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 4
Aurora's POV
My eyes burned with raw fury.
"Selective amnesia?" I scoffed. "Is that what you call it? That's hilarious."
I jabbed a finger at his chest, my voice rising. "Mr. Gallagher, based on what you just did, my lawyers would be well within their rights to press charges."
"You yourself denied that we ever had an intimate relationship. Mere acquaintances, or old friends, remember?"
"What? Was our past relationship something that couldn't be mentioned in front of my fiancé? Was I just your hookup?"
I sneered, "I am a Buchanan. Does it make any logical sense that I would lower myself to be your dirty little secret bedmate?"
"Are you really that irresistible?" I deliberately gave his body a slow, appraising once-over. "Looks pretty average to me."
"So, was I played by you, or was I scammed by you?"
"Aurora Buchanan!" he ground out through clenched teeth.
"Alright, alright." I threw my hands up in mock surrender. "Let's just say I had terrible taste back then. And since we were just 'friends with benefits,' maybe Mr. Gallagher doesn't have the standing to question me."
He was the one who said I was just a hookup.
If that was the case, I was going to throw the word right back in his face.
Conrad took a deep breath. "Don't be like this, Aurora. I didn't know you wanted to marry me, or that you wanted the title of girlfriend."
"I broke it off with my fiancée. If you want to be my girlfriend, then be my girlfriend."
"I've missed you so much lately. What I said that day was wrong. I do care about you."
"So stop throwing a tantrum, and let's go back to the way things were, okay?"
My face remained entirely blank.
Conrad didn't get it at all. He still thought this was about the title of fiancée or girlfriend.
The biggest issue was that he had never, ever respected me.
I held up my left hand, the diamond on my ring catching the dim light. "I told you, I don't remember the past. I'm engaged. Engaged to Elliot."
My tone hardened. "In fact, I find you completely unappealing right now. You're just not my type. Not anymore."
Conrad's jaw tightened further, the grinding of his teeth clearly audible. His eyes locked onto my ring, dark and dangerous.
"I am completely indifferent to you," I said, holding his gaze with eerie calm. "You're a stranger to me. And honestly, you're just not attractive to me. My fiancé is more charming, more considerate, and better than you in every conceivable way."
"Better in every way?" he repeated through gritted teeth.
I looked up at him. "Mr. Gallagher, this is the last time. The next time we meet, we are strangers."
I turned on my heel, grabbed the doorknob, pulled the door open, and stepped out into the hallway.
Once I was safely away, out of his line of sight, my carefully constructed composure instantly crumbled. A wave of exhaustion washed over me, heavy and suffocating.
The calm, resolute expression I had just worn twisted into a grimace of pain.
An ache flared in my chest, a bitter reminder of the five years I had wasted, of the person I used to be, and of the sheer agony he had put me through.
Just for fun. The words echoed in my mind, biting and cruel.
Back in the lounge, Conrad stood perfectly still.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He slowly pulled it out and answered, his voice low and gravelly, "Hello?"
"Conrad? Did you find her? Is Aurora okay?"
"Yeah," Conrad said flatly, devoid of emotion. "I found her."
"Thank god! Are you bringing her back?"
Conrad let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "She has amnesia. She forgot me. And she's engaged to Elliot Brooks..."
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7.3
I found out my husband of three years had cheated on me and his mistress is the one who told me-because he didn't have the balls to do it himself.
I move out and get a new apartment, a job as a bartender, and try to move on with a broken heart. I wonder where it all went wrong, if I hadn't been enough for him, if I'd been stupid for marrying him in the first place.
I'm at work one night when he walks inside-the most beautiful man I've ever seen. He sits at the bar and a forest fire burns between us. I was depressed the moment before he entered, but the second I look at his blue eyes, I forget the dumpster fire that my life has become. I invite him back to my place and it's the most passionate night of my life. I expect to never see him again.
I just want him as an anti-depressant-but he wants me all to himself. I just got my heart ripped out of my chest so I want something easy and no-strings-attached, but he wants all the strings because he's hooked.
I don't get much of a say in the matter, and that's not surprising when I learn why-because he's the Butcher. The crime lord of all crime lords, the boss that overshadows all of Paris, that makes everyone abide by his rules-or pay.
And now I'm his.
