Chapter 1: The Perfect Hall Pass

My fiance of seven years, the heir to a mafia dynasty, claimed amnesia three weeks before our wedding, forgetting only me. Then I overheard him laughing on a video call, calling it the perfect 'hall pass' to sleep with an influencer before he was tied down.

He flaunted his affair, abandoned me with a broken arm after a staged car crash to save her from a scratch, and planned to leave me homeless. He called me his 'property,' a doll he could play with and put back on the shelf when he was done.

He thought I'd be waiting for his 'miraculous recovery.' Instead, I disappeared, leaving behind his ring and a simple note: 'I remember everything. Me too.'

The man I've loved for seven years claims to have amnesia, forgetting only me—until I hear him on a video call, laughing about how it's the perfect hall pass to sleep with an influencer before our wedding.

My fingers trace the delicate lace of the veil spread across our bed. It's part of a wedding ensemble that costs more than my first car. A symbol. Not of love, but of a seven-year political engagement meant to unite two of the city's most powerful families. A perfect union. A perfect life.

Except Ethan Reed, my fiance and the heir to the Reed family dynasty, doesn't remember any of it. He says he doesn't.

Three weeks ago, he took a minor head injury. A fall during a sparring session, his Underboss, Leo, told me with a straight face. It supposedly wiped his memory. Selectively. He remembered his name, his family, his role as the Don-in-waiting. He just didn't remember me.

I'd spent every day since trying to piece him back together. Our penthouse apartment has become a museum of our love, or what I thought was our love. Photos line the walls. I play the obscure indie song that was supposed to be our first dance on a loop, hoping a single note might unlock something inside him.

'It's catchy,' was all he'd said yesterday, his eyes distant and cold.

I refused to give up. The families were counting on this. I was counting on this. This union wasn't just a marriage; it was a treaty. A way to end a silent war before it began.

My best friend and lawyer, Maya Rodriguez—my own personal Consigliere—had warned me.

'This stinks, Ava. A head injury that only erases his fiancée? It sounds like a plot from a bad soap opera, not a medical diagnosis.'

I'd brushed her off. I had to. Hope was all I had left.

Tonight, looking for an old photo album in his home office, I find the door slightly ajar. His laptop is open on the desk, a video call still active. And then I hear it. A sound I haven't heard in weeks.

Ethan's laugh. A deep, genuine, arrogant laugh.

I freeze. My hand on the doorknob.

'She's buying the whole thing,' Ethan's voice booms, full of smug satisfaction. He's talking to Leo. 'Plays our song all day. Stares at me with those big, sad eyes. It's almost pathetic.'

My stomach clenches. My breath catches in my throat.

'You're a bastard, Ethan,' Leo says, but he's laughing too. 'Just for Chloe Vance? Is she really worth this kind of drama?'

Chloe Vance. The influencer with millions of followers and a body built by surgery and ambition. An Associate of the family, useful for laundering money through her brands, but not one of us. Never one of us.

'It's a temporary hall pass, man,' Ethan says, leaning back in his chair. 'Family protocol, the engagement, the Omertà... it's a cage. This amnesia is my key. I get a few months of freedom, and right before the wedding season kicks into high gear, I'll have a miraculous recovery.'

Omertà. The sacred code of silence. It was the first rule we were taught as children. Never speak of family business to outsiders. Never bring shame upon the family name through public indiscretion. It was the foundation of our entire world, and he was twisting it into an excuse for betrayal.

He takes a sip of whiskey, the ice clinking in his glass.

'Ava will be so relieved she'll forgive anything. She has to. She's my property. It's all part of the deal.'

The words hit me like a physical blow, sucking the air from my lungs. My entire world—the seven years of devotion, the future I'd staked my life on—was a lie. A game. A hall pass.

The love in my heart curdles into something cold and sharp. The grief is so immense it feels like a black hole, but on the other side of it, a plan begins to form. A cold, hard, beautiful plan.

I slowly and silently pull the door shut. The click of the latch is the sound of a cage door closing, but this time, he's the one inside it.

He thinks I'm his property. He thinks I'm a pawn in his game.

Fine. I'll play along.

But when this is over, he won't be the one who wins.