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 7
SELENE
I didn't realize how unprepared I was until Sebastian asked a question I couldn't outrun.
What could it have meant to him?
The question circled endlessly in my mind, refusing to settle. I wished desperately that I could ask Sebastian directly, but the man I could have questioned no longer existed. This version of him carried no memories of our past, only fragments that didn't belong to us and silences where answers should have been.
From the day we married to the day of his accident, he had made me believe he hated me. Hated my presence, my voice, even the air I shared with him. He recoiled from everything that had my name attached to it. Or so I had thought.
Now, knowing the date he had chosen for his phone password, I felt torn in two.
Had I been wrong all along?
Or was I simply clinging to meaning where there was none, desperate to rewrite a story that had already broken me?
Stop overthinking, Selene, my mind scolded quietly. It's just a phone password. Don't turn it into something it's not. Don't forget how he treated you before.
I nodded to myself, as if the reminder had been spoken aloud. I needed it. More than I cared to admit.
Sliding the door open, I stepped back into his ward, phone in hand. The room was empty.
"Where on earth did this man go?" I muttered. "Is he even allowed to be wandering around?"
With a tired sigh, I turned and headed back into the hallway, setting off in search of my husband who apparently couldn't keep himself in one place for more than five minutes.
I made my way to the hospital balcony, where Sebastian sat on a bench near the railing.
I let out a breath and started toward him, relief loosening my steps.
Then I stopped.
He wasn't alone.
A young girl in a wheelchair stared at the Rubik's cube in his hands, her eyes wide with wonders.
"Whoa! How did you do that?" She exclaimed, pointing at the cube just as his fingers moved with precised speed. In seconds, the colors aligned perfectly.
"This is very easy." Sebastian said lightly, smiling at her amazement.
I folded my arms, watching from a short distance.
"You're like a pro." The girl said in awe, then sighed dramatically. "This is so unfair. I can't believe you beat me."
Sebastian laughed softly. "I won fair."
"It's not fair." She whined, snatching the cube from him. "You're an adult and I'm still a kid. When I grow older like you, I'll be a pro too."
"Yeah," he replied, smiling at her, "but you'll never beat me."
She scrunched up her nose at him, and I felt a smile tug at my lips.
I had never seen Sebastian like this, so relaxed, so gentle. I had never seen him with children, never seen this easy, playful side of him.
"Anyway," the little girl asked, tilting her head curiously, "why are you here? Are you sick like me?"
Sebastian touched his head lightly and nodded. "I was in an accident. It... affected my head."
The girl frowned, squinting at him. "How?"
"I don't remember anyone," he admitted, his voice quiet, "except one person."
I froze, hidden behind a railing, listening.
Her eyes went wide. "You don't remember your family or friends?"
He shook his head.
"Then... who's the person you do remember?" She pressed.
Sebastian paused for a moment, and then a small, soft smile curved his lips. "My wife."
The girl let out a delighted laugh. "Wow. That's... interesting. So, how does it feel.. not having a single memory of the past?"
He exhaled slowly, looking out over the balcony for a moment. "I.. don't really know. I guess I'm supposed to be okay." He went silent, and the girl just waited patiently, as if she understood that some answers took time.
"I'm still figuring things out." He added finally, his smile faint but genuine.
The girl nodded sagely. "You're smart. I'm sure you'll figure it out."
He chuckled lightly, his eyes meeting hers. "You have an eye for good character."
I smiled, biting my lower lip.
"But..." The girl said, glancing past Sebastian in my direction. I turned to see who she was looking at, then I realized it was me.
"There's a lady who has been staring at you." She said, pointing, and Sebastian's head whipped toward me.
Too late to hide, I gave a small, awkward wave. "I was wondering where you went." I said, stepping closer.
"That's my wife." He told her.
The girl studied me for a moment. "She's beautiful."
"I know, right?" He said with a grin, his gaze softening as it met mine.
Lord. This was... so much.
Much to my relief, a nurse approached.
"Your break time is over, Stella." She said.
The girl sighed. "It was nice talking to you."
They high-fived before the nurse led her away, and Sebastian let out a small, wistful sigh.
"She's so cute." He murmured.
"I know, right." I replied, and the corner of his lips curved into a smile.
His gaze drifted to the children playing nearby. "The air feels nice out here." He murmured, exhaling slowly. Then he turned toward me, tapping the space beside him. "Come sit."
I hesitated, my fingers nervously tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. Being this close to him still felt strange.
When I glanced at him, he was already watching me, smiling. He seemed to smile so often now, it made my heart flutter.
"There's something I'm curious about." He began.
"What... is it?" I asked, leaning slightly forward.
"Vincent told me we've been married for three years." He said, and I couldn't shake the feeling that he was stalling, drawing this out on purpose.
"Yeah?" I prompted, my heartbeat picking up.
He looked ahead, quiet for a moment, as if organizing his thoughts.
I caught his side profile bathed in sunlight. It was unreal and I couldn't look away.
But the pause stretched, making me more nervous by the second.
Then he turned back to me, tilting his head slightly. "How come we don't have any kids? Does that make any sense?"
Right. It made no sense, just like his question.
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9.7
Luna Elena Frost was never chosen, only assigned.
Bound to Alpha Alaric Ashbourne through a cold contractual marriage, she endures three years as a Luna in name only. He never comes home, never defends her, and never looks at her, while his heart belongs to another woman.
At his grandmother's funeral, Alaric publicly dissolves their marriage, humiliating Elena before the entire pack. In that moment, she finally understands the truth. She was never wanted.
But the Moon has not abandoned her.
A forgotten night resurfaces. Her long-silent wolf begins to awaken. And secrets buried within her bloodline start to surface, drawing danger from every direction.
