Chapter 1: The Price of Forgetting

Caleb Whitaker was acting weird.

He’d always been kind of distant, but lately, something was just off—a weird chill between us, sharp and prickly, like that feeling when you know a storm’s coming but can’t see the clouds yet. Maybe it was the way he paused in the doorway, or how his eyes would just slide right past me, like I was a piece of furniture he barely noticed. And honestly, the timing of his so-called memory loss? Way too convenient. I couldn’t help thinking, come on, really?

It wasn’t the kind of thing you could chalk up to stress or too many late nights at work. No, it felt like he’d decided to forget—like he’d found some secret switch and flipped it just to spite me. We were married in name only, stuck together because our families thought it was good business.

It was the kind of setup people gossiped about at country clubs and charity galas—two big names joined for power, not love. Word was, we’d split up a long time ago.

The rumors trailed us everywhere, like shadows at dusk. Sometimes I wondered if everyone else knew more about our marriage than we did. Truth is, we never really knew each other, not really. Still, our mutual interests kept us tethered, whether we liked it or not.

We acted like two CEOs hammering out a merger—always polite, always businesslike, never letting it get personal. Out in public, he wouldn’t even glance my way. Not once.

Not even a sideways look. At fundraisers, he’d work the crowd while I sipped champagne, pretending not to notice him chatting up some senator’s wife. At home, his bedroom might as well have had a big ‘do not enter’ sign on it.

There was this invisible line running down the hallway, and I learned pretty quick not to cross it. Still, even business deals unravel eventually, right? Sometimes I wondered—when would ours snap?

Just like those locked doors—eventually, someone finds the key. Eventually, even the forbidden gets cracked open. I felt it coming.

The day Caleb took over the family business, I looked at him and asked, “Are we getting a divorce?” I couldn’t help it—the words just slipped out.

He’d just walked in, standing in the entryway of our high-rise, loosening his tie. The city lights glimmered behind him, bouncing off the polished marble floor. He looked at me and said, “Button up your shirt.”

I glanced down and realized the top button of my pajama top had come undone, just barely showing my collarbone. Figures.

Heat rushed up my neck—great, just what I needed. But I did what he said, fumbling to fix the button. “I’ve already found a lawyer. You pick the time.”

He breezed past me, heading straight for the bathroom to wash his hands. Water ran over his long fingers, the sound sharp in the quiet.

He always scrubbed up the second he got home, like he had to wash off the whole outside world before he could even think about dealing with me. I leaned against the bathroom door, trying to sound casual. “The lawyer says we’ve kept our finances separate since we got married. There’s really nothing to split.” I paused, making my point. “It’ll be quick.”

His hand froze mid-dry. “You in a hurry?”

The question just kind of hung there, thick in the air, sharper than his aftershave. I shrugged, “What do you think?”

He looked at me over those silver-rimmed glasses, his eyes both proud and far away. “Someone will contact you at ten-thirty tomorrow morning.”

I nodded, just once, but my feet stayed planted.

But I didn’t budge. I stood right there, blocking his way out.

“Something else?”

He turned to face me—tall, lean, his body blocking out the warm light from above, casting me completely in his shadow.

I felt tiny for a second, almost swallowed up, but I held my ground. “I want something. Can I?” I asked, my voice steady.

“A house? A car? Shares?” His answer was smooth, face unreadable. “I can give you any of those.”

I stared at the pale skin of his neck. Even with his tie loosened, that collarbone was hidden—always out of sight.

It was like a challenge—always covered, always just out of reach. “None of those.”

“Then what do you want?”

I let my eyes drift up to his. “Tonight, I want to sleep in your bedroom.”

He just stood there, silent. The seconds stretched out.

His face gave away nothing—more guarded than ever. I could almost see him weighing every possibility, every risk, his mind working overtime. Finally, he said, “Remember your place.”

“I know.”

That door, always shut tight. That collarbone, always hidden under his shirt. Both off-limits—both minefields.

“So, is that a no?” I pushed, not letting it go.

His jaw clenched, and I could see the tension in his body, his anger making his shoulders stiff. For a split second, something raw slipped through: “Keep dreaming.”

But the way his Adam’s apple bobbed—yeah, he wasn’t as cool as he wanted me to think.

“Take off your glasses,” I said, reaching for his tie. “They’ll dig into me.”

And then, the next day, just like that—he lost his memory.

“How much of a shock did I give him?” I wondered, a sharp pang of guilt twisting in my gut.

