Faking Amnesia For A New Life
I lost my memory. Or rather, I faked it.
Conrad Gallagher, the boyfriend I had been secretly dating for five years, effortlessly erased our entire relationship.
"You're only fit to be a casual hookup."
Then, he announced his engagement to a woman approved by his parents.
To save myself from utter humiliation, I faked amnesia, conveniently forgetting no one but Conrad.
But when it was time for me to get married, Conrad regretted it. He kidnapped me right out of my wedding and spirited me away: "Don't marry him, okay?"
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Chapter 1
I lost my memory. Or rather, I faked it.
Conrad Gallagher, the boyfriend I had been secretly dating for five years, effortlessly erased our entire relationship.
"You're only fit to be a casual hookup."
Then, he announced his engagement to a woman approved by his parents.
To save myself from utter humiliation, I faked amnesia, conveniently forgetting no one but Conrad.
But when it was time for me to get married, Conrad regretted it. He kidnapped me right out of my wedding and spirited me away: "Don't marry him, okay?"
Chapter 1
Aurora's POV
Inside the ballroom of the Omni Parker House, I ran into him again.
Conrad.
I drew in a sharp breath, the champagne flute trembling slightly in my grip.
It had been two months since the accident, two months since I had last seen his face, and two months since I had made the conscious decision to scrub him from my memory entirely.
Now, catching sight of him in the bustling crowd, he was impossible to ignore.
Impeccably dressed as always, his dark suit was tailored to perfection. His undeniable charm acted like a gravitational pull, drawing people toward him. My heart pounded, slamming violently against my ribs.
Conrad’s gaze landed on me. His confident stride faltered for a fraction of a second before he changed direction, heading straight for me. Every step he took was heavy and deliberate, like fate itself closing in.
"Aurora," he said.
I turned my head slowly, meeting his gaze with a blank, uncomprehending stare. "Excuse me, do you know me?"
His eyes flicked from my face, dropping to the neckline of my dress, then sweeping all the way down to my legs. That familiar possessiveness gave me goosebumps.
In the past, whenever he thought no one was watching—whenever he felt I was his exclusive plaything—he would always look at me like that.
Conrad glanced around, his eyes darting quickly over the curious faces nearby.
He had always been hyper-aware of his public image, always needing to maintain control. He noticed the subtle stares and caught the faint whispers drifting from the edges of the conversation.
Without a word, he shrugged off his expensive wool overcoat and draped it over my bare shoulders.
His hand gripped my arm tightly, pulling me into his personal space.
"Aurora, drop the act. You haven't contacted me for two months. Are you really that mad?" He leaned in, his lips practically brushing my ear. "Are we going to my condo or your hotel today? You choose."
I struggled to pull away from his grasp, but his hand held me in an iron grip, refusing to budge.
I finally looked up at him. "Sir, please maintain a polite distance. I don't like being touched without permission."
He narrowed his eyes, a dangerous glint flashing in their depths.
His charming veneer cracked, revealing a flash of irritation.
"Aurora Buchanan," he began, his tone laced with a distinct warning. He only ever used my full name when anger was boiling just beneath his surface.
Before, whenever he used that tone, I would immediately shrink back, apologize, and try to smooth things over.
For five years, I had walked on eggshells, tailoring my reactions to his moods, desperately trying to keep him.
But that Aurora was gone.
I kept my face arranged in an innocent, bewildered expression. The performance was flawless. "Sir, do I know you? I'm terribly sorry, but my memory isn't what it used to be."
Conrad let out an impatient sigh, his voice thick with annoyance. He waved a hand dismissively, brushing off my words. "Stop it, Aurora. This isn't like you. You're being dramatic."
That familiar disdain and casual belittlement pricked at me like a needle.
A sharp sting of pain welled up in my chest.
Bitter memories flashed through my mind: the explosive arguments, him constantly calling me "overreactive" or "too emotional," and his claims that our five-year relationship was "just for convenience."
"Aurora? Is everything alright?" Elliot's calm, warm voice shattered the suffocating tension.
He appeared at my side, bringing with him a grounding, reassuring presence.
He stepped between us, his posture a silent shield. He rested a hand gently on the small of my back, a quiet promise of protection.
"Conrad," Elliot said, his tone even but edged with frost. "Are you aware that my fiancée, Aurora, was in a severe car accident a few months ago? Her memory has been spotty ever since. It's been a tough road to recovery."
"Fiancée?" Conrad repeated.
Elliot continued in the same steady voice: "She might not recognize a lot of people she knew before the crash, even some close acquaintances."
