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Forgotten Love, Unleashed Cold Revenge Novel Cover

Forgotten Love, Unleashed Cold Revenge

Sienna woke up in a hospital room, her body screaming from a severe car accident. Through the glass, a man paced with violent rage, a dark shadow she felt absolutely nothing for. Her friend Julia burst in, eyes bloodshot, dropping a bomb: "He didn't even try to help you." Dante, Sienna's fiancé, had protected another woman, Valeria, in the crash, leaving Sienna to burn alive. Her past life unspooled – seven years sacrificed, an architecture degree abandoned, all to serve Dante. Her phone was a shrine to him: his photos, his "taboos," and even "Valeria's preferences," with no trace of Sienna herself. But amnesia brought no heartbreak, only a cold, calculating fury. She felt disgust for the "idiot" she'd been, stripped of dignity. The memory loss was a release, a blank slate. With chilling resolve, Sienna deleted every trace of Dante. Ripping out her IV, she declared, "The wedding proceeds." Not for love, but as a weapon: "I need to take back everything that belongs to me before I disappear."
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Chapter 5

Sienna POV:

I pushed the heavy door open.

A blast of freezing air-conditioning from the VIP corridor hit my face, making me shiver under the wool coat. The sterile smell of the hospital hallway was sharper out here, mixed with the faint scent of floor wax.

Two men in black suits stood by the door. Dante's bodyguards. They straightened their posture when I walked out, but their eyes were dull and dismissive. They lacked the basic respect a guard should have for their boss's future wife.

I ignored them completely. I turned my head, looking for the man who had just been trying to kick my door down.

Dante was gone. The space where he had been standing was empty. The only proof he had been there was a slight, cracked dent in the drywall where his fist had connected. He had zero patience. He had already left to handle business—or more likely, to check on Valeria.

I exhaled slowly. I didn't feel a single ounce of disappointment. In fact, the air in the hallway instantly felt cleaner without his suffocating presence.

I placed my hand against the cold wall to steady myself. I started walking slowly down the corridor, trying to escape the overwhelming smell of the medical ward. Every time my chest expanded to breathe, my fractured ribs screamed, stabbing my lungs like hot needles.

"Excuse me, ma'am!"

A nurse pushing a metal medication cart hurried toward me, her rubber soles squeaking against the marble floor. She stopped right in front of me, crossing her arms with a stern expression.

"You need to return to your room immediately," she demanded, her tone sharp. "Your injuries are severe. You are not cleared to be walking around."

I slowly lifted my eyelids. I stared directly into the nurse's eyes. I didn't raise my voice, but I let the cold, heavy authority of a mafia boss's fiancée bleed into my gaze.

The nurse's mouth clicked shut. She physically recoiled, intimidated by the absolute deadness in my stare.

"I am getting some fresh air," I said evenly. "If I collapse, I take full responsibility. Step aside."

The nurse swallowed hard. She knew I was in the VIP wing. She knew the men in black suits outside my door. She stepped back, pulling her cart against the wall to let me pass.

I kept walking, passing a row of closed wooden doors. The end of the corridor opened up into a blind corner that led toward the hospital's private lounge area.

I reached the corner. I heard the faint, low rumble of a man's voice, but I didn't care enough to stop.

I took a step forward.

Suddenly, a massive, towering figure stepped out from the blind spot, moving at an aggressive, rapid pace.

I couldn't stop in time. I slammed face-first into a chest that felt like a solid wall of iron.

The kinetic force of the impact sent a violent shockwave straight into my broken ribs. A sickening pop echoed in my chest. My vision instantly went black.

I gasped in agony, my body rebounding backward. My legs gave out. I was falling toward the hard marble floor.

A massive, heavy hand shot out and clamped down on my bicep like a steel vice. The skin of his palm was rough, covered in thick calluses from years of firing weapons.

The man yanked me forward with brutal force, easily stopping my fall.

My face smashed right back into his custom tailored suit lapel.

My lungs inhaled sharply. The distinct, metallic smell of burnt gunpowder instantly invaded my nose, mixed heavily with the rich, dark scent of expensive oud wood cologne. It was a smell that screamed violence, power, and danger.

My vision cleared. I jerked my head up and crashed straight into a pair of bottomless, pitch-black eyes.

Dante.

He was staring down at me. His sharp jawline was tight with tension, and a flicker of genuine surprise crossed his dark eyes.

The moment my brain registered who was holding me, a wave of physical disgust washed over my skin. I acted purely on instinct. I ripped my arm out of his grip like he was infected with a deadly disease, stumbling back two large steps to put distance between us.

Dante's arm remained suspended in the air for a second. He looked down at his empty palm. A dark, dangerous flash of irritation sparked in his eyes.

He stepped forward, his massive frame completely blocking the overhead fluorescent light. His shadow swallowed me whole.

He stared intensely at my pale, sweating face. His thick eyebrows drew together in a hard scowl.

"You are supposed to be in bed. What kind of crazy stunt are you pulling?"

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