My Ex-Husband's Billion-Dollar Regret

The last thing I remember is my fiancé, Cayden, toasting to our future. The first thing I hear when I wake up in a hospital is him telling the city's most feared Don to pretend to be my fiancé instead. A doctor says I have severe neurological damage. Amnesia. Then, my best friend, Vivian—the girl I considered a sister—walks in. Her hand is linked through Cayden's arm, her head resting on his shoulder. They look like a perfect, loving couple. I hear Cayden's frantic voice in the hallway, not even bothering to whisper. "Please, Liam," he begs the Don, Liam Hewitt. "Just do me this one favor. I need a break from all her marriage talk." Then his voice turns slick with temptation. "As her 'fiancé,' you can finally get her to sign the demolition agreement for the Owen manor. She'll do anything you ask." My heart turns to a pile of cold, dead ash. The man I loved and the woman I trusted didn't just betray me. They tried to erase me. When they all step back into my room, I steady myself. I look past Cayden, past Vivian, and fix my eyes on the most dangerous man in the city. A faint smile touches my lips. "Only you feel familiar," I say to Liam Hewitt, my voice a soft, broken thing. "Fiancé," I say, the word tasting like poison and opportunity. "I'm sorry, I seem to have forgotten your name. Take me home." Chapter 1 Julia Owen POV: The last thing I remember is my fiancé, Cayden, toasting to our future. The first thing I hear when I wake up is him telling the city's most feared Don to pretend to be my fiancé instead. My eyelids feel like they're glued shut. A low, clinical hum fills the space around me, and the air smells sterile, sharp. "...possibility of severe neurological damage," a calm, detached voice says. A doctor. I force my eyes open. The light is a dull, milky white. A doctor stands at the foot of my bed, his face grim. He's talking to Cayden. My Cayden. A wave of relief washes over me, so strong it almost makes me dizzy. He's here. I try to sit up, but my head feels like it's full of wet sand. A soft groan escapes my lips. Cayden's head snaps toward me. His eyes, usually so full of easy charm, are wide with something I can't place. Not concern. Something else. "Julia," he breathes. I give him a weak, playful smile. The party. My birthday. The champagne tasted funny. "Where am I?" I ask, my voice raspy. I try to inject a little humor into it, to tease him. "And who am I?" His face freezes. He doesn't laugh. He doesn't rush to my side and call me his dearest Julia. He just stares, his eyes darting from my face to the doctor and back again. The hesitation lasts only a second, but it feels like an eternity. Then he shoves his chair back, the sound scraping against the floor, and bolts from the room. I hear his frantic voice in the hallway, muffled but urgent. "Can alcohol poisoning cause amnesia? Is it possible?" The doctor gives a vague, noncommittal answer. Cayden's voice drops, but the words are sharp, clear. "Get Liam Hewitt to the hospital. Now." Liam Hewitt. The Don of the Hewitt Outfit. The youngest in the family's history, a man whose reputation was built on ruthless efficiency and quiet brutality. His name hangs in the air like the smell of gunpowder. He's the man who has been trying to tear down my family's last remaining legacy, the Owen manor, for the last three years. My enemy. When Cayden comes back, he avoids my eyes. He tells me my name is Julia. He tells me Liam Hewitt is my fiancé. He tells me we're getting married. For a second, I think he's playing along with my joke. A cruel, strange joke, but a joke nonetheless. Then Vivian Green, my best friend, the girl I considered a sister, walks in. She isn't looking at me. Her hand is linked through Cayden's arm, her head resting on his shoulder. They look like a painting of a perfect, loving couple. The air leaves my lungs. The joke is over. Cayden must see the confusion on my face, because he runs a hand through his hair and practically flees the room again. This time, he finds Liam Hewitt in the hallway. He doesn't even bother to lower his voice. "She thinks you're her fiancé," Cayden says, and I can hear the poorly concealed excitement in his voice. It's a bright, sharp note of pure joy. "The doctor said it's probably temporary. Just play along." Liam's voice is a low rumble, laced with an impatience that feels like a physical threat. "And why should I involve myself in this farce?" "Please, Liam," Cayden begs, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Just do me this one favor. She's been driving me crazy with all this marriage talk. I need a break." Liam scoffs, a sound of pure disdain. I hear his footsteps turning to leave. "Wait!" Cayden grabs him. "I have someone else to keep happy. I'll make it worth your while." I clutch the thin hospital bedsheets, my knuckles white. The sterile room suddenly feels like a coffin. "Think about it," Cayden presses, his voice slick with temptation. "As her 'fiancé,' you can finally get her to sign the demolition agreement for the Owen manor. She'll do anything for you." My heart, which had been a lone ship tossed in a storm, turns to a pile of cold, dead ash. The man I loved, the woman I trusted. They didn't just betray me. They tried to erase me. The door opens. Cayden, Liam, and Vivian step inside. Cayden sees my open eyes and freezes. He gives Liam a hard shove forward. "Your name is Julia," he repeats, his voice loud and brittle. "He is your fiancé. You're getting married soon." He gestures between himself and Liam. "I'm his cousin. We'll be family soon." Vivian steps forward, her arm linked with his, a casual, possessive gesture. A flicker of guilt crosses Cayden's face before he schools his features into a mask of indifference. The last shred of hope in my chest dies. There is only a pain that comes with every breath, sharp and constant. I steady myself. I lift my head. I look past Cayden, past Vivian, and fix my eyes on the most dangerous man in the city. A faint smile touches my lips. "Only you feel familiar," I say to Liam Hewitt, my voice a soft, broken thing. His brow furrows. His sharp, dark eyes scrutinize me, as if trying to peel back the layers of this lie and find the truth. I shift, pushing myself to sit upright, the movement sending a jolt of pain through my body. My gaze never leaves his. "Fiancé," I say, the word tasting like poison and opportunity. "I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name. Take me home." ---