His phone buzzed. He silenced it with one hand, replying to a message without missing a beat.

Even with amnesia, he was all business—never letting anyone see him rattled. I couldn’t help myself: “Did you really lose your memory?”

The timing was just too perfect. It felt fake, honestly.

“Yes,” he said, voice calm as ever.

“But you remember everything except who I am?” I pressed, not buying it for a second.

“Yes.” He set his phone down, then looked at me. “Who are you?”

Who am I? That was a question Caleb had never bothered to ask before. Not once.

We’d known each other’s names, faces, backgrounds—everything that mattered to our families—from the very start of this arranged marriage.

“It’s your room, and I’m here at this hour. Who else could I be?”

“My wife?”

“The rumors all say you and your wife, Savannah Lin, are just a show couple,” I said, smirking a little. “And didn’t your assistant just notify you about the divorce?”

“So, who are you?”

He leaned back on the leather sofa, sharp features half-hidden in the curtain’s shadow.

He was always so proper, so unflappable. Nothing I did ever seemed to move him.

“I'm your subordinate’s wife.”

His face flickered, just for a second.

“This isn’t right,” I said, meeting his eyes, my voice flat. “You animal.”

“Impossible,” he shot back, just as steady as ever.

Yeah, he was a model of self-control, living like a monk with a rulebook nobody else had seen.

He acted like I was some kind of temptress, like I was always the problem, never him.

I looked around at the ridiculousness of the bedroom and cocked my head. “Really?”

The evidence was all around us.

He was the one who broke the rules, not me.

“Did you drug me?” he asked, sounding annoyed, like he couldn’t believe I’d stoop that low.

“I’m not that reckless.”

He stared at me, lips barely moving. “Subordinate’s wife?”

“That’s right. I’m your subordinate’s wife. What we did was wrong.” I let the words hang there, just to see what he’d do.

He adjusted his glasses, his hand clenching the frame—a warning. “Get off my lap.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “That’s not what you said last night. Now you’re acting like nothing happened.”

Caleb picked me up, his hands firm but careful, and set me down off him.

He stood up, buttoning his black shirt all the way to the top, back to his usual neat-freak self.

“Deny it all you want,” I said, sprawling out on the sofa, putting on a show. “I wanted to end this twisted thing too, but you, you animal, you just couldn’t help yourself. You threatened and tempted me until I had no choice but to give in.”

The more outrageous my words, the colder his expression got as he walked over to the walk-in closet.

“I know myself. I’d never do that for you,” he said, opening the wardrobe. “You’re lying.”

Before he could finish, a pile of bottles and jars tumbled out of the closet, clattering to the floor.

The room went dead silent.

What the heck was that?

I got up from the sofa and walked over, curiosity burning.

He heard my footsteps and slammed the closet shut—hard, like he could erase what just happened.

He looked guilty as hell, caught red-handed.

But a glass jar rolled to my feet, bumping against my toes.

I bent down and picked it up, heart thumping.

Inside the fancy glass jar was a hair tie—my old hair tie. The one I’d lost forever ago, for no good reason. It was sealed up tight, like some kind of treasure.

“What’s in the closet?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He pressed himself against the closet door, turning his head away, and I caught a glimpse of pink climbing up his neck.

“Nothing,” he shot back, way too fast, like he couldn’t get away from the question quick enough.

I held up the glass jar. “Then this is—?”

“You and I…” he cut me off, clearly desperate to change the subject. “How long has this been going on?”

I blinked, surprised. “You believe me now?”

He tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go, his face tight with tension. “This has to end.”

Not a hint of warmth. Figures.

He always saw the world in black and white, drawing a line no one was supposed to cross.

Even in our marriage—which had zero love, honestly—no matter how messy things got, he never once had a scandal.

“I don’t know why I’d ever get involved with you, especially someone close to me. That’s the thing I despise most.” His voice was flat, clipped. “You should leave.”

“You want to pretend none of this ever happened?” I shot back.

He looked calm, but I knew better. “What kind of compensation do you want?”

Compensation. That was always his go-to with me. Everything had to be neat, fair, balanced—like a spreadsheet.

Before we got married, I’d secretly hoped for more. After all, his name was practically untouchable in our world.

I’d make soup and wait for him to come home, picturing how he’d look when he tasted it.

But the second he walked in, before I could even hide my hopeful smile, he’d hit me with that cold, analytical stare.

He’d say, “Don’t bother with unnecessary things.”

