Chapter 7: The Truth Behind His Amnesia

My fingers dug into the ornate wallpaper, my knuckles turning white.

"Have your fun, but do not push Lorelai too far," Marco warned hesitantly. "She has been a wreck lately. Yesterday, she was frantic about her father, and you would not even pick up the phone. Was that not a bit too cruel?"

"Cruel?" Caspian blew out a cloud of cigar smoke, his tone dripping with entitlement. "She needs to hurt a little so she learns her lesson. Who told her she could order me to fire Ivy? I spoiled her too much, and she got bossy. I needed an excuse to break her temper."

"Of course, I would not actually let her father die. I know what I am doing."

"So how does this end? Are you getting a new wife?" Marco asked.

"A new wife? Not a chance." Caspian scoffed like it was a ridiculous question. "Lorelai is the rightful Donna of the Solis syndicate. She is my wife, and that will never change. When I have had my fill, I will just tell her my memory came back. After all, I still love her."

The word love coming out of his mouth sounded as cheap as a used tissue. It made me sick.

He paused, likely taking a sip of liquor, before sighing in satisfaction.

"Marco, you are not married, you do not get it. Lorelai is like a bottle of vintage wine from a top-tier estate. Precious, elegant. But drinking fine wine is exhausting. You have to follow the rules, let it breathe, savor it."

"But Ivy?" He laughed sleazily. "Young girls are like tequila. Direct, fiery, you take a shot and it burns right to your head. No rules, no strings. Honestly, after eating the same meal for twenty years, I was bored out of my mind. Having some cheap fast food for a change feels fucking great."

"I almost envy you, Marco. You can fuck whoever you want without having to wake up to the same face every day."

Bile rose in my throat.

This was his summary of our twenty years? This was his love?

I thought he was a victim of a tragic accident. I spent countless nights blaming myself for our fight.

But the truth was a brutal slap to the face, grinding my dignity, my love, and my faith into the dirt.

He did not have amnesia.

He was wide awake. He was a liar, a cheater, a piece of trash!

He watched me cry in the hospital, watched Ivy humiliate me, watched me beg for my father's life—all just to break my temper and find some cheap thrills!

Grief and rage twisted together, sending violent tremors through my body. I could not believe these filthy, disgusting words were coming from the man who once knelt and swore to protect me from the world.

My proud romance, my five-year marriage—it was all rotten to the core, crawling with maggots.

Tears blurred my vision.

I did not push the door open. What was the point? Scream at him like a madwoman? Slap him? That would not fix anything.

I bit my lip to muffle my sobs and turned away like a ghost.

As I reached the grand spiral staircase, my vision swam. I missed a step.

"Ah—"

My body fell backward, tumbling down the hard marble stairs.

Right before the darkness swallowed me, through my blurred vision, I saw a tall figure sprinting toward me like his life depended on it.