Cast out by the pack that once used her, Elena must flee, survive, and uncover her true power.
Only then does the Alpha realize his mistake.
By the time he turns back in regret, the Luna he rejected may already be gone forever.
8.3
Betrayed at the altar. Replaced by her own sister.
On what should have been the happiest day of her life, Amara loses everything-her fiancé, her dignity, and her future.
But that same night, a dangerous man steps out of the shadows with an offer she can't refuse.
Marriage. Power. Revenge.
Now bound to a ruthless CEO, Amara is ready to destroy everyone who betrayed her.
There's just one problem...
Her new husband knows more about her past than he should.
And the closer she gets to revenge-
the more she realizes she may have married the man who ruined her in the first place.
8.4
Carissa's son was dying in the ICU, and the bone marrow match had just failed.
The billionaire father, Guilford Gates, cornered her with a cruel ultimatum: naturally conceive a "savior sibling" to save their son. But what shocked Carissa more was his family's sudden accusation that she had heartlessly sold her baby to them three years ago.
"You sold your own flesh and blood to us for five million dollars, so your body belongs to the Gates family."
She was dragged into their gilded estate, treated like a filthy, rented womb. Guilford's new fiancée mocked her, the matriarch humiliated her, and Guilford looked at her with pure disgust. When she desperately tried to feed her sick son and accidentally made him vomit, Guilford violently shoved her away and banned her from the room.
Carissa was devastated and entirely confused. She had never seen a single cent of that five million. Driven by a desperate need for the truth, she investigated and uncovered a horrifying reality: her own father and stepmother had secretly trafficked her baby to the billionaire behind her back, leaving her to bear the ultimate blame.
Looking at the bank transfer record bought with her son's life, the last shred of Carissa's vulnerability died.
She signed the conception contract without asking for a single penny. She was going to use the Gates family's immense power to destroy the blood relatives who sold her, and she would survive this hell to take back her son.
9.6
Minutes before announcing her grand engagement, Darla caught her fiancé sleeping with her stepsister.
She publicly exposed them and canceled the wedding on the spot.
Furious, her adoptive mother demanded Darla marry a fifty-five-year-old predator to save their broken business deal.
"If you don't do exactly what I say, I'll let your father rot in prison for the rest of his life."
Desperate to escape her family's control, Darla grabbed a massive, intimidating hotel security guard she bumped into in the hallway.
She shoved all the cash in her purse at him—eight hundred dollars—and begged him to fake-marry her.
They signed the papers at City Hall that same day.
But the nightmare didn't end.
That evening, Darla received a cold phone call from the state penitentiary.
Her father had been found dead in his cell, and her company, owned by her ex-fiancé's family, fired her immediately.
They had taken everything from her, leaving her completely broken and sobbing on the floor of her tiny apartment.
She thought she had nothing left but a broke, fake husband to keep her company.
She had no idea that the "poor security guard" holding her in his arms was actually Anson Prince, a ruthless billionaire CEO.
And he was already making the calls to tear her abusers' empires to the ground.
8.3
Alena landed at JFK, eager to call her fiancé of three years.
But a sudden message from her best friend shattered her world: a high-resolution photo of Darrin passionately kissing another woman. The woman was Katrina, her older sister.
Alena rushed to the grand ballroom and confronted them in front of New York's elite. Instead of an apology, her own mother slapped her across the face.
"You jealous, spiteful girl. Trying to ruin your sister's happiness because you can't handle your own failures."
Darrin coldly wrapped a protective arm around Katrina. The nightmare worsened when they ambushed Alena at her apartment, demanding she sign an NDA to cover up the affair and save their family's failing business. If she refused, her father threatened to tell her frail grandfather the truth, knowing the shock would trigger a fatal heart attack.
Alena was suffocated by the sheer magnitude of the betrayal. Her family was weaponizing the only person who truly loved her, treating her like a disposable pawn to protect the sister who stole her life. How could her own flesh and blood be so sickeningly cruel?
Cornered and entirely out of options, Alena pulled a matte-black business card from her pocket.
It belonged to Andrew Spencer, the ruthless billionaire who had rescued her from the freezing rain, and the apex predator Darrin feared most. He had offered her a transactional marriage. If her family wanted to destroy her, she would become their worst nightmare. She picked up her phone and dialed his number.
9.2
I was a broke freelance copywriter, tortured for three sleepless nights by an impossible corporate client.
Needing to vent, I typed out a wild, highly inappropriate rant mocking the brand's stiff heritage.
But in my exhausted, sleep-deprived blur, I accidentally sent the massive block of text to the wrong chat.
The recipient wasn't my friend. It was Emerson Beard, the elite, ruthless brand consultant I was supposed to desperately network with.
I waited for the professional execution, terrified of the massive five-figure penalty fee hanging over my head.
Instead, he didn't block me. He critiqued my unhinged draft.
He saved my career through late-night, encrypted phone calls, his deep, commanding voice becoming my only lifeline.
But when I heard a woman with a sultry French accent knocking on his hotel door during our call, my ugly jealousy flared.
I yelled at him and hung up, completely humiliating myself.
I thought I was just a pathetic, annoying workaholic interrupting his romantic getaway.
But he texted back to clarify he was entirely single, and in the process, realized I was actually twenty-five, not a fresh-out-of-school teenager like he had assumed.
The cold, distant mentor instantly vanished.
In his place was a man radiating a raw, aggressive, and predatory energy that bled right through the screen.
"Texting is too inefficient. The full integration requires face-to-face communication."
He dropped a location pin for an ultra-exclusive Manhattan club, demanding I meet him to save my contract.
Wearing a desperately bought emerald silk dress, I pushed open the heavy oak door, stepping right into the trap of a man who had just taken off his leash.