My one-sided affection was humiliating. I tried to play it cool, but the right words never came out.

A marriage for business was all he’d ever wanted.

I’d gotten it wrong from the start.

“I don’t want anything.”

I forced a smile, even though it hurt. “Caleb, this is great. We’re finally done.”

Now that he was in charge, I was just another asset he didn’t need.

He looked down at me, his eyes totally blank.

Just as it should be, I guess.

We got together for convenience, and now we’d split for the same reason.

“Who is it?” he asked, voice steady.

“What?” I looked up, startled.

“Your husband,” he said, each word crisp and clear. “Who is he?”

“Do you really care?” I shot back, tired of the game.

He looked away, and I noticed a red scratch on his sharp jaw. He always scarred so easily—one little scrape, and it’d stick around for days. “I’m just avoiding unnecessary risk.”

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t know about us.” I picked at my nails, trying to look casual.

“He never suspected?”

“No. I don’t want to hurt him.” I lied without blinking. “After all, you and I are just playing a game.”

He let out this cold, bitter laugh. “He’s an idiot.”

“Just sign here.” My divorce lawyer handed me a stack of papers.

“Did he really lose his memory?” I asked, the pen still warm in my hand after signing.

“I don’t know,” she said, all business, not even glancing up. “All I know is he gave you a huge share of the assets and signed fast. Once this is done, you won’t be legally married anymore.”

“Will it affect my family’s stock price?”

“A little, but not much,” the lawyer replied. “Rumors about your divorce have been swirling for a while, and Mr. Whitaker’s protected you well. There’s barely anything about you online—no photos, nothing.”

“In other words,” I said with a small smile, “he’s been paving the way for divorce since day one, making sure there’d be no scandal to mess up his image.”

That’s why he never took me to charity galas or business events. Not once.

To the world, I was just part of the Whitaker-Lin alliance, not a real person at all.

“Yes. He was very thorough,” the lawyer admitted, almost grudgingly.

He didn’t remember me—not really. Didn’t remember who Savannah Lin actually was.

And yet, he could sign those papers like it was nothing. Guess he’d wanted out for a long time.

My phone rang, jolting me out of my thoughts.

It was the old Whitaker family house calling.

“Savannah, do you want to come for dinner tonight?” Caleb’s mother’s voice was warm on the other end. “I made your favorite pot roast. Bring Caleb too, he hasn’t been home in ages.”

She called herself his mother, but she wasn’t his birth mom. Not really.

Caleb’s parents had been in an arranged marriage too. Miserable, but they couldn’t get divorced.

It wasn’t until his mother died of illness, when his dad was already in his forties, that he finally married his real love.

Turns out, he’d had a son with her a long time ago—Ethan.

That made Caleb’s spot as heir look shaky to everyone watching. Especially after the old patriarch died, the family pushed Caleb out until my grandpa stepped in and arranged our marriage.

But now, there was nothing left keeping me and Caleb together. Not really.

“Those are my slippers.”

At the Whitaker family’s old house, I looked up and met a pair of cold, watery eyes.

Ethan.

He hated me. If I hadn’t been in the picture, maybe he’d be the one sitting at the head of the table right now.

“Sorry.” I set the slippers down and looked up at him. “You should call me ‘sister-in-law.’”

“Didn’t you and him get divorced?”

“Ex or not, I’m still your sister-in-law.” I grinned, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

I rifled through the shoe cabinet, but nothing fit.

“Forget it, wear mine.” He dropped a new pair of slippers at my feet. “They’re new.”

“Thanks.” I bent down to change shoes, feeling his eyes on me.

“Why didn’t he come with you?”

“Your brother’s busy with work. He’ll be here later.”

“Really?” He laughed, a little mean. “Busy with work, or busy being set up? He’s popular, isn’t he?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I shot back, switching shoes and wobbling for a second.

“The news of your divorce just broke, and today he’s already out with the Simmons family’s eldest daughter.” He caught my arm, steadying me. “He’s ruthless when someone’s no longer useful.”

I pushed his hand away. “Are you mocking me?”

“Just a friendly warning.”

He grabbed my wrist, his grip a little too tight. “Don’t get your hopes up for someone you shouldn’t.”

The front door swung open.

Caleb walked in, coat draped over his arm.

He looked genuinely startled to see me there, like someone had just aired out his biggest secret in front of everyone.

Ethan let go of my hand and muttered, “Brother.” Caleb nodded, then bent down to change shoes.

