Chapter 6
“No.”
Oh, look. The man had found a second favorite word, and he intended to get his money’s worth out of it.
He shook his head so hard it was a miracle his neck survived. “No, Alessia.” Panic flickered across his face, quickly chased by something more desperate as he stepped closer. “We’re not doing this. We are not getting a divorce.”
His chest rose and fell unevenly. “You don’t mean that.
” His voice cracked on the last word, and he swallowed before continuing.
“You’re angry. You’re confused. You woke up and suddenly your whole life feels like it belongs to someone else, and I understand that.
I do.” He dragged a trembling hand through his hair.
“But—” His voice faltered. “You can’t just walk away from everything we’ve built because you have a few missing memories. ”
“A few missing memories?” I scoffed. “Bro, I don’t even know you.”
“Then get to know me again,” he shot back, his voice dropping to a ragged, pleading whisper. “I’ll tell you everything. I’ll show you everything. Whatever it takes.” He threw his hands up, frustration flashing across his face. “And for the love of God, Alessia, stop calling me bro.”
I paused, narrowing my eyes at him. “Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t get a divorce.”
He frowned. “Because we’re married.”
I stared at him flatly. “Really?”
“No. That’s not what I meant.” He let out a sharp breath and rubbed his jaw, his expression tightening.
“I mean, we didn’t get married just to get divorced.
We took vows, Alessia. We promised forever.
” His eyebrows lifted, incredulous. “And unless someone changed the definition of forever while I wasn’t looking, we haven’t reached it yet. ”
He gestured sharply between us. “This is what for better or for worse means.” His expression hardened, determination taking root in every line of his face.
“You’ll remember. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow.
But you will. You’ll remember me. You’ll remember us.
” He let his hand fall and took a breath before adding, “And until you do, I’m not going anywhere. ”
He had said so much.
And somehow, he had still managed to leave out the one thing I needed to hear. The one answer that might have made me stop, take a breath, and give this marriage—and him—a chance.
Love.
Maybe the woman I’d been had looked at him and found something worth choosing, day after day. Maybe she’d loved him so deeply that forever had once seemed like the easiest promise to make. Maybe, to her, this marriage had been worth fighting for.
But I wasn’t her anymore.
Whatever she had felt for him belonged to a life I couldn’t remember, to a version of myself I could no longer reach. She had known him, loved him, and chosen him.
I hadn’t.
All I had was the life in front of me and the feelings I could trust now. And right now, I was standing across from a man who desperately wanted me to stay but couldn’t give me a reason to believe I should.
I wasn’t going to gamble my present on a love buried in a past I couldn’t remember, not for a man who didn’t love me.
I clapped my hands slowly, the sharp sound slicing through the silence between us. “That was quite a speech. Very passionate. Very convincing. Just…” I tilted my head, considering him. “Not the right one.” A small smile pulled at my lips. “So, I’m gonna go ahead with my divorce plan.”
His jaw tightened. “I’m not agreeing to this,” he said firmly. “I don’t want a divorce.”
I crossed my arms. “Luckily for me, one can file for divorce without the other party’s permission.”
Not sticking around for another speech, I sidestepped him and tugged my bag free. His grip stayed locked around the strap, knuckles white with the effort.
I tugged once.
He didn’t let go.
I tugged again, this time raising an eyebrow.
We stood there in a ridiculous little tug-of-war over my handbag, which was certainly not how I’d imagined ending my marriage.
“Let go.”
His eyes dropped to the bag.
Then, reluctantly, his grip loosened.
I pulled it free, swung the strap onto my shoulder. Before leaving, I gave his shoulder a light, almost friendly tap. “My lawyer will contact you.”
His hand shot out before I could take another step, his fingers closing around my wrist.
“You don’t have your memories,” he said.
I wrenched my wrist from his grasp. “Wow, what gave it away?”
His eyes locked on mine. “You can file those papers, Alessia. But I will challenge the petition, and I will slow this down considerably.”
He took a step closer, his gaze unyielding.
“You have documented retrograde amnesia. You have no memory of our marriage—not the assets we built together, not the terms under which we entered it, not what you’d actually be walking away from.
Any settlement you agree to, any decision you make about dividing what we built together, will be made without an informed understanding of what that actually means.
I will argue that every agreement signed during this period is made without full knowledge of the marital estate. A judge will listen to that.”
A knot twisted through me. I kept my expression neutral, refusing to let him see it.
He paused. “And most jurisdictions require a separation period before a divorce is finalized anyway. Given the circumstances, I will request an extension of that period.”
My hands curled into fists at my sides.
This fucking man was going to make this as difficult as humanly possible.
Had I been on drugs when I married him? Because there was no other reasonable explanation for how I had looked at this man and thought, Yes. That’s the one. Let’s legally bind myself to him.
I drew in a slow breath, forcing my temper back down. “So, what exactly are you saying?” I bit out, each word clipped.
His face softened, the pain in his eyes impossible to miss.
“I’m saying we wait. We give it time, Alessia, until your memories come back.
” He lifted his hands in a small, helpless gesture.
“We can’t even have a real conversation right now without you threatening to divorce me.