Conrad’s usually supremely confident eyes narrowed into slits. A flicker of genuine shock crossed his face, quickly followed by suspicion. "Amnesia?"
He wasn't asking about my well-being or my recovery.
He only wanted to know if he had been erased.
I hadn't forgotten him. I chose to forget him.
It was the only way I could escape the suffocating shame of being nothing more than a "plaything."
For five years, I had been his dirty little secret, only to be tossed aside and replaced by someone more "suitable." How else was I supposed to face my family and friends?
Amnesia was a blank slate, giving me the chance to rebuild everything.
The doctors had even mentioned the possibility of post-traumatic amnesia; it made my story all the more believable.
I knew he would look into it. Of course he would. Conrad always did.
I shifted slightly, stepping around Elliot, deliberately putting on a bewildered and visibly confused expression. "Sir," I said softly, "you mentioned earlier... were we close?"
"Because my parents never mentioned you."
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8.8
The Offering of the Blood Moon
In the savage and intoxicating kingdom of the Legion, the Blood Moon does not simply rise it awakens a hunger that demands to be satisfied... by flesh, by fire, by fate.
Kiana was raised to hate the beasts and fear the shadows, to believe that being taken meant losing everything. But when she is torn from her village and delivered into the arms of Silas, the Alpha King, she discovers the truth is far more dangerous
Her greatest threat is not death.
It's the way her body betrays her in his presence.
Silas is dominance carved into living form iron muscle, quiet authority, and a darkness that wraps around her like a slow, suffocating promise. He is a king who does not ask, He takes,He commands, He owns, Yet the one woman who should fall at his feet dares to meet his gaze, challenge his control, and ignite something wild beneath his carefully restrained power.
And Silas... does not walk away from what tempts him.
Their connection is immediate. Violent. Addictive.
Every clash of words burns hotter than the last. Every step closer feels like crossing a line neither of them can uncross. The tension between them coils tight, thick with heat and unspoken hunger, until even the air feels too heavy to breathe.
In the quiet shadows of the royal chambers, where the moonlight spills like liquid silver across bare skin, resistance begins to crack. The scent of cedar and rain clings to him as he closes in, his presence overwhelming, his touch slow and deliberate-like he already knows exactly how she'll respond.
And she does.
Every time.
His hands don't just touch they linger. Claim. Promise.
Every brush of his lips is not gentle... it's consuming.
And when his mouth finds the sensitive curve of her neck, Kiana's defiance falters, her breath catching as something deeper, darker, and far more dangerous rises to the surface an aching, restless need she cannot fight, no matter how hard she tries.
Because this is not just desire.
It is a bond that burns.
A pull that tightens.
A hunger that refuses to be denied.
Yet the closer they get, the more dangerous the line becomes.
Between control... and surrender.
Between hatred... and craving.
Between captor... and something far more consuming.
Because under the Blood Moon, nothing is ever halfway.
And once you're claimed...
There is no escape.
9.4
My retirement was finally approved, and I was supposed to be sipping drinks on a sunny beach.
Instead, a cold system voice forced me into a nightmare scenario: "Cursed Mates Who Want Me Dead." I woke up in a stinking cave, trapped in the body of a psychopathic tribal princess.
The memories that flooded my brain made me sick. The original owner of this body had forcibly marked seven of the continent's most powerful beast-men and reduced them to tortured pets. She had ripped the shimmering scales off Jordi the Merfolk prince, gouged out a proud wolf-man's power crystal, and snapped an eagle-man's magnificent wings.
Now, Jordi was a mutilated, terrified mess hiding in a corner. He was so traumatized that he tried to slit his own throat just to escape me. His sister was actively trying to assassinate me.
To make matters worse, the system warned me that if I didn't heal these seven ticking time bombs, my soul would be erased. Yet the future timeline clearly showed that these men would eventually unite, burn my tribe to the ground, and dismember me alive.
I was paying for a monster's sins. Every time I tried to show mercy, they thought it was a sick new torture method. Words were useless, and my very presence was a trigger.
But I am a Tier-S operative, and I don't play the victim. I forced the system to unlock my powers and strapped on my tactical gear.
"Stay here and don't starve."
I left the trembling Merfolk behind and walked into the deadly primitive forest, heading straight for the powerful Oasis Tribe to take back his stolen scales by force.
7.3
e didn't come to stop my wedding to Daniel. He came to claim me for himself.
One moment I was walking toward "I do" - toward Daniel, my safe, predictable future. Next, his men stormed the church, and I was dragged from the altar in my lace dress, veil torn, dreams shattered. I became the prize of the most dangerous man in the city.