As he did, he glanced at the slippers on my feet—Ethan’s slippers. His face went strange, dark and unreadable, and he let out a slow, deep breath.

Ethan shot me a look, then slipped into the living room, leaving the two of us alone.

As soon as Ethan was gone, Caleb yanked me aside, hissing, “How dare you show up here like this?”

The scratch on his jaw was still there, pink and raw. He scarred so easily—one little scrape, and it’d hang around forever.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I replied, cool as ever. He was the one rattled, not me.

“What are you doing here?”

“You can go on dates, but I can’t come for dinner?”

Caleb hesitated, weighing his words, then finally blurted, “What’s your relationship with Ethan?”

For a split second, I saw embarrassment flicker across his face. So that was it. He’d gotten it all wrong.

Someone as disciplined as him, waking up to think he’d forced himself on his brother’s wife? Ha. The thought made me grin as I leaned in. “What are you so afraid of?”

He looked up, his voice ice-cold. “Who is he to you?”

“Ethan is your subordinate. Everyone knows that.” I pressed in, poking at him. “Isn’t this your thing? Doing it right in front of him.”

He backed up, bumping into the heavy front door with a loud thud.

“What’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself?” Ethan’s mother came rushing over at the noise.

“Nothing.” He answered before anyone else could, brushing past me without even a glance. He even sidestepped the hem of my dress, like he was scared to pick up a trace of my scent.

Yeah, I guess I wanted a little revenge. I couldn’t stand how fast he’d pulled away from us. So I hit him where it hurt most.

At dinner, Caleb sat next to me, calm as ever. He was a master at keeping it together in front of the Whitaker family. Never a crack.

Caleb picked up a shrimp, face blank. “Honey, I want some shrimp,” I said to Ethan across from me.

Clearly, I wasn’t the only one surprised. Ethan met my eyes and coughed, twice.

Caleb’s chopsticks shook, and the shrimp slipped from his grasp. He never made rookie mistakes like that—it was almost funny.

“You can’t peel it yourself?” Ethan snapped, annoyed.

If he’d just kept quiet, maybe things would’ve blown over. But now Caleb totally misunderstood, shooting me a look that could freeze water.

“Ethan, mind your manners,” Caleb’s mother said, trying to keep the peace. “Caleb, peel some shrimp for Nina.”

“Why should I?” Caleb’s voice was sharp, like he’d touched a hot stove and wanted out. “Ethan, you do it.”

“Why me?” Ethan frowned, confused. “She was talking to—” He paused, catching my eye, eyebrow raised. He was sharp—he knew something was up between me and Caleb.

Then, slowly, Ethan peeled the shrimp, watching every little shift between us. When he finished, he dipped it in scallion soy sauce and set it in front of me.

“Good?” he asked, but his eyes were on Caleb.

Caleb pretended not to notice.

“Delicious,” I said, as polite as ever. “You should eat more too.”

“Who should eat more?” Ethan pressed, sly as a fox, digging for the truth.

I flashed a fake smile and turned toward Caleb. “Honey, you should eat more too.”

The word made him jump like he’d been zapped, nearly leaping out of his chair.

He totally lost his cool—something I’d never seen from him before. Everyone stared.

“What’s wrong, bro?” Ethan asked. “Why do you look so pale?”

“Nothing.”

“You want some shrimp too?”

“No,” Caleb said, eyes like ice. “I hate peeled shrimp the most.”

There was a noise at the entryway. Mr. Whitaker was home. He looked into the dining room and motioned for Caleb to join him upstairs in the study. They went up, one after the other, leaving the air thick with tension.

After dinner, in the living room, Ethan rested his arm on the back of my chair, speaking low so only I could hear. “They’re probably talking about the Whitaker–Simmons marriage deal.”

I flipped a page of my magazine. “Why not set you up too? Just because you don’t have a ‘throne’ to inherit?”

From the kitchen, I could hear Ethan’s mother chatting with Aunt Lisa. “Didn’t I tell you to put out the new mop this afternoon?”

“I did, I took out a brand new one. Didn’t I?” Aunt Lisa said, wiping her hands as she walked to the entry. “That’s odd.”

I looked down at the slippers on my feet—Ethan’s slippers. Then I glanced up, catching his reflection in the big window behind me.

He was standing way too close. Without me noticing, he’d crossed the line—his intentions clear as day.

“If my brother can, why can’t I?”

“What did you say?” I turned my head, and in the corner of my eye, spotted a tall figure at the stairs.

