After I Lost My Memory, I Stopped Loving My Alpha

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the gleaming marble lobby of Mills Industries. Forty-three floors of glass and steel stretched above me, but I only had eyes for the penthouse suite where Ryker conducted his business empire.

Mila had insisted on coming with me, but I'd refused. This conversation needed to happen between mates, without witnesses to what might be our final words.

My reflection in the elevator's polished walls showed a woman I barely recognized. The hospital gown had been replaced by a simple black dress Mila had brought—something the old Ivy apparently owned but never wore. It hugged curves I didn't remember having, and my hair fell in dark waves around my shoulders instead of the ponytail I'd apparently favored before.

The amnesia had taken my memories, but it had also stripped away whatever insecurities had made me small. I stood straighter now, moved with purpose, spoke with authority I'd never known I possessed.

*You're coming here,* Ryker's voice had been a constant presence in my mind since I'd left the hospital against medical advice. *Ivy, we need to discuss this rationally.*

*Rationally?* I'd responded, letting my mental voice carry all the ice I felt. *Like how you rationally humiliated me in front of the pack while I carried your children?*

His silence had been answer enough.

The elevator climbed steadily, each floor bringing me closer to a confrontation that felt inevitable. Through our mate bond, I could sense Ryker's growing agitation, his Alpha instincts warring with something that might have been guilt.

Floor forty-three arrived with another soft chime.

Ryker's secretary, a nervous-looking beta male, looked up from his desk as I approached. His eyes widened in recognition, then quickly darted away as if I were something dangerous.

"Ms. Chen," he stammered. "Alpha Mills is in a meeting, but I can—"

"He's expecting me," I said simply, not breaking stride as I walked past his desk toward the mahogany doors marked with Ryker's name.

I didn't knock.

Ryker stood behind his massive desk, phone pressed to his ear, but his eyes locked on mine the moment I entered. He was exactly as Mila had described—tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of commanding presence that made other wolves submit without question. Dark hair, steel-gray eyes, a jawline that could cut glass.

He should have been devastating to look at. Instead, all I felt was cold calculation.

"I'll call you back," he said into the phone, never breaking eye contact with me. The device clicked as he set it down, his movements careful and controlled.

"Ivy." His voice was rough, uncertain. "You shouldn't have left the hospital."

"Shouldn't I?" I closed the door behind me with deliberate precision, the soft click echoing in the spacious office. "Tell me, Ryker, what exactly should I be doing right now?"

He moved around the desk, his Alpha presence filling the room like a physical force. But where it might have made the old Ivy submit, it only sharpened my resolve.

"You're hurt. You need rest. The babies—"

"Don't." The word cracked like a whip. "Don't you dare mention my children as if you care about them."

Something flickered across his face—pain, maybe, or regret. "They're my children too."

"Are they?" I tilted my head, studying him like a particularly interesting specimen. "Because from what I've been told, you made your priorities quite clear the night I tried to tell you about them."

Ryker's jaw tightened. "You don't remember that night."

"No, I don't. But I remember what you told me in the hospital. About being forgettable. About being temporary." I took a step closer, and he actually retreated slightly. "Those words came from somewhere, didn't they?"

The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken truths. Through our bond, I could feel his internal struggle, the war between his Alpha pride and something that might have been shame.

"I was angry," he said finally.

"At me? For existing? For carrying your children?" My voice remained level, conversational. "Or were you angry because I interrupted your reunion with Vanessa?"

His eyes flashed. "This isn't about Vanessa."

"Isn't it?" I smiled, and even I could feel how sharp it was. "Tell me, Ryker, where is your precious Vanessa now? Is she waiting for you at home, playing house while your actual mate recovers from a car accident?"

"Ivy—"

"I want a divorce."

The words dropped into the silence like stones into still water. Ryker went completely still, his Alpha presence wavering for the first time since I'd entered.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me." I moved to the window, looking out at the Seattle skyline without really seeing it. "I want to sever our mate bond. Permanently."

"That's... that's not possible. The bond can't be broken, especially not with children involved."

I turned back to face him, and whatever he saw in my expression made him take another step back.

"Can't it? I seem to recall there are ancient rituals. Painful ones, but effective." I studied his face, watching the color drain from his features. "Unless, of course, you can give me a reason not to."

"The children—"

"Will be better off without a father who sees their mother as disposable."

Ryker's control finally cracked. "Damn it, Ivy! Why are you doing this?"

"Why?" I laughed, and the sound was nothing like whatever laugh the old Ivy might have had. "Because you need a breeding tool, Ryker. Someone to give you heirs and fade into the background while you play with your real love. And I'm not interested."

The words hit him like physical blows. I could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, the way his hands clenched at his sides.

"That's not... I never said..."

"You didn't have to say it. Your actions spoke loud enough."

Before he could respond, a soft knock interrupted us. The door opened without invitation, and a man stepped inside—tall, distinguished, with silver hair and the kind of presence that commanded immediate attention.

But it was his eyes that made my breath catch. They were the same unusual violet shade I saw in my own reflection.

"Forgive the interruption," the stranger said, his voice carrying a slight accent I couldn't place. His gaze moved between Ryker and me, then settled on my face with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

"Sterling," Ryker said, his voice tight with barely controlled aggression. "This is a private conversation."

But Sterling Ashford—because somehow I knew that's who he was—ignored Ryker entirely. He moved closer to me, his violet eyes searching my face with an expression of dawning wonder.

"Extraordinary," he murmured. "You look exactly like Grace... who disappeared twenty-three years ago."

The name hit me like a lightning bolt, sending sharp pain through my skull. Grace. Why did that name feel important? Why did it make my heart race and my hands shake?

"I don't know what you're talking about," I managed, but my voice sounded weak even to my own ears.

Sterling's smile was cold and calculating. "Don't you, my dear? Because I think you know exactly who Grace was. And more importantly..." His eyes glittered with something that might have been triumph. "I think you know exactly who you really are."