8.8
I am the best esports jungler in the league, but I've been hiding a severe wrist injury just to keep my team alive in the semifinals.
Right in the middle of the crucial tie-breaker game, our mid-laner deliberately walked into the enemy team and died without casting a single defensive spell.
He was match-fixing for offshore betting sites, throwing away our entire season for a massive payout.
Because of his betrayal, we had to sub in two terrified rookies, and we were absolutely slaughtered. The stadium crowd booed us out of the arena. The internet exploded with pure vitriol, trending hashtags calling me a washed-up fraud who hid on the bench to save my own stats. The media demanded I retire immediately. My physical therapist gave me a grim ultimatum: my shredded nerves only allow me four hours of playtime a day before my right hand completely locks up.
I destroyed my own body for this team, only to be sold out by a coward and crucified by the very fans I bled for. Why should my legacy end in total disgrace because of someone else's greed?
I refuse to step down. I forced the traitor out, ignored management's safe roster choices, and locked my eyes on the most toxic, universally hated streamer on the platform.
"He's a walking PR nightmare," my coach warned.
I don't care. He is an arrogant, unhinged killer in the game, and I am going to make him mine.
8.1
Samira James has two weeks left.
Two weeks until she turns eighteen.
Two weeks until everything changes.
And a few months left trapped in high school with the boy she hates most.
Calvin Simms has been her enemy for as long as she can remember. Popular, untouchable, and the living reminder of a childhood misunderstanding neither of them ever corrected. Their interactions are sharp, heated, and carefully controlled.
Until they aren't.
As months pass, tension replaces silence.
Jealousy replaces indifference.
And lines blur where hatred once lived.
With rivals watching, secrets resurfacing, and temptation growing harder to ignore, Samira must decide if sticking to her rules is worth denying what her body and her heart are already choosing.
Because some mistakes feel too good to stop.
And sometimes...
you don't fall for the person you want.
You fall for the one you swore to hate.
7.5
I was the adopted daughter of the wealthy Ruiz family, but the moment their true heir appeared, I was thrown away like trash.
Not long after being kicked out, my adoptive father and uncle hired a hitman to stage a fatal car crash on Mulholland Drive.
Pinned under an overturned Porsche with a shattered leg, I watched the hitman point a suppressed pistol between my eyes.
"The Ruiz family sends their regards."
Before this, my reputation had already been completely destroyed by a director, a pop idol, and a reality TV star, leaving me blacklisted and universally hated.
My adoptive family didn't just want me ruined; they wanted me permanently silenced to tie up loose ends.
The hitman pulled the trigger, and the original Alicia died in despair, tasting only rain and blood.
Until her last breath, she didn't understand.
Why did the family she loved treat her like a disposable object? Why did those three men maliciously frame her and turn the world against her?
Opening my eyes again, the fear was gone, replaced by an ancient, cosmic indifference.
I, the Arbiter, had taken over this deceased vessel.
Moving faster than the human eye, I crushed the hitman's steel gun with my bare hand and turned his soul into dust.
Looking at the memories of those who wronged this girl, I signed a contract for the very reality show they were starring in.
Since I borrowed this body, taking out the trash is a required courtesy.
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.
7.3
While I was pregnant, my husband held a party downstairs for another woman's son.
Through a hidden mental link, I overheard my husband, Don Dante Rossi, tell his consigliere he was going to publicly reject me tomorrow. He planned to make his mistress, Serena, his new mate.
An act forbidden by ancient law while I carried his heir.
Later, Serena cornered me, her smile venomous. When Dante appeared, she shrieked, clawing her own arm and blaming me for the attack.
Dante didn't even look at me. He snarled a command that froze my body and stole my voice, ordering me from his sight as he cradled her.
He moved her and her son into our master suite. I was demoted to the guest room at the end of the hall.
Passing her open door, I saw him rocking her baby, humming the lullaby my own mother used to sing to me.
I heard him promise her, "Soon, my love. I'll sever the bond and give you the life you deserve."
The love I felt for him, the power I'd hidden for four years to protect his fragile ego, all turned to ice.
He thought I was a weak, powerless wife he could discard. He was about to find out that the woman he betrayed was Alessia De Luca, princess of the most powerful family on the continent.
And I was finally going home.