When did he get here? Caleb, in a black silk shirt, walked over and clapped Ethan on the shoulder with a smile. “Let’s go. You can drive me.”

The sudden brotherly act left Ethan stunned. He shot a look at the closed study door upstairs.

“Why are you leaving already?” Ethan’s mother hurried out.

“Work.”

“Oh, business comes first. Ethan, don’t just stand there—go see your brother out.” She handed Caleb his coat. “You need to work on your people skills, you know.”

“It’s fine.” Caleb smiled, then glanced at both me and Ethan. “At work, he’s my subordinate. He’ll learn soon enough what’s allowed and what’s not.”

This was my shot. Caleb was heading back to the office and probably wouldn’t be home all night. I could finally go home and pack my things. But honestly, I was dying to know what was in that closet. Why did he have my hair tie?

The penthouse was dark when I got back. I tiptoed upstairs. His bedroom door—second time’s the charm, right?

The room was pitch-black, the city glowing outside in a bluish haze. The floor was freezing, each step sending a shiver up my spine—just like him. Why did it feel so warm in here last time? Oh, right—last time I was carried in. My feet never even touched the floor.

I flicked on my phone’s flashlight and made my way to the walk-in closet. Found the wardrobe. Opened it. Shockingly easy. It was empty. Nothing inside.

“Is it fun? Playing both sides between me and him?” Caleb’s voice made me jump so hard I nearly dropped my phone.

I spun around and saw him sitting in a deep-gray armchair. Behind him, the big window framed the night sky, a plane blinking by in the distance.

“I told you, we’re done,” he said, lifting his gaze. “Why are you here?”

I didn’t even get a word in before he barreled on, “At the old house today, when you called out like that in front of him—were you calling to him or to me?”

“What am I to you? Just a toy, a distraction? Is my place somewhere you can come and go as you please?”

“Then I won’t leave,” I said, straight up. “Is that okay?”

“Keep dreaming!” He shot to his feet, laughing in disbelief.

“Just because I don’t remember what happened before doesn’t mean I’ll let it happen again. What do you take me for? Wasn’t it all just a game? Didn’t you say you didn’t want to hurt him? At the very least, I know right from wrong. And besides, that’s Ethan—no matter how crazy I get, I’d never have those kinds of thoughts about you.”

“Fine, I’ll go.” He scoffed, clearly done. “You really do whatever you want.”

Can’t win either way, I thought, so I asked, “It’s hard to get a rideshare here at this hour. Will you drive me home?”

“Not a chance.”

“Then maybe I’ll have Ethan pick me up?” I teased. I could just call the driver, but honestly, the angrier Caleb got, the better I felt.

His Tesla tore through the city streets. “Turn left up ahead,” I said. He drove fast, jaw clenched the whole way.

“How did I threaten you back then?” he asked, hands gripping the wheel so hard his veins stood out.

“You said…”

“Forget it,” he cut me off. “I don’t want to know.”

I looked at his profile—the cold, sharp line of his nose, his high brow. Usually, he kept his emotions locked up tight, but right now he looked about ready to snap. At himself, for losing his cool. At me, for sitting next to him. Every breath I took felt like it was pushing him closer to the edge.

“This is the last time.” He parked, turning to face me. “Get out.”

I stared at the dark penthouse looming ahead. No lights on in the windows.

“We’re done for good. Whatever you and Ethan do from now on has nothing to do with me—”

“Caleb.” I cut him off, meeting his eyes. “My husband’s not home.”

He exploded, anger finally boiling over. “So what? What do you want? Are you this casual with everyone?”

“No. Just you.”

He froze, stunned. His anger faded, replaced by a cold, defensive look, like he was building a wall right in front of me.

“There’s no way you and I could ever happen.”

I unbuckled my seatbelt, stretching. “Caleb, the lightbulb at home is out.”

The penthouse lights flickered on. “Didn’t you say it was broken?” he grumbled.

“I lied!” I said, grinning. Our eyes met. I asked, “Why aren’t you kissing me yet?”

“Why would I kiss you?” he snapped, more worked up than ever. “Enough already.” He turned to leave.

“Aren’t you going to see our home?” I called after him. He stopped, and I kept going, “This is the first apartment you bought me when we got together.” The day we got our marriage certificate, he bought it. I picked out every single thing in here.

“See, I picked out these kitchen tiles after so many trips to the home improvement store. And this double-door fridge—I bought it so we could stock all the things we love,” I said, bouncing to the kitchen door. “Do you like it?”

