Chapter 1: The Day I Erased Her

After I married Autumn Hayes, I watched her go from a diner waitress to a high-society darling.

Sometimes, out of nowhere, I remember those early days: the way she’d fidget with her apron strings after a long shift, that hopeful glimmer in her eyes when she talked about life beyond Maple Heights. Back then, I thought I was giving her everything—handing her keys to doors she’d never dreamed of. Funny how life twists around on you.

But she cheated on me, and step by step, tore my company apart, leaving me with nothing but a ruined reputation and empty pockets.

It wasn’t just the betrayal—though God knows that stung like hell. That pain stuck with me. But what really got me was the slow, steady erosion. The way she’d smile at me in public, arm hooked through mine, while behind my back she was lining up dominoes just to watch me fall. I watched the empire I built crumble, brick by brick, and realized too late that I’d handed her the sledgehammer myself.

And then, suddenly, I opened my eyes and I was back—back before we got married.

It was surreal—like waking up from a nightmare, only to find yourself in the same bed, the same sheets, but somehow the world had reset. I still felt that ache in my chest, but the weight of failure hadn’t settled in yet. Not this time.

Back then, Autumn was just another unknown server, pouring wine for me in a private room at the Maple Heights country club.

The country club was where old money played golf and new money tried to blend in. The walls smelled like cigar smoke and leather, and the quiet in the private rooms was always a little too thick. Autumn moved quietly, but there was a steeliness in her posture, a tension in her jaw that said she’d rather be anywhere else.

She knelt awkwardly on the floor, her eyes full of disgust. “Will you finally leave me alone if I serve you this time, Mr. Callahan?”

Her voice was clipped, brittle. She didn’t even bother to hide the disdain in her eyes. The way she knelt wasn’t about deference—it was a waitress’s tired resignation, the kind you see after endless double shifts and hands that lingered on a tip.

Coming back to my senses, I took a sip of merlot to steady myself, then said to Autumn,

The wine was too warm, but it gave me a second to gather myself. I set the glass down with a soft clink, the sound sharp in the heavy quiet of the room.

“Get out.”

“From now on, don’t ever show up in front of me again!”

The words came out colder than I meant, but I didn’t care. I meant every bit of it. I didn’t want to see her face—not after everything I remembered. Not after what she’d done, or would do, if I let her.

Autumn looked stunned, caught completely off guard.

She blinked, lips parted like she couldn’t believe I’d dismissed her so easily. The mask she wore cracked for just a second, and beneath it, I caught a flicker of something—fear, maybe, or just wounded pride.

She looked up at me. “Mr. Callahan, do you mean it?”

Her voice trembled, just a little. For the first time, she sounded unsure, like she was waiting for me to laugh and call it a joke.

I crossed my legs, reached out, and firmly pinched Autumn’s chin. “Do I look like I’m joking with you?”

I made sure my touch was cold, not gentle. My voice came out clipped and icy, the kind of tone that shut down arguments before they started. I wanted her to see I wasn’t the same man she’d played with before.

The pressure in my voice landed hard, no room for misunderstanding.

She winced, cheeks flushing—anger or embarrassment, I couldn’t tell. The air felt thick, pressing in on us.

Autumn looked a little guilty and turned her head away from me. “You’re right, Mr. Callahan. In that case, please don’t bother me anymore.”

Her words were stiff, but she kept her eyes down. She smoothed her skirt, collecting what little dignity she had left, and took a shaky breath before pushing herself to her feet.

She stood up and turned to leave.

Her shoes made a soft scuff against the plush carpet. For a second, I wondered if she’d look back. She didn’t—not yet.

After two steps, she turned back. “Mr. Callahan, about what you said before—arranging for me to be your executive assistant—I have to refuse. I’d rather just start as a shift supervisor. That way, people won’t talk.”

There was a defiance in her voice now, like she was trying to reclaim some ground. She squared her shoulders, chin up, trying to make it sound like her choice, not a handout.

I took another sip of wine without looking up. “What I said before about making you my assistant was out of line.”

I didn’t say anything else. Let her sit with that.

“Thank you for understanding, Mr. Callahan, then I’ll…”

She trailed off, waiting for me to dismiss her, already halfway to the door.

“But—”

I cut her off.

My voice cut through her exit, sharp and sudden. I wasn’t finished.

“What makes you think I’ll let you be a shift supervisor?”

I watched her shoulders stiffen, her hand hovering at the doorknob, suddenly unsure.

