way in, hoping to break it!"

My gaze fell on the box. It was the same one Erik had been talking about for weeks, the one he said was too expensive, too rare, for anyone but "his muse." He had gifted it to Barbie just moments before I arrived. And now, she was using it to accuse me.

"No, I didn't," I whispered, my voice barely a thread. "I found it. I kept it safe."

"Oh, Allison, don't lie," Barbie sniffed, her eyes darting to Erik. "You're just jealous. You always are."

"Allison," Erik said, his voice dangerously low. "You will apologize. You will stop lying. And you will stop causing trouble. Do you understand?"

I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. "Erik, please. Trust me. This isn't what happened. I'm hurt. I need your help." I looked into his eyes, searching for a flicker of the man I once knew, the man who had saved me, the man I swore my life to.

He took a step closer, and my heart inexplicably soared. He was coming to me. He would see. He would believe me.

But then, his hand shot out, not to comfort, but to push. He shoved me hard, sending me sprawling backwards. The impact sent a fresh, searing agony through my abdomen. I cried out, doubling over, my hands clutching my wounded side.

"Apologize!" he roared, his face contorted in a mask of fury. "Apologize to Barbie right now, or you'll regret it!"

I crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath, the pain a blinding white hot fire. Through the haze, I heard Barbie' s triumphant little giggle.

"I... I can't," I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips. My vision tunneled. The room spun. All I could feel was the burning in my stomach, the empty ache in my womb, and the crushing weight of Erik' s betrayal.

"You will, Allison," he snarled, bending down, his face a terrifying mask. "You will apologize for upsetting Princess, and upsetting Barbie, and making this entire evening about yourself."

He had forgotten. He had forgotten the baby. He had forgotten me. He had forgotten everything except his precious Barbie and her pampered dog.

The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. This wasn't a misunderstanding. This wasn't a bad day. This wasn't the man I loved, lost to stress or ambition. This was Erik. And he had always been this cruel, this selfish. I had just been too blind, too desperate to see it. He had never truly loved me. He had only loved what I could do for him.

A cold, terrifying calm settled over me. The tears stopped. The pain, though still raging, seemed distant. A switch flipped inside me. I had given him everything. My life, my talents, my very self. And he had crushed it all, piece by piece, under the heel of his indifference.

"I am sorry," I rasped, the words tasting like poison. "I am sorry, Barbie. For upsetting Princess. And for everything." Each word was a tiny chip of my soul, breaking off and falling into the abyss.

Barbie beamed, a victorious smirk on her face. Erik straightened up, a look of grim satisfaction on his features. He didn't offer a hand to help me up. He didn't even look at me again. He just turned back to Barbie, stroking her hair, whispering reassurances.

I lay there for a long moment, the marble floor cold against my cheek. The glittering chandelier above seemed to mock me, its brilliance highlighting the stark reality of my humiliation. My perception of reality blurred around the edges. This couldn' t be my life. This couldn't be the man I had given everything to.

A thought, a desperate, terrifying thought, bloomed in the wasteland of my mind. What if I could just... erase it all? Erase him? Erase the pain? The memories, the love, the betrayal. All of it.

I had heard whispers about radical neurological therapy. A last resort for those haunted by unspeakable trauma. A chance to wipe the slate clean.

I needed to forget Erik. Every single memory.

Allison Day POV:

The doctor sat across from me, his expression earnest, almost sympathetic. Dr. Elias Vance, a man renowned for his controversial, cutting-edge therapies. He held up a holographic scan of my brain, a swirling nebula of data.

"Mrs. Day," he began, his voice calm, "I need to confirm your decision. This procedure is irreversible. Memory erasure is not like deleting files from a computer. It's... profound. Are you absolutely certain you want to proceed?"

I looked at him, then at the swirling image of my own mind. My mind, a prison of pain. "I'm certain," I said, my voice flat, empty of emotion.

He sighed, pushing a hand through his silver hair. "We' ve only performed this on patients with extreme, debilitating PTSD, where traditional therapy has failed. It's a last resort." He paused, his gaze softening. "You're young. Your brain is still remarkably neuroplastic. There's a chance... a small chance, that this procedure could have unforeseen side effects. That it might even unlock dormant pathways."

I just shook my head. "I don't care. I need to forget him. All of it."

