The Husband Who Fell in Love With Me Twice
"Do you enjoy this? Ignoring me like I don't exist? Do you have any idea how humiliating this feels, waiting for you like some fool?"
After three years of a cold, loveless marriage, Selene Henderson finally gathers the courage to walk away from her distant billionaire husband, Sebastian Kingsley.
She's ready to file for divorce... until a tragic accident changes everything.
When Sebastian wakes up with no memory of the woman he once pushed away, Selene finds herself trapped in a marriage she was desperate to escape, this time with a man who suddenly looks at her like she's his whole world.
But can love born from broken memories survive the truth of their painful past?
Or will the secrets she's been hiding destroy them all over again?
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Chapter 1
At 3 a.m., my husband remembered where he lived, and I remembered why I had stopped hoping.
SELENE
Beep... Beep... Beep...
My hands froze on the refrigerator handle.
For a moment, I just stood there, heart stuttering at the sharp sound of the door code being entered incorrectly. The living room was dim, shadows stretching lazily across the walls as I squinted toward the wall clock.
3:00 a.m.
Beep... Beep... Beep...
The sound came again, more frantic this time. I heard muffled curses from the other side of the door, metal clinking as someone fumbled aggressively with the keypad.
I closed the fridge slowly and stepped away from it, my fingers curling around the hem of my nightdress. My chest tightened, not with fear, but with a dull, familiar resignation.
The lock finally clicked.
The door creaked open.
I took a step back and quickly turned on the light.
Sebastian stood in the doorway, swaying slightly, one hand braced against the doorframe as he muttered under his breath. He tugged at his tie, struggling to loosen it.
He was drunk.
And I wasn't shocked. Not even a little.
Sebastian Kingsley only remembered this house when he was drunk. Sober, it didn't exist to him.
You might wonder why I didn't panic at the strange sound of someone failing my door code in the middle of the night. The truth was simple, he was the only one who ever came here at odd hours.
We've been married for three years, yet sometimes I forgot I was even a wife. Sebastian hated my presence and barely lived in this house. We were not a loving, doting couple. There were no late-night conversations, no shared routines, no warmth between us.
If it hadn't been for our families arranging this marriage, Sebastian wouldn't have looked at me twice.
And now, here he was, stumbling into the home he refused to acknowledge as his, wearing the ring that bound us both, yet living a life that never included me.
He rolled his eyes the moment he caught sight of me, teetering unsteadily toward my direction.
"Why is it always so bright in this house?" His words were slurred, each one dragging lazily from his lips. He ran a hand through his messy hair, fingers tangling in the strands. "Can't a man come in without a spotlight?"
"I... I can turn it off if you don't like it." I managed to stammer, my voice barely above a whisper. My hands hovered near the switch, unsure whether to actually obey.
Sebastian glanced at me, eyes half-lidded, then pushed past me with one careless hand. I stumbled slightly, my chest clenching as my foot caught the edge of the rug, but I didn't protest. He wasn't aggressive. He was just too drunk to notice the ripple of imbalance he left in his wake.
"Ah..." He sighed, flopping onto the couch with a dramatic thud. One hand fell to his forehead, the other draped loosely over the armrest. His eyes were closed, and suddenly, the room felt heavy with his presence.
I stayed rooted in place, my hands clasped tightly in front of me, knuckles whitening, before finally turning toward my room.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
With a quiet sigh, I opened the closet and pulled out a neatly folded blanket. For a moment, I just stood there, the fabric warm against my palms, and I paused.
It was ridiculous, wasn't it? That I still cared for him after everything. After the cold stares, the dismissive words. The way he made it clear, from the very beginning, that I was never meant to matter.
I remembered his voice clearly, cutting through whatever hope I had on the night we married.
"I married you because it was arranged. Don't mistake that for affection. Keep your distance, or you'll only hurt yourself."
And yet... here I was, hesitating, lingering over a small act of kindness I knew he didn't deserve.
I sighed softly, and returned to the living room. He lay on the couch, sprawled in careless disarray.
Carefully, I approached, crouching low to tug off his shoes. He stirred in his sleep, kicking slightly at me, but I remained still, placing the shoes neatly on the floor. I draped the blanket over him with careful fingers, tucking it around his shoulders as gently as I could.
My hands lingered on the fabric as I crouched again, studying his face.
Sleep softened his features, but even like this, Sebastian Kingsley was devastatingly handsome.
He was the kind of man who drew attention without trying. The youngest billionaire in the country. The sole heir to Kingsley Group. A man with everything.
Everything except me.
I had watched him with countless women, watched him chase them even after our marriage.
He let out a low, sleepy moan. His hand reached up to ruffle through his hair, and my gaze inevitably drifted to our wedding ring glinting on his finger. What purpose did it serve, I wondered, if he never acknowledged the bond it represented?