Autumn froze, falling silent for a moment.

The silence dragged out. She turned, eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering across her face.

She frowned slightly. “What do you mean, Mr. Callahan?”

Her tone was cautious, wary. She was trying to figure out what game I was playing.

“If you want to join my company, do it the right way. Apply on your own, and only come in if you pass HR’s review. Whether you start as a regular employee or a supervisor depends on what you can actually do.”

I leaned back on the leather sofa, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a slow drag.

The flick of my lighter was loud in the quiet. I blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling, watching it curl and fade. The smell mixed with the wine and old leather, settling heavy in the air.

As smoke drifted up, Autumn’s expression turned even more sour.

She glared at the cigarette, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. The bitterness in her eyes was clear—she hated being told no.

“Because I won’t date you, you’re making things hard for me at work? Is that it?”

Her voice was tight, defensive. She crossed her arms, bracing herself for a fight. The accusation just sat there, thick as the smoke curling between us.

A faint, bitter smell of smoke filled the air.

I took another drag, tapping ash into the tray. The silence was tense, charged with old resentments and new boundaries.

I held the cigarette and looked up at her. “Do you really think you’re that important?”

I let my gaze linger, making sure she saw just how little she meant to me now. I wanted her to feel that chill, to know that whatever we’d had was gone.

The room fell silent.

The only sound was the ticking of the old wall clock, marking out the seconds. The air felt so heavy you could almost cut it with a knife.

Even the air seemed thick, pressing down so hard she could barely breathe.

Autumn’s face was pale, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles were white. She looked like she was holding back tears—or maybe rage.

Autumn clenched her fists in frustration. “Mr. Callahan, please watch your words. I may not be as rich as you, but my character is just as good. Just because I didn’t grow up with money doesn’t mean you get to look down on me!”

Her voice shook, but she didn’t back down. There was pride in her words, an edge that spoke of years spent fighting just to be seen. She wasn’t about to let me dismiss her without a fight.

“Character?” I almost laughed. “Let me tell you what character means.”

I leaned forward and stubbed out my cigarette. “It means standing your ground, not being a pushover or acting arrogant. If you’re threatened, you call the cops. You don’t half-resist, half-give in—taking perks from your enemy while wishing you could tear him apart, then blaming him for making you lower yourself. That’s character.

It means acting honestly. What’s yours is yours, what isn’t, don’t covet. You don’t shamelessly ask for handouts, turn hostile if you don’t get them, or twist things around to play the victim. That’s character.

You say your character’s as good as mine, but you don’t have a single one of those qualities. Yet you accuse me of looking down on you because of your background, of not respecting you, and between the lines, you act like I’m some upper-class snob who doesn’t get it. Let me ask you—who didn’t start from the bottom and work their way up? Did my position as CEO just fall from the sky? Did my money and status come from someone else? Didn’t I fight for everything myself? When have I ever disrespected you? Tell me.”

My words were harsh, but I didn’t flinch. I wanted her to hear the truth—at least, my version of it. I let my voice rise and fall, each word landing like a hammer. I was done playing the fool.

Autumn stared at me, wide-eyed, completely stunned.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her eyes darted around, looking for an escape, but there was nowhere to hide. The walls felt even closer now.

She looked uncertain, doubt flickering in her eyes.

She pressed a hand to her chest, as if trying to slow her breathing. I could see her mind racing, trying to figure out what happened to the man she used to know.

She couldn’t understand why I’d been so obsessed with her before, only to suddenly lose all interest now.

Her confusion was written all over her face. I almost felt sorry for her—almost. But sympathy had burned out of me a long time ago.

She couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t remember the past and instead completely humiliated her.

She bit her lower lip, teeth digging in until the skin blanched. She looked lost, like a kid who’d just realized the rules had changed and no one told her.

Autumn bit her lip, feeling flustered for the first time in her life.

Her hands shook as she tried to smooth her skirt, a nervous tic she probably didn’t even realize she had. For a second, I wondered if she’d ever really been told no before—no room for negotiation.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? I’m asking you, how have I disrespected you?”

I kept my tone even, but there was an edge to it. I wanted her to answer, to admit she had nothing to stand on.

“I…”

Her voice was barely a whisper. She looked down at the floor, searching for words that wouldn’t come.

“Can’t answer, can you?”

I swirled the merlot in my glass. “So what was all that righteous talk just now for?”

