After losing my memory, I divorced Don

I went to the small art gallery where I worked as a curator, seeking the comfort and routine of familiarity.

A brand-new, matte black armored SUV was parked menacingly in front of the glass doors.

Caspian leaned against the hood, radiating a lethal aura.

His mere presence terrified the morning commuters on the sidewalk, forcing them to cross the street just to avoid his line of sight.

He pushed himself off the car the moment he saw me.

"Did you block my number?" he demanded.

His tone was fiercely controlled, masking a dangerous vulnerability beneath.

I didn't break my stride, walking right past him toward the gallery entrance.

"Yes," I replied coldly. "I needed a break anyway. Why don't we just go see the mob lawyers now and get the divorce settlement sorted out?"

The air around him turned heavy and freezing.

He moved faster than I could react, stepping in front of the door and blocking my path with his broad chest.

"Unblock me," he ordered.

"Sorry." I admitted fault bluntly. "I shouldn't have blocked you."

His expression briefly softened, taking on a stiff, unfamiliar huskiness of a forced apology: "I'm sorry, darling, you know I love you. I never broke my oath."

I rolled my eyes: "Blocking you just makes signing the divorce papers inconvenient."

Caspian's face darkened: "Add my number back."

I swiped at my phone: "I can't. I forgot your number."

Caspian went terrifyingly stiff.

He stepped into my space, bending down until his face was mere inches from mine.

"Did you really forget?"

His gaze was sharp as a blade, as if trying to slice through me to find any trace of a lie.

I avoided staring into those dark depths, merely brushing past his shoulder: "That's right. I forgot."

"How could you forget? You loved me so much. Darling, do you have amnesia?"

My body froze: "We're done. Why would I bother remembering your phone number?"

But he moved with the swiftness of a predator.

Before I even registered it, he had snatched my phone away.

"Give that back!" I snapped.

He ignored me, tapping the screen to wake it up.

His thumb punched in his own birthday.

The screen buzzed aggressively, signaling an incorrect passcode.

"Did you change it?" he demanded through gritted teeth.

I remained stubbornly silent.

As he stared at the lock screen, a flash of genuine pain crossed his rugged, chiseled face.

He punched in another six-digit sequence.

The date of our Mafia blood oath.

Failed.

He stared at the device for a very, very long time.

Then, his long fingers entered a new set of numbers.

My birthday.

The phone clicked unlocked.

Caspian gave me a dark, terrified look that made my breath catch in my throat.

His thumb moved rapidly across the screen.

He instantly reset the passcode to our wedding anniversary.

"Give it back." I snatched the phone angrily from his hand.

I tapped the screen to open my messages, but it was locked again.

I quickly typed in my birthday.

Failed.

"What did you do?" I demanded furiously.

Caspian just stood there, watching me.

I stared at the screen, genuinely confused.

I tried his birthday again. Still nothing.

I looked up at him, anger boiling over.

"What numbers did you use?"

Caspian's gaze sharpened, cutting like a razor.

He saw the genuine confusion in my raw reaction.

I watched his sharp mind piece the scattered fragments together.

"Ever since you woke up from your suicide attempt, you've been like a different person," he stated with absolute certainty. "Sienna, it seems you have amnesia..."