His eyes lingered on mine. "You mentioned you were found five years ago, after an accident. Amnesia."

"Yes," I confirmed, a distant echo of a forgotten past stirring within me. It felt like another lifetime. I was found on a beach, battered and bruised, with no recollection of who I was or where I came from. Erik Alford, a struggling pianist then, had discovered me. He was kind, gentle, and he took me in. He named me Allison Day. It felt like a fresh beginning.

"He was my rescuer," I continued, the words a dull ache. "My knight. He taught me everything. How to live again. How to love."

Our early days were a blur of shared dreams and quiet intimacy. We spent hours in his small, cluttered apartment, me sketching his hands as he played, him composing melodies that flowed from his soul. He' d cook simple meals, and I' d clean his tiny space, making it feel like a home. We were a team, a unit against the world. He was my world.

"I became his photographer," I explained, a ghost of a smile touching my lips. "I captured his essence, his passion. The album covers, the promotional shots... they were all my work. He was the artist, I was his silent muse, his biggest supporter."

The public adored him. They called him the "Piano Prince," captivated by his talent and the romantic story of the mysterious woman by his side. They never knew my name. They never knew my contribution. And for a long time, I didn't care. His success was my success. His happiness was mine.

"I remember once," I recounted, a sharp pain piercing through the haze, "he was practicing late, and overworked himself. He collapsed. I called an ambulance, frantic. He was so scared. He kept mumbling about his hands, his precious hands. They were insured for millions, even then."

Dr. Vance listened patiently.

"He held my hand so tight in the ambulance," I continued, a tremor in my voice. "He looked at me, really looked at me, and said, 'Allison, you're my anchor. My everything. I can't do this without you.' He promised me forever. He promised me he'd always protect me."

I believed him. With every fiber of my being, I believed him. We would build a life together, a beautiful, harmonious symphony.

But then, the applause grew louder. The stages got bigger. The money flowed in. And Erik changed.

The turning point was subtle, a gradual shift. He started spending more time away, on "business." He grew distant, distracted. He said it was the pressure, the demands of fame. I accepted it. I always accepted.

Then came the night of the blizzard. The car crash. My desperate call to Erik, my voice shaking, telling him about the accident, about the baby.

The baby. Even now, a phantom ache settled in my womb.

"He answered," I told Dr. Vance, my voice a hollow whisper. "But he wasn't alone. I heard a soft, purring voice in the background, a giggle. It was Barbie. I heard her say, 'Oh, Erik, your wife is so dramatic. Tell her Princess needs you more.'"

My blood had run cold then. He had made an excuse, a flimsy one, about being stuck in traffic. But I knew. I had this sickening feeling in my gut.

Later, from my hospital bed, I had searched. His private social media, the one he said was only for "close friends and family." He' d posted a picture from a candlelit dinner, clinking champagne glasses with Barbie. The caption read: "Celebrating with my true muse. The inspiration behind it all."

When he finally called me back, hours later, he had sounded tired, annoyed. "Allison, you're overreacting. Barbie is just a colleague. We were discussing a new project. You know how important my image is. You can't just accuse me." His voice had been laced with a condescension that made my skin crawl. "And what's this about a baby? You know we agreed to wait."

I remembered faking a smile, pretending to believe his lies. Pretending not to hear the subtle inflection in his voice, the way it lifted when he spoke her name, the possessiveness that had never been there for me. But a part of me, a small, stubborn part, knew the truth.

"I just needed to know," I had said, my voice trembling, "that you're still here. That we're okay."

He had sighed, a sound of profound exasperation. "Of course, Allison. Always." The words were hollow, ringing in the empty space between us.

Now, sitting in Dr. Vance's office, the memory felt like a fresh wound. He had never truly been mine. He had been a mirage, a cruel trick of a damaged memory.

"I want it gone," I repeated, my gaze fixed on the scan of my brain. "Every single memory of him. Every touch, every word, every lie. I want it all erased."

Dr. Vance nodded slowly. "Understood. The procedure is scheduled for next Tuesday. Do you... want one last memory? One last gesture before?"

A last gesture. A final goodbye to a life that had never truly been mine. I closed my eyes, picturing the penthouse, the piano, the quiet corners where I had once found solace.

"Yes," I finally said, "I think I do."

Dr. Vance confirmed the arrangements. "Alright, Mrs. Day. Tuesday it is. Rest up."