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 8
SELENE
There are questions you prepare for, and then there are the ones that steal your breath.
"Is that what you're curious about?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain light.
"Yes." Sebastian nodded, his eyes never leaving my face, waiting patiently, expectantly for an answer.
He wasn't joking. That much was clear. The seriousness in his gaze made my chest tighten.
"Well..." I began, choosing my words carefully. "We both agreed not to rush things. Raising children isn't something you decide on in a day." It was the most believable excuse I could summon.
He fell silent, turning the thought over in his mind. Each second stretched, my nerves coiling tighter. I watched his face, searching for any sign that he didn't believe me.
Then he nodded. "That makes sense."
Only then did I realize I'd been holding my breath. I let it out slowly.
"Still," he added, a faint smile touching his lips, "it would be nice to have children around."
I squinted at him. I'd never imagined Sebastian as someone who liked children. Apparently, there were many things about him I'd never known, or never been allowed to see.
"Should we head back to your room?" I asked quickly, steering the conversation away before it could dig any deeper.
"Already sending me to bed?" He teased, pushing himself up from the bench as he glanced at me. "You're surprisingly bossy for someone who looks this gentle."
My eyes widened. "When have I ever been bossy?"
He arched a brow. "Saying we should head back to my room right after I bring up kids sounds a lot like you shutting down the conversation."
I snorted. "I offered it as a suggestion, not a command."
"And you also stole my phone," he added lightly, folding his arms. "While blaming it on the doctor."
"That- that was..." I faltered, scrambling for an excuse that refused to come.
He smiled, clearly amused. "Exactly. No excuse."
I looked away, my lips twitching despite myself. "Let's just go back to your room."
He chuckled, nodding easily. "Okay. Lead the way."
Then, softer, almost absentmindedly, he went on. "I feel better when you're around anyway."
The words struck straight through my chest. Not because of what he said, but because of how he said it. Like it had always been true. Like I had always been his comfort.
I stood and started forward, but before I could take a step, his hand closed around mine.
I stiffened, then looked up at him.
"So you don't disappear again." He murmured, threading his fingers through mine.
I'd lost count of how many times my heart had fluttered today. At this rate, I might develop a heart condition just trying to keep up with it.
Was it wrong to admit that I loved the feel of his hand in mine? The way his thumb brushed softly over my skin. Was this what I had been missing all along?
Maybe... just maybe... I owed amnesia a quiet thank-you for this moment.
Just before we reached the next block leading to his ward, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I paused, fished it out, and sighed when I saw the caller ID.
Ashley.
I answered while Sebastian watched me with quiet curiosity.
"Give me a second, we're almost there." I murmured into the phone, then ended the call.
"My assistant is here." I explained when his gaze lingered on me.
We turned the corner and found Ashley standing outside his ward, two takeaway boxes balanced carefully in her hands. She brightened the moment she spotted us.
"Hope I didn't keep you waiting?" I asked, gently slipping my hand free from Sebastian's as I walked toward her.
"No, I just arrived." She assured me, her eyes flicking briefly to him before returning to me.
I glanced back at Sebastian. "Can you wait inside for me?"
He nodded and stepped into the ward without question.
The moment he was gone, Ashley studied my face. "Are you okay?" She asked softly, passing the boxes to me.
I accepted them with a quiet sigh. "I don't know."
Ashley had been my classmate before she became my assistant, my constant, my safe place. She knew the history of my life, the parts I rarely let anyone see. But she didn't know about the divorce I had been planning. She didn't know about the amnesia either.
"You two look... close." She observed carefully, exactly as I'd expected.
I offered a small, guarded smile. "A lot happened."
She looped her arm through mine. "You'll tell me everything."
"I will." I promised gently. "Just not now."
She pressed her lips together, resigned. "Alright. Later." Then she exhaled. "Work's been hectic without you."
"I heard you've been doing great holding things together." I told her.
Her brow lifted. "Who told you that? They lied."
I laughed despite myself.
"Well," she said, stepping back, "take care of yourself."
"You too." I replied.
She waved as she walked away, and I watched her go, grateful for her presence, and dreading the explanations that would come later.
With the takeaway boxes clutched in my hands, I made my way back to Sebastian's ward. He was standing by the window when I stepped in, his attention fixed on the view outside, as though he was lost in thought.
He turned the moment he sensed me. "Are you done talking to your assistant?"
"Yeah." I murmured, setting the boxes down on the small table. "You must be hungry."
"Not really." His reply was flat, almost distracted. Then his gaze flicked to me. "Are you hungry?"
"Well..." I scratched the back of my neck, suddenly unsure of myself. "I haven't really eaten anything today."
"Then you should eat." He finally left the window and crossed the room. "I'll just take a bite." He added lightly, lowering himself onto the couch.
I let out a small laugh and sat beside him, lifting the lids off the takeaway boxes.
Inside the takeaway boxes were portions of pasta coated in a rich tomato sauce, slices of grilled chicken resting neatly on top. The warmth seeped through the containers, carrying a comforting aroma that made my stomach twist.
"Do you prefer pasta with cream sauce or tomato sauce?" I asked. We'd never really eaten together before, never shared something as simple as a meal, so I had no idea what he liked or didn't.
"I think I prefer tomato sauce."
I let out a small sigh of relief. "Me too."
I handed him a fork from the box, and we began eating in a quiet, companionable silence.
"This is really tasty." He said, taking another bite. Then another.
I'd thought he said he would only have a bite. Not that I minded, but the thought made a laugh slip out before I could stop it.
He turned toward me, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Why are you laughing?"
"You said you'd just take a bite." I murmured, keeping my eyes on my food. "You've taken more than six."
He snorted, wrinkling his nose at me. "It's not my fault the food tastes good." He dropped his fork and straightened slightly.
"Oh-no, I didn't mean for you to stop." I said quickly, panic fluttering in my chest. "You can keep eating."
But his attention had already shifted.
"I'm more curious about why you're barely eating." He said, his gaze steady on me.
I tightened my grip on the fork, as though it might anchor me. There was something about the way those honey-colored eyes looked at me that made my breath catch.
"I..." I swallowed. "I don't really have the appetite."
"But you said you were hungry."
"I know." I said softly, feeling a knot of nerves in my chest. How could I explain that sitting this close to him, sharing a meal like this, made my heart race and my stomach flutter all at once? "I'm hungry, but I don't have the appetite to eat. Does that make sense?"
A smoky glint passed through his eyes, sending warmth rushing to my cheeks.
"No." He said simply.
Yet he didn't look away.
I let out a breathless laugh, the hairs at the back of my neck prickling. "I figured it wouldn't."
Then he spoke again, his voice low and unexpected.
"Would you have an appetite if I feed you?"
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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.