Chapter 5

But Ethan’s assistant quickly stepped between us, ushering me into the back of a stretched Lincoln.

The car drove me straight to the private wing of the hospital.

Ethan was propped up against the pillows.

The bandages on his chest were stained with fresh blood, his face pale and weak.

Yet, when he saw me, that familiar, suffocating tenderness returned to his eyes. He held out a freshly peeled lychee, acting as if nothing had happened.

"Amy, the lychees from our orchard just arrived. Want a bite?"

I stood by the door, refusing to take a step closer.

The private nurse next to him looked at me with indignation.

"Mr. Sterling ordered these the second he woke up, knowing you'd be coming."

I looked away from the fruit and locked eyes with Ethan.

"My name is not Amy. It’s Amelia Vance."

"You got a vasectomy out of guilt because you knew you killed our only child and ruined my body so I could never conceive again."

"And I don't hate the cold. You brought me to Southern California because it never snows here. You wanted to make sure I would never remember that winter night."

"Did you really think erasing my memories would allow you to enjoy my love guilt-free? A despicable coward like you doesn't deserve a single second of happiness!"

When they fished me out of the Icelandic sea years ago, I had wanted nothing but death.

I tried to take him to hell with me every chance I got.

I poisoned his drinks, pulled the handbrake while he was driving on the highway, and threw a plugged-in hair dryer into his bathtub.

Eventually, he broke.

He knelt at my feet, weeping, asking me what it would take for me to forgive him and just live with him.

"Only when you are dead," I had told him.

Driven to desperation, he flew in the world’s top hypnotherapists.

They subjected me to months of intense cognitive restructuring and memory suppression.

When I finally woke up in Southern California, my mind was a blank slate.

Ethan told me my name was Amy, and that I had lost my memory in a skiing accident. He said he was my fiancé, and we were about to be married.

Our third wedding was a perfect success—bought at the price of my entire soul.

This beautiful cage built on his lies was designed to hide the blood and bones of my family.

"Those five years were stolen time. I am content," Ethan whispered, his voice trembling.

"Do you know how terrified I was every single day, Amy? I was terrified you'd remember, and everything would vanish."

"I regret it every day. If I could go back, I would never have let Fiona back into our lives."

"But in the beginning, I just wanted everyone to have a good ending. I didn't know it would turn out like this."

He carved agonizing wounds into my soul, yet greedily crawled back to beg for my love.

I loathed his self-righteousness, and I hated myself for falling in love with him again during those five blank years.

A sharp pain shot through my skull. I clutched my head and crouched down.

"Shut up! Do you think your pathetic confession changes anything?"

"Never. You killed my father. You destroyed my life. I want you dead."

The rage consumed me. I stood up, pulled out the concealed handgun he had given me for self-defense, and pointed it straight at his head.

The moment I pulled the trigger, his bodyguard lunged at me.

The bullet went wide.

It tore through the down pillow right next to his head.

Feathers exploded into the air, fluttering down like the heavy snow of that long-ago winter.

It was a stark reminder of the two lives that stood between us.

"For six years, you've done nothing but try to kill me," Ethan said, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

"Can we call it even now?"

He waved his hand, dismissing the trembling bodyguard.

"Ethan, this is the end. Do not ever show your face to me again."

Before I walked out, he slid a business card across the table.

"You'll need this address."