He stared at me for what felt like forever before finally asking, “Did I go with you to buy it?” The answer was no. He never did.

“Of course you did.”

“What did I say then? Did I say I liked it?” No, he never even showed up.

“You did. You said you loved it.” He went silent.

“The white sofa—the store sent the wrong one at first. I had to fight for ages to get the right one delivered,” I said, smiling anyway. “That day, I lay here thinking that on rainy days, we could curl up and watch movies together.”

I opened the bedroom door. “When I bought this bed, the salesperson said it was the perfect firmness for newlyweds—”

“You’re lying.” He cut me off, voice sharp. “If I really liked you, I wouldn’t have let you buy all this yourself.”

Yeah, I was a liar. I was the one who kept hoping. The one fooling herself.

“This is wrong,” he said. And he was right. A marriage without feelings was always wrong.

“I should go.” He grabbed his coat. “Lock up. Call… Ethan if you need anything.”

“Caleb.” He paused. I patted the bed. “Aren’t you going to try it?”

Wrong. But maybe we could just keep being wrong together.

In Caleb’s memory, hardly anything ever made him lose control.

When he was a kid, he won an award for a Father’s Day drawing. He brought it home, excited to show his mom.

She smiled, took his hand, and said, “Let’s go show your dad.”

Caleb found his dad at some strange woman’s house.

He saw the panic in the woman’s eyes, the anger in his father’s.

His mom gently stroked his head. “Go show your dad. He’s such a good father, isn’t he?”

He got scared and tried to back away.

But his mom grabbed him by the neck, holding him in place.

“What’s wrong with you?”

His dad tried to pull his mom away.

She laughed and cried, then lunged at the woman inside. “Why? Why is it always you crying while I go crazy and make a fool of myself? Why is everything yours and nothing mine?”

In the struggle, Caleb’s drawing got ripped to shreds. He just stood there, watching the scraps drift down like snow.

The noise woke a kid in the bedroom.

He came out, crying for his mom.

His dad rushed to comfort him, scared the boy would get hurt. So his dad could be gentle—just not with Caleb.

Later, Caleb learned that kid’s name—Ethan. Ethan said Caleb had stolen everything that should’ve been his.

But Caleb had nothing.

When his mom was dying of lung cancer, he took care of her day and night.

Meanwhile, his absent dad was grooming Ethan to take over the family business, step by step, pushing Caleb out.

On her deathbed, his mom gripped his hand tight. He thought she was going to say something important. He leaned in, holding her close. She said, “You look just like your father. It disgusts me.”

At the funeral, a bunch of unfamiliar relatives showed up. They offered condolences, but behind his back, they gossiped. “The mourning period isn’t even over, and there’s already a wedding. They couldn’t wait at all.” “The heir’s been chosen. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

It was all too much. Caleb just stared at the tall, dark-green pines in the distance. Winter came too fast. He lost everything.

That’s when the Lin family reached out. A last-ditch gamble. Nobody thought it would work.

He never really knew why the Lins picked him. He just knew arranged marriages had wrecked his mom’s life. A marriage for business had turned a gentle woman into someone desperate, never able to break free.

Now, to save himself, he had to tie down another woman the same way. Another woman trapped in a game she never asked to play. He hated himself for it.

Logic said he should’ve pushed her away from the start. Someone like him didn’t deserve anything. He gave their marriage no hope, treated it like a business deal. If they both saw it as pure strategy, nobody would get hurt. If only he could stay cold and clear. But instead—

“Try it?” His voice was rough. “How do you want to try?”

I froze, caught off guard. I never thought he’d actually say yes. He was always so buttoned-up, so proper.

“Are you ready for the consequences of ‘trying’?” His gaze pinned me. “I’m not looking for just a one-night mistake.”

My heart thudded in my chest. What did he mean by that?

“Would you break up with him for me?”

I looked up at him, searching his face. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

“I do.” His voice was stiff, like he was giving up every last bit of pride. “As long as you and he—”

“No.”

He looked stunned, like he’d just been sentenced. “What?”

“I don’t want to.”

The thrill of messing with him drowned out everything else. I didn’t care what would happen if he got his memory back. I just wanted to see him lose his cool. “I can’t bear to leave my husband.”

The air froze between us. For a long time, neither of us moved.

“I must be crazy,” he said with a bitter laugh. “We’re really done.” Then he turned and walked out.

If he ever remembered all this, what would he think of me? Would he feel ashamed? Or just hate me even more?