Eric Moretti. The Mafia King. Cold eyes. Sinful mouth. Hands that have ended lives... and now own mine.
"Daniel can't protect you," he growled against my ear that first night, locking me in his penthouse. "He never could. But me, Seraphina? I'll owe you. Cherish you. Destroy anyone who looks at you twice. You're mine now."
I fought him. I screamed. I clawed.
He pinned my wrists above my head and showed me exactly what resistance costs.
But somewhere between the silk sheets and the dangerous midnight confessions, hate began to blur with something far more terrifying-need. His touch sets my skin on fire. His voice commands my pulse. And when he looks at me like I'm the only light in his dark world, I forget Daniel's name. I forget I was ever meant to be someone else's bride.
"I should let you go," he admits one night, lips trailing down my throat. "Send you back to your safe little life with Daniel. But I'm a selfish bastard. And you... You've gotten under my skin, Bella."
But in his world, love is a death sentence. Enemies circle. Betrayal festers. And when they come for him, they'll have to go through me-the bride who stopped being a captive the moment I chose to stay.
They say the Mafia King has no heart. They're wrong. He gave it to me-and I'll burn this city down before I let anyone take it from him.me to add more tension between Eric and Daniel, or make Daniel a bigger threat?
7.2
I went to the bank to set up a trust fund for my twins, only to have the manager look at me with pity.
"Mrs. Dunlap, the trust requires the *biological* mother's signature."
I froze. I *was* their mother. Or so I thought.
That day, I learned my husband, the most powerful Mafia Don on the coast, had used his ex-lover’s frozen eggs.
For six years, I wasn't his wife. I was just the incubator.
When his "true love," Iliana, returned from exile, my life disintegrated.
My children, poisoned by her lies, pushed me down the stairs and called me "just the nanny."
Gavyn didn't help me up. He stepped over my bleeding body to take his "real family" out for ice cream.
But the ultimate betrayal happened on a windswept cliff.
Staged by Iliana, we were both tied up, allegedly rigged to explode.
Forced to choose who to save, Gavyn didn't hesitate.
He cut Iliana loose.
"You did this to yourself, Alex," he said, driving away with the children, leaving me to die.
He thought he was leaving behind a corpse.
He didn't know I had skimmed ten million dollars from the household accounts.
"Cut me loose," I told the hitman, transferring the money. "And tell him the ocean took me."
Two years later, the Don is on his knees in my garden, begging for a second chance.
Too bad he has to get through my new fiancé first—the head of the rival cartel.
8.4
Eleven years ago, Damien Falcone pulled me from the freezing waters, and I thought I was marrying my savior.
Instead, he orchestrated my absolute ruin by forging evidence to frame me for selling a vital mafia bootlegging route to the FBI.
Under the guise of saving me from the family's brutal death sentence, he stripped away my future as his Mafia Queen. He dragged me to New York and locked me in a gilded penthouse cage. For eleven years, I rotted away as his secret prisoner until my failing body finally gave out.
As I collapsed in the freezing New York snow, he caught me, his hands trembling as he held my dying body against his chest.
"No, Fia, stay with me. I did it to keep you alive. I had to—"
I didn't want to hear his monstrous lies anymore. I had given him all my love, and he repaid me with a tomb. Loving him was the only unforgivable sin I ever committed.
"I pray... we never meet again."
When the howling wind faded, I opened my eyes to the heavy stench of rust and lake water. I wasn't dead.
I was back in the cramped cabin of a cargo freighter, exactly sixteen years old again. It was the very night my jealous cousin sent an assassin to carve up my face and void my marriage to the Falcone family.
This time, I quietly gripped the heavy oak slat under my mattress.
7.5
I didn't fall for him.
I crashed.
Liam Cage wasn't supposed to matter. He was just the arrogant stranger with a dangerous smile and eyes that undressed me in a single glance. Just a man passing through my life.
Until our parents got married.
Now he's everywhere, in the kitchen at midnight, leaning against doorframes like he owns the air I breathe. In the hallway, too close. Always too close. Every look between us feels like a secret. Every argument feels like foreplay. Every silence feels loaded.
We don't talk about it.
We don't have to.
Because the truth is there in the way my pulse stutters when he says my name. In the way he watches me like he's trying to decide whether to ruin me - or save me.
He's wrong.
For me.
For my family.
For my sanity.
But when he touches me, the world narrows down to skin and heat and the terrifying realization that some mistakes don't feel like mistakes at all.
They feel inevitable.
This story is about craving what you shouldn't, crossing lines you swore you wouldn't, and discovering that sometimes the most dangerous love is the one that feels the most real.