I let the question hang, watching her squirm. The wine caught the light, casting red shadows on the table. I took a slow sip, letting the silence stretch.

Our eyes met.

For a heartbeat, neither of us looked away. There was a challenge in her gaze, but it was fading fast.

Autumn’s gaze was full of shock and barely hidden anger.

Her cheeks flushed, lips pressed into a thin, hard line. She was furious, but she didn’t dare let it spill over—not yet.

She paused, then said, “Don’t look down on people! Even without you, I can still get into Callahan Industries!”

She threw the words at me like a gauntlet, daring me to contradict her. I almost smiled—almost.

I’d heard it all before. It never meant anything.

If she got into the company, that was on her. If not, I wasn’t opening any back doors. Whatever happened, it wasn’t my problem anymore.

I didn’t say anything, just waved my hand.

It was a clear dismissal. I turned my attention back to the wine, signaling that the conversation was over.

A gesture for her to leave.

She hesitated, just a second, then squared her shoulders and walked out, her heels clicking against the floor.

Autumn didn’t make a scene—she left, face dark, shoulders tight. She kept her head up, but I could see the storm brewing in her eyes. She’d be back, I was sure—but not today.

I lay back on the sofa, eyes closed, letting myself rest.

The leather creaked beneath me as I let out a long breath. For the first time in a long time, I felt the tension drain from my shoulders—if only for a moment.

But the memories wouldn’t leave me alone.

They came in waves, uninvited and relentless. I saw flashes of laughter, whispered promises in the dark, the way her hand used to fit in mine. Then the memories twisted, turning sharp and bitter.

It was like watching myself from above—just to make Autumn smile, I’d booked every place she ever said she liked, letting her enjoy them all by herself.

I remembered the look on her face when I handed her the reservation confirmations—how she barely smiled, already scrolling through her phone for something better. I remembered standing outside those restaurants, waiting for her to finish, watching the world pass by.

I remembered giving her thirty percent of the company’s shares because she said she felt insecure.

I’d signed the papers myself, thinking it would prove my love. The ink was barely dry before she started making calls, moving pieces I didn’t even know existed. I was a fool, and she knew it.

I saw myself spoiling Autumn endlessly—a man of power bowing his head for love, humbling himself at her feet.

It was embarrassing to remember. I’d bent over backwards, ignored every warning sign, convinced myself that love meant sacrifice—no matter the cost. God, what a joke.

And then?

Autumn kept a lover behind my back, brought him into my company, flirted right under my nose, and secretly plotted to take over my company and kick me out.

I saw them together in the corner office, laughing over coffee. I saw the way she’d look at him, the way she never looked at me. The betrayal was a knife that never stopped twisting.

From being worth billions to penniless and homeless, Autumn sneered as she put a dog leash around my neck, humiliating me on purpose. She said she wanted me to taste the humiliation I’d given her before.

The memory was vivid—her voice cold, her eyes glittering with triumph. I’d never felt so small, so utterly broken. The leash was real, the humiliation public. People whispered behind my back, but no one dared step in.

She made me watch her and her pretty boy have fun in our wedding suite, drove me to despair until I was begging her just for a bite to eat.

I remembered the hunger, the shame, the desperate hope that she’d throw me a scrap of kindness. She never did. She enjoyed every second of my misery.

And in the end?

I died in agony from her torment.

The pain was real, searing through my chest and down my arms. I remembered gasping for breath, reaching out for help that never came. The memory burned—sharp, hot, and impossible to forget.

When I was dying, Autumn stepped on my chest in disgust. “Do you know, you really make me sick! Is having money so great? Can money get you anything you want without effort? You think spending money on me is love, but I don’t care at all! Without you, I can become strong on my own, I can stand higher than you! See, isn’t that how it is now?”

Her voice echoed in my ears, every word a slap in the face. She leaned in, her perfume thick and cloying, her smile cruel. I could still feel the sting of her contempt.

The heel of her stiletto pressed into my chest bone. It hurt.

The pain was sharp, bright. I remember the pattern of the shoe, the weight behind it. She wanted me to remember.

I remember clearly—when I died, my eyes were open.

The ceiling blurred above me, the world spinning out of focus. I saw her silhouette, framed by the doorway, and then nothing.

Even now, I wake up some nights with that same ache in my chest, the memory too real to shake.

Luckily, fate gave me another chance at life.

This time, I swore, I wouldn’t make the same mistakes. I’d keep my guard up, keep my distance. No more second chances—for either of us.