Part 1The Husband Who Stole My Memory

The day I was supposed to marry the love of my life, Damon Blackwood blew up the venue.

He found me in the wreckage and pulled me out with his bare hands.

Gazing at my dazed, amnesiac state, he carefully masked the raw ecstasy in his eyes and choked out a trembling lie: he was my fiancé. He was my love.

After that, Damon loved me for four whole years.

Then, he got bored.

* * *

He expertly slid off his wedding ring, his hand moving to gently stroke the belly of his young assistant.

“Give me a child, and your life is yours.”

“And of course, same rule as always—don’t let Viv find out.”

But he didn’t know. His little assistant secretly recorded that moment.

She sent the video to me, gloating that the old wife should step aside.

He certainly didn’t know—I’d already gotten my memory back.

Before him, my true love’s name was Rhys Kincaid.

Handsome and wild, a man who paid back every debt owed.

I was cut from the same cloth.

Damon Blackwood was screwed.