Let’s go home. Give yourself a chance to heal and settle into all of this. ”
He paused, watching me carefully. “You’ll remember,” he said quietly. “I know you will. Give it time, and everything will come back to you. You won’t always look at me like I’m some random man who wandered into your life.”
A humorless laugh escaped me. “So you want to trap me? Is that it?”
His face fell, anguish flickering across his eyes as he shook his head. “No. I’m asking you to give me a chance. If—when—you get your memories back and you still want to leave, I won’t stop you. I won’t fight you. I’ll sign whatever you put in front of me.”
He paused, the hurt in his eyes giving way to stubborn resolve.
“But I can’t stand by and let you end our marriage when you don’t even know what you’re walking away from.
” He shook his head, his words gaining weight with every sentence.
“The woman standing in front of me right now isn’t the woman who married me.
You don’t remember us. You don’t remember what we built together.
You don’t remember why you chose me. How can you make a permanent decision about a life you can’t even remember living? ”
I clenched my jaw, irritation building with every word he said. I didn’t need him deciding what was best for me simply because he happened to remember a version of my life that I didn’t.
His shoulders dropped, and the fight left his voice, replaced by a plea.
His eyes searched mine, shining with emotion, and when he spoke again, there was no argument left in his words, only a request. “Give me a chance, Alessia.” He lifted a hand toward me, stopping just short of touching me.
“Let me show you why you chose me in the first place. Let me show you what we were before all of this happened. Let me prove that what we had was real, that it mattered, and that it’s worth finding again. ”
I looked around the room, my mind reeling, before my eyes snapped back to his. “You keep saying I’m not the same person. So why do you want me?”
He lowered his voice, the words carrying a conviction that made me want to scream. “Because my wife is still in there. I just need to help her remember who she is.”
I sat in my car without moving for a long moment, both hands resting limply in my lap.
Talking to Mrs. Garcia had been the right choice. She’d given me something I hadn’t realized I’d been craving so badly—a little piece of normalcy. For the first time since waking up, I’d felt almost like myself again.
Then the question she’d planted began to gnaw at me.
I grabbed my phone and dialed Naija. The second she answered, I skipped the pleasantries. “Did I drop Mrs. Garcia’s project because of Cassian?”
The silence on the other end lasted just a fraction too long.
“…Yes.”
I shut my eyes.
One word. One miserable little word.
“You were planning an investor party for him,” she continued carefully. “You were pulling all-nighters to get everything ready. You said it had to be perfect.”
I slowly pulled the seatbelt across my chest and clicked it into place, staring blankly through the windshield as the truth settled over me, heavy and cold.
I chose him.
I had chosen Cassian over Mrs. Garcia—my first client, my most loyal client, the woman who had trusted me before anyone else did.
Past me had possessed a very specific talent for making spectacularly terrible decisions.
“Did it work?”
“It did,” Naija confirmed. “A lot of the investors showed genuine interest.”
Of course they did. I’d always been good at my job.
I turned the key, and the engine roared to life beneath me. “And what did Cassian do for me in return?” I asked dryly. “Did he at least declare me Wife of the Year? Maybe present me with a trophy, a framed certificate, or—dare I hope—a small fruit basket?”
She stayed silent for so long that I checked the call, half-expecting it to have dropped.
“Naija? Are you there?”
“Yeah, Boss. I’m here,” she finally replied, her voice hesitant. “It’s just… Mr. Sterling didn’t actually attend the party.” The words came out slowly, each one laced with reluctance.
I went completely still, my fingers slowly tightening around the steering wheel until the leather groaned beneath my grip. “What?”
“He didn’t come,” she repeated, softer this time.
“Was he dying?” I asked, keeping my voice deceptively soft.
He’d better have been.
“Uh, not exactly.”
“Naija.” I said her name with enough weight to turn it into a command. “Tell me everything. Start at the beginning, and don’t you dare edit anything to protect my feelings.”
And she did.
She told me how he’d blown off the party, how I’d left afterward with my anger and disappointment eating me alive, and how the accident had happened just moments later.
This was the fight he’d mentioned. This was what had pushed me behind the wheel that night.
That piece of shit hadn’t appreciated the one time I’d gone all in for him, and he still had the audacity to ask for another chance?
I bit down on the inside of my cheek, the sharp sting doing nothing to cool the fury racing through me. I demanded Cassian’s home address from Naija and ended the call. My hand shot toward the gearshift, and I shoved the car into drive, pulling away with a little more force than necessary.
The drive was a blur.
Every passing mile poured more fuel onto the fire inside me. The rage that had been boiling over slowly narrowed into pure resolve, every thought falling into place until there was only one thing left on my mind.
Forget Plan B.
It was time for Plan A.
By the time I reached Cassian’s house, my hands were practically itching to wrap themselves around his throat. I marched to the front door with murder on my mind and knocked hard enough to make my knuckles sting.
The second that door opened, I was ready.
Except it wasn’t Cassian standing there.
The woman’s face was unfamiliar, but Naija’s dossier had been thorough enough that I recognized her immediately.
Cassandra.