After losing my memory, I divorced Don

The warm water soaked through my ruined dress, the wet fabric clinging tightly to my skin.

My resolve to break our marriage vows was as solid as bedrock.

Even though I had lost five years of memory, seeing Caspian recklessly risk himself to save Elena still sent an instinctive pang of pain through my heart.

I supposed it was the twenty-seven-year-old me struggling to extinguish the very last ember of love.

Caspian rested his chin on my shoulder, his intangible affection making me feel sick.

"I misjudged the situation; I didn't know you had fallen in too. Otherwise, I would have saved you first," he confessed, his voice raspy. "I swear on my honor, it will never happen again."

I watched the water level rise just below my knees, feeling nothing.

"It doesn't matter. I want a divorce. Bring the divorce papers tomorrow. From now on, whoever you want to save first, go right ahead."

Caspian's arm around my waist tightened, his fingers digging deeply into my flesh.

"The Don does not grant divorces," he denied flatly. "And I do not consent."

His voice dropped into a lethal whisper that sent chills down my spine.

I squirmed against him, splashing water over the edge of the porcelain tub.

"Why are you chaining me to you?" I demanded, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. "You value her life over mine. This marriage is a joke."

My elbow slammed hard into his ribs with a dull thud. Taking advantage of his muffled grunt, I scrambled over the edge of the tub, warm water cascading from the hem of my dress.

I retreated to the center of the bedroom, keeping the massive king-sized bed between us as a barrier.

Caspian stepped out of the bathroom, a puddle of water gathering at his feet.

His dark obsession eroded his features, twisting his handsome face into something terrifying.

He walked slowly toward me, shucking off his ruined suit jacket and tossing it to the floor.

"Back off!" I warned, grabbing a heavy brass lamp from the nightstand and wielding it like a club.

He ignored the weapon.

He kept advancing, his steps steady and resolute.

I raised my leg and kicked him hard in the thigh.

A flash of primal rage crossed Caspian's eyes, but he swallowed his anger, letting out a sharp hiss.

He lunged forward, snatching the lamp from my hands and throwing it across the room, where it shattered against the wall.

He grabbed my face, trying to force me into submission with a kiss, his lips pressing punishingly against mine.

"I will make it up to you, Sienna," he growled against my mouth. "You are mine."

I planted both hands firmly on his chest, using all my strength to break free from his hold.

Caspian's patience completely fractured, his last thread of restraint snapping.

He shoved me down onto the mattress, covering my body with his massive frame, intent on claiming his wife and re-establishing his dominance.

A sharp, relentless spike of pain erupted from the center of my skull.

My vision flashed blindingly white.

I screamed, my entire body trembling violently beneath him, as if some lingering trauma from my past life had violently collided with the present.

Caspian instantly shifted from predator to protector, the feral glint in his eyes vanishing.

He rolled off me, frantically checking my face, his hands hovering over me as if terrified of causing further harm.

"Sienna? Look at me."

As I clutched my head, his gaze darted down to my hands.

He froze, his throat tight, unable to breathe.

The warm water in the bathtub had dissolved the adhesive on the waterproof bandages. The struggle had dislodged them, and the thick gauze had peeled away from my skin.

They were completely soaked in bright crimson blood, creating a stark, horrifying contrast against the white bedsheets.

Caspian grabbed my forearms and, with trembling fingers, tore the gauze away.

He stared at the deep, jagged cuts across my veins.

His pupils dilated with horror; the reality of what he was seeing finally convinced him.

He realized the clinic's report was wrong.

He realized I had truly intended to end my life, and that I had meant every single cut.

The Don let out a roar of absolute terror and rage that shook the walls of the suite—a sound of utter devastation.

"Who gave you permission to die?!"

I looked up at his horrified face, my own expression cold, devoid of an ounce of pity, feeling only absurdity.

"You were willing to let me drown, so why do you care about my wrists?"