I pulled my eyes away from the ring, feeling a sharp pang of regret in my chest. Why had I even bothered to drape him with a blanket? My hands felt foolish, heavy with all the hope I had been holding onto for three years.
I took a tentative step back, ready to retreat, when his hand clamped firmly around mine.
I gasped, startled, and looked down at him. His eyes were still closed. My instincts screamed at me to pull away, but before I could move, he tugged me toward him. I stumbled, falling to the couch beside him.
Another gasp escaped me as he shifted, turning so that our faces were barely an inch apart. His warm breath brushed against my cheek, his lips so close I could feel the faint heat of them. My cheeks burned, a bright, helpless red. Three years of marriage, and I had never been this close to him.
I should have pulled away.
I should have stood.
I should have...
But my thoughts died when his eyes fluttered open.
"I... I..." I scrambled for words, panic rising in my chest. He might think I tried to take advantage of him. My lips parted, ready to protest. "I didn't-"
The words vanished as he lifted a hand, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. There was no anger in his gaze, no accusation. Only... focus. Only attention.
"You're pretty."
My heart stuttered violently, as if it had forgotten how to beat. Had Sebastian just... called me pretty?
Before I could process it, his lips brushed against mine in a soft, fleeting kiss. My entire body froze. I was beyond stunned.
"I don't know what I'd do without you... Irene."
My chest collapsed.
Irene.
Not Selene.
Not me.
My lips trembled as the truth settled in.
Right. Of course. There was never a chance this tenderness belonged to me.
I pulled away carefully and rose from the couch, as if any sound might shatter what little dignity I had left.
After three years, I should have known better than to hope.
Because no matter what I did...
I would always remain invisible to him.
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8.5
Alexandrea woke up with a splitting headache in a strange hotel bed, terrified to find a brutally handsome, half-naked stranger beside her.
Before she could even scream, the door burst open. Her adoptive mother, Ivette, stormed in with a swarm of reporters and flashing cameras.
"How could you disgrace our family name like this?"
Ivette sobbed, putting on a theatrical performance of a heartbroken mother. It was a setup to completely ruin Alexandrea's reputation in front of New York's elite.
For ten years, Alexandrea had lived in a house of horrors. Her back and arms were covered in silvery scars and puckered cigarette burns left by Ivette's vicious abuse.
Yet to the public, Ivette had carefully crafted Alexandrea's image as a wild, ungrateful, and manipulative liar.
Trapped under the duvet, Alexandrea was drowning in shame, her voice lost in the storm of accusations.
She didn't understand why her adoptive family hated her so much, treating her worse than a stray dog while using her brother's future to keep her chained.
But what she understood even less was the stranger beside her.
Instead of panicking, the man slowly sat up, his presence alone silencing the frantic room. He was Ace Griffith, the billionaire heir who owned half of Manhattan.
He wrapped his suit jacket around her trembling shoulders, looked Ivette dead in the eye, and dropped a bomb.
"I will be marrying her."
Then, he carried Alexandrea away from her ten-year prison, ordering his men to dig up the Terry family's darkest secrets and her true identity.
8.8
My fiancé, Knox, was the man I’d spent ten years building a life with, the one I’d poured my family’s fortune into. But then I found the lockbox. Inside, a photo of him smiling, his arm around a heavily pregnant woman, marked: *To my only wife Deana.*
I’d been looking for a charger in our Boston penthouse closet when I stumbled upon it. The faded Polaroid showed Knox, younger, beaming, with a heavily pregnant stranger. Its timestamp: "Ten years ago"—the exact year I funded his Ivy League PhD.
Flipping the photo, I saw Knox’s familiar handwriting: *To my only wife Deana and our upcoming miracle.* My world crumbled. The man I’d loved had a wife, making me the unwitting mistress. My opulent life was built on his lies.
His text, "Baby, I'm coming home to *our house*," twisted into a cruel joke. My tears froze. A decade of sacrifices, of family alienation—all for a man who used my money and trust—shredded in my mind. The fragile woman in me vanished; my eyes turned cold and clear. I relocked the box, smoothed the rug, and applied crimson lipstick. Practicing a flawless smile, I whispered, "Welcome home, my sweet liar."
7.0
Erika was a disgraced ex-wife, struggling to survive in a freezing Brooklyn slum to raise her five-year-old son.
But her billionaire ex-husband, Doyle Morgan, wasn't done destroying her. He orchestrated a cruel trap, forcing her to deliver a custom sapphire brooch to his new mistress, just to watch her get humiliated and severely burned by scalding coffee.
