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 9
I didn't remember my life, but my body remembered her.
SEBASTIAN
The first thing I noticed after waking up was how often my gaze drifted to her.
Not because I was meant to, but because something inside me did it on its own, instinctive, like muscle memory without the memory.
I would be lying if I said it didn't feel strange that she was the only person I could remember. Stranger still was how, even as I struggled to make sense of everything else, I kept being drawn back to her. Part of me whispered that something about this wasn't right, yet another part insisted it was. Both feelings existed at once, tangled and impossible to separate.
Did that even make sense?
I noticed the little things, the way she grew quiet whenever I was near, how her shoulders tensed like she was bracing herself, how her breath hitched when our hands almost touched. And when I asked if I could feed her, the way she froze told me everything I needed to know.
Not about the food.
But about us.
Because what kind of wife tensed like that around her own husband?
She let out a breathless laugh and looked away, her cheeks warming.
I nodded, a faint smile tugging at my lips. Even though a part of me sensed there was more she wasn't saying, I still found myself enjoying this, teasing her, watching the way she reacted so honestly, so unguarded. It amused me more than it probably should have.
"No response," I murmured, leaning closer, "means I'm feeding you."
"You... you don't have to." She protested weakly, waving her hand as if that would stop me.
"Too late."
I took the fork from her fingers, twirled a neat portion of pasta, and lifted it toward her. She hesitated, an awkward smile curving her lips as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Then, finally, she leaned in and accepted the bite.
"Good girl." I said lightly.
She laughed nervously, and I was already rolling another portion. "Open your mouth."
Still laughing, she obeyed, chewing slowly before lowering her gaze again, that shy smile creeping back onto her face.
I set the fork aside and reached for the bottle of Coke. Spotting a mug on the table, I poured a generous amount and brought it to her lips.
She looked up at me then-and I caught the way her eyes shimmered, tears threatening but unshed. She laughed again, as if to hide it, lifting her chin to take a sip.
"Wow..." The word slipped out before I could stop it as I watched her turn her face away, blinking too fast, trying and failing to hide the tears pooling in her eyes. "Did I seriously unlock tears with pasta?"
She laughed again, sniffing softly. "The pasta just tastes really good."
"Are you sure it's not because I'm feeding you?" I teased, watching the way her smile slowly returned. I had to admit, I liked seeing it there. A lot.
"I want the grilled chicken." She said, pointing at it.
"Alright." I speared a slice with the fork and held it up to her. "Here."
She leaned in and ate it eagerly, like she'd been waiting for permission.
I chuckled. "See? All it takes is a good-looking feeder like me to bring your appetite back."
She laughed, shaking her head. "You're being so full of yourself right now."
I grinned. "Just admit it."
She only smiled and kept eating.
"You know..." I tapped the fork lightly against the container, watching her instead of the food. "You have a very expressive face. I can practically read every emotion you're feeling."
She lifted a hand to her cheek, startled. "Really?"
Before she could think better of it, I reached out and gently pinched her cheek. "You're not doing a great job hiding them."
She laughed and leaned back into her seat, still smiling. The room grew quiet after that, the kind of silence that wasn't uncomfortable-just filled. I watched her as she absentmindedly rubbed her palms against her dress, fidgeting, stealing glances everywhere except at me.
Was she really that shy?
When our eyes finally met, she flinched slightly, as if she was still adjusting to the idea of me being this close.
"Why are you staring at me?" She asked with a nervous laugh.
I looked away, fixing my gaze on the bed, the pale wall beyond it. "I'm curious." I said after a moment. "About how we met. How we got married."
When I glanced back at her, the smile had already faded from her face. Her eyes dropped to her hands. I noticed then how often that happened. How the past seemed to dim her every time it came up.
I tapped my fingers against my thigh, waiting.
She opened her mouth, closed it. Tried again. No words came. Whatever she wanted to say, it weighed on her.
What was it that she found so hard to voice?
