Forgotten 100 Times: How I Became Someone Else's Forever

"Someone, please help me!"

The boardroom doors slammed open. Bella stumbled into the room, her silk blouse stained brown and clinging to her skin. She collapsed onto the carpet right in front of the executive table.

"Bella?" A board member stood up, knocking his chair backward.

Bella pointed a trembling finger at me. "Ivy, why? I just wanted to apologize for earlier. Why would you push me?"

I stared at her. "I didn't touch you."

"You threw your hot coffee on me!" Bella sobbed, clutching her reddened arm. Blisters were already forming on her skin. "And then you tried to shove me down the stairwell!"

"She grabbed my cup," I told the room, keeping my voice steady. "She poured it on herself and threw herself backward."

"Check the cameras," the VP of Finance said, frowning at me.

"The system glitched," a security guard announced from the doorway. "We lost the last ten minutes of footage in that corridor."

How convenient.

Footsteps pounded down the hall. Anson shoved past the guards and froze. He looked at Bella on the floor, then at the angry red burns on her arms, the torn fabric of her skirt.

He didn't look at me. Not really.

"Security," Anson ordered, his tone like ice. "Escort my wife out of the building."

"Anson," I started.

"Shut up." He knelt beside Bella, wrapping his arms around her shaking frame. "Bella is already pitiful enough, why must you target her?"

The words struck me, but they didn't hurt. Instead, a strange, bubbling sensation rose in my chest.

I laughed.

Tears spilled over my eyelashes and rolled down my cheeks, but my mouth stretched into a wide smile. The executives stared at me like I had lost my mind. Maybe I had. Five years of marriage. Five years of biting my tongue, stepping aside, shrinking myself down so Bella could take up all the space.

"You're right," I whispered.

I unclipped my corporate ID badge from my lapel. I tossed it onto the polished boardroom table. It slid across the wood and stopped right in front of Anson.

"From today on," I said, my voice cutting through Bella's fake sobs, "whether it's this company or you, I don't want either."

I turned around and walked out.

The city noise roared in my ears as I exited the glass building. I stepped off the curb, my mind completely blank.

A horn blared. Tires screeched against the asphalt.

I turned my head just in time to see the grille of a delivery truck rushing toward me.

The impact shattered the air.

Pain exploded through my ribs, throwing me backward. I hit the pavement hard. Warm liquid pooled beneath my head, sticky and metallic.

My vision blurred. Through the haze, across the intersection, I saw him.

Anson.

He was carrying Bella in his arms, rushing toward his parked car. He didn't turn around. He didn't hear the crash, or if he did, he didn't care. He just kept walking, taking my entire world away with him.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

"Mrs. Gallagher?"

I blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights. The smell of bleach stung my nose.

A doctor stood at the foot of my hospital bed, holding a clipboard. His expression was grim.

"You suffered a mild concussion and two cracked ribs," he said softly. "But I need to tell you about the other complication."

I didn't speak. I just stared at his moving lips.

"The trauma from the crash was too severe. You lost the baby. I am so sorry."

A baby.

Two months. I had bought a tiny pair of knit socks just last week, hiding them in my top drawer. I was waiting for the right moment to tell Anson.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. The hollow space in my chest simply expanded, turning into a vast, empty void.

"Where do I sign?" I asked, my voice completely flat.

The doctor blinked, startled by my lack of emotion. "You need rest. We should keep you for observation."

"I want the discharge papers."

Ten minutes later, I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out my phone. I dialed my lawyer's number.

"Ivy? It's late. What's wrong?"

"Prepare the divorce papers," I told him.

"What? Are you sure?"

"Just draft them. Today."

I hung up.

The automatic doors slid open, releasing me into the crisp evening air. I hugged my thin sweater tightly around my chest, shivering against the sudden chill.

A black Rolls-Royce glided up to the curb, its tires silent against the concrete.

The rear door swung open.

A man stepped out. He was tall, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that screamed old money. His jawline was sharp, his dark eyes locked entirely on me. He didn't hesitate. He walked straight up to me, shrugged off his suit jacket, and draped it over my shoulders.

The fabric smelled like cedar and expensive cologne.

"Finally found you, Ivy," he murmured, his voice a low, rich baritone.

I stared up at him, confusion piercing through my numbness. "Who are you?"

An older man stepped out from the passenger side, offering a polite bow. "This is Mr. Leon Ashford, the sole heir of the Ashford family in New York."

My stomach dropped.

Ashford.

Anson's family had been at war with the Ashfords for twenty years. They were ruthless rivals, tearing each other apart in boardrooms and stock markets.

Leon reached out, his fingers lightly brushing a stray lock of hair away from my bruised forehead. His eyes held a depth of sorrow that made absolutely no sense. He looked at me not as a stranger, but as a man who had been searching for a ghost.

"Why are you here?" I whispered.

Leon's thumb lingered near my cheekbone. "To give you everything Anson threw away."

He stepped closer, blocking out the streetlights.

"Starting with his destruction. Are you ready?"