When Erika fought back and refused to beg, Doyle's punishment was swift. He demoted her to scrubbing executive toilets with raw, bleeding hands. Starved, exhausted, and pushed to the absolute brink of organ failure, she finally collapsed lifelessly in front of him in Central Park.
For five years, she had endured his relentless torment and the world's mockery just to keep her child safe. Doyle despised her, convinced her son was the filthy proof of her cheating with another man.
He didn't know the boy was actually the child of his deceased older brother, conceived in a dark, drugged hotel room. Why couldn't he just leave them alone to suffer in peace?
But when Erika woke up in the VIP hospital ward, the nightmare took a terrifying turn. Doyle pinned her weak wrists to the mattress, his eyes burning with a dark, possessive obsession. He had figured out the truth about the boy's bloodline.
"He's a Morgan. He has my family's blood in his veins, and I will not allow my nephew to be raised in a slum. If you can't care for him, I will. From this moment on, you and that boy belong to me. And you are never leaving my sight again."
8.3
Hovering as a translucent soul in the freezing cemetery, I watched Corbin Mendez—the ruthless billionaire I had spent my entire life despising—violently smash open my tomb.
I thought he had come to desecrate my corpse. Instead, he collapsed to his knees, reverently kissed my dead lips, and swallowed a lethal bottle of pills without a drop of water.
In my past life, I was betrayed by my ex-fiancé, framed by my vicious step-family, and trapped in a suffocating marriage with Corbin. I thought he was a paranoid, abusive monster who only wanted to control me. I fought his madness every single day until I died sick, exhausted, and utterly defeated.
But watching him climb into my casket, wrapping his massive arms around my cold body to die beside me, my non-existent heart shattered.
Why hadn't I seen the truth? He wasn't a monster; he was a deeply traumatized man suffering from severe PTSD, and his obsessive love for me was his only tether to sanity.
The regret and agony tore my soul to pieces.
"My love, I'm too late."
Those were his last words before his heart stopped.
When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't floating in a dark tomb. I was lying in Corbin's bed, exactly two years in the past.
This time, I wouldn't run away. I would heal the broken beast who died for me, and I would personally put a bullet in everyone who ruined us.
7.2
For ten years, Aurora was abandoned by her wealthy family to rot in the countryside.
When she finally returned, there was no warm welcome. The Lott family only brought her back to replace her adopted sister in an arranged marriage with Damian Yates, a notoriously violent, crippled billionaire, just to save their bankrupt company.
Her grandmother mocked her as uneducated trash. Her fake sister feigned disgust at her very presence.
When her biological father desperately tried to stop them from sending his daughter to her death, the family turned on him.
Her grandmother struck her father across the face, kicked the three of them out of the manor into the freezing rain, and arrogantly declared they would starve on the streets by nightfall.
They thought Aurora was just a helpless, pathetic hillbilly who would quietly accept being sold as livestock.
They had no idea that over the past decade, she had survived the darkest corners of the world, becoming a lethal operative with unimaginable power.
Standing in the cold rain, Aurora didn't shed a single tear.
She calmly pulled out her encrypted phone, personally canceled the billionaire's marriage contract, and ordered her hacker to completely freeze the Lott family's accounts.
"Total financial annihilation. Burn them to the ground."
But as she watched her abusers' legacy crumble, a classified file arrived on her phone, revealing that the very billionaire she just rejected was tied to her mother's unsolved murder.
The real hunt was just beginning.
7.1
To survive a forced one-year marriage contract with the ultra-wealthy Chavez family, Averi Marsh disguised herself as a pathetic, ugly duckling.
She caked her flawless skin in muddy yellow foundation, wore thick glasses, and played the part of a trembling, uneducated orphan.
The entire family treated her like literal garbage.
The youngest brother publicly swore he would rather cut off his own hand than marry a piece of trailer park trash.
Her nominal fiancé, Clarke, looked at her with cold disdain, allowing his glamorous companion to humiliate Averi by forcing her into a neon pink clown dress.
At a high-society party, a socialite shoved her into an infinity pool, laughing as the heavy fabric dragged her to the bottom.
They all wanted to see the poor girl broken, humiliated, and driven out of their pristine world.
What they didn't know was that beneath the hideous sweaters was a breathtaking, lethal predator.
They had no idea she was 'Spectre', the undefeated underground racing god who had just humiliated the arrogant Clarke on the track.
They didn't know she could shatter a bully's wrist in seconds or bankrupt their wealthy friends with a single text message.
But when the chlorinated pool water washed away her ugly makeup, the family's ambitious second son caught a glimpse of her true, flawless face.
The game of hide-and-seek was officially over.
The Chavez family thought they were torturing a helpless sheep, but they were about to realize they had locked themselves in a cage with a wolf.