"Actually," she finally whispered. "I-"
"The past isn't important." I interrupted, the words leaving me faster than thought. A strange unease had settled in my chest and I knew that I wouldn't like whatever came next. "What matters is now. This moment. The memories we'll make from here on out."
Her head lifted.
And just like that, her face brightened like I'd handed her something she hadn't known she was hoping for.
***
We ate, and we talked, and somewhere along the way the hours slipped through my fingers without me noticing. I filled the room with silly jokes, half of them not even that funny, but she laughed anyway, adding murmured comments under her breath that made me want to say even more ridiculous things just to hear them again.
I was careful not to bring up the past, no matter how much it tugged at my curiosity. I'd seen how her mood shifted every time it surfaced. Tonight, I wanted her light like this-smiling, relaxed, here.
Before I knew it, night settled quietly outside the window.
I'd already taken a shower and was smoothing the bedsheet when the bathroom door opened. Selene stepped out, wearing the shirt I'd given her earlier. Vincent had brought some of my things in the afternoon, and it occurred to me then that she hadn't brought any of her own.
She tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling shyly.
The shirt swallowed her frame, the sleeves hanging a little too long, the hem brushing her thighs.
She looked... cute. Disarmingly so.
A smile curved on my lips before I could stop it.
"Looks good on you."
She smiled as she always did, brushing her hair back as she stood there, hesitating, as if unsure what her next move should be.
I sat on the edge of the bed, watching her more closely than I probably should have. She suddenly found the sleeves of my shirt fascinating, her fingers worrying at the fabric as she avoided my gaze. There was an awkwardness between us, but it wasn't uncomfortable. If anything, it felt... gentle. Familiar in a way I couldn't explain.
My eyes drifted down her legs, stopping where the hem of my shirt rested against her thighs. I looked away quickly, shutting down the dangerous turn my thoughts were beginning to take.
"Are you planning to stand there all night?" I asked, lying back and pulling the blanket over myself.
"I..." She bit her lower lip, rubbing the back of her neck, clearly flustered.
"Turn off the light and come here."
She moved toward the switch, slowly, too slowly. Like she was buying time. I wondered what she was thinking, what made her hesitate this much around me.
The light went out, plunging the room into darkness. A moment later, I heard her careful footsteps approaching the bed. She climbed in at last, stiff and uncertain.
I lifted the blanket and draped it over her.
We lay facing each other, our faces only inches apart, the quiet between us charged and delicate. I smiled, unable to stop myself, savoring the closeness.
"You're quiet." I murmured, my gaze never leaving her face.
"That's because I'm trying to sleep." She replied softly, closing her eyes.
"Lucky you." I lowered my voice, letting the words linger. "I'm wide awake. Hard to sleep when your wife is this beautiful."
Her eyes fluttered open again, and she looked at me before smiling faintly. "You're such a tease."
"I'm not lying." A smirk curved my lips. "I might actually fall asleep if you do this." I gestured to my head, half-expecting her to laugh me off.
She did look at me like I was being ridiculous, and I was already about to admit I was joking when her hand reached out. Warm fingers slipped into my hair, caressing gently.
I stilled.
My heart began to pound so loudly I was sure she could hear it. At first, I had told myself to be careful, to watch her, not trust too easily. Something about our situation felt uncertain. That had been my resolve.
But with her hand in my hair, that resolve wavered.
In its place came something else. A need. To know her. To understand her. To hold her closer and never let go.
I wanted to learn what made her happy.
I wanted to be the reason she smiled.
I lifted my hand and covered hers, resting it against my head. I felt her tense, just slightly, but I didn't pull away. Instead, I shifted closer, closing the distance between us. Her breath brushed my face, and her eyes flickered briefly to my lips.
"Selene." I whispered.
She drew her gaze back to mine, her breath hitching as our eyes met.
"I might not remember our past." I said quietly, my thumb brushing over her knuckles as if the motion came from instinct alone. My eyes never left her face. "But I know this..."
I paused, steadying myself. "Right now, I want you here."
Her fingers trembled beneath mine.
"Let's start again." I continued, the words soft but certain. A faint smile curved my lips.
"You and me."
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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.