I woke up in a hospital bed remembering my parents, my best friend, the apartment I rented, and even the name of my third-grade teacher—but when Harper pointed to the handsome man on my phone and said I had spent five years destroying myself for him, I felt absolutely nothing.
Chapter 1
I woke up in a hospital bed remembering my parents, my best friend, the apartment I rented, and even the name of my third-grade teacher—but when Harper pointed to the handsome man on my phone and said I had spent five years destroying myself for him, I felt absolutely nothing.
“Who is Ethan Hayes?” I asked.
Harper stared at me as if the heart monitor had just announced my death. She grabbed my phone from the nightstand, held up the lock screen, and pointed at the dark-haired man whose expression suggested he disliked whoever had taken his picture.
“That’s Ethan. Your password is his birthday. You’ve been hopelessly in love with him since you met him at that charity gala five years ago.”
I studied his face.
Nothing stirred.
“Were we together?”
Harper’s expression softened with pity.
“No.”
That answer should have embarrassed me. Instead, it made me curious about the woman I had apparently been before I fell down a marble staircase and struck my head.
Harper sat beside me. “You chased him for five years, Chloe. You turned down Parsons because you wanted to stay near him. You took a miserable finance job at his company even though you hate finance. You worked insane hours because you thought proving yourself would make him notice you.”
“And did it?”
“He noticed you.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
She sighed.
“No. He never treated you the way you deserved.”
Apparently Ethan had spent years emotionally attached to a childhood sweetheart named Veronica Hale. Veronica had recently returned to New York, and somehow an argument involving the three of us had ended with me tumbling down sixteen marble stairs.
“Did he push me?”
Harper hesitated.
“He grabbed you. He said it was an accident.”
I looked again at Ethan’s photograph.
The girl who had used that picture as her lock screen must have loved him desperately. I felt sorry for her.
I changed the picture.
Then I changed the password.
Then I deleted Ethan’s contact information.
Harper watched in amazement.
“You’re really doing this?”
“Five years got me nowhere. Maybe forgetting him is the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Later that afternoon, I was reading a fashion magazine when a man entered without knocking.
I recognized him from the deleted photograph.
“Mr. Hayes?”
Ethan stopped.
His eyes narrowed.
He wore an expensive charcoal suit and carried himself with the effortless arrogance of a man accustomed to entire rooms adjusting themselves around him.
“The staircase incident was partly my fault,” he said. “I’ve transferred money to cover your medical care and additional compensation. If you have another reasonable request, I’ll consider it.”
I blinked.
“That’s very generous.”
His expression remained guarded.
“But if you’re planning to use the accident to pressure me into a relationship—”
“That won’t be necessary.”
He actually stopped speaking.
I folded the magazine in my lap.
“You’ve apologized. The medical expenses are handled. As far as I’m concerned, we’re finished.”
Ethan stared at me.
“You’re saying that’s all?”
“Yes.”
Suspicion hardened his face. “What are you playing at, Chloe?”
“Nothing.”
He waited, apparently expecting tears, pleading, or some dramatic confession.
None came.
Finally he turned toward the door.
“Good.”
“Mr. Hayes?”
He paused.
For the first time, something resembling satisfaction flickered across his face. He slowly turned back.
“What is it?”
“Would you mind closing the door?”
The satisfaction vanished.
He slammed it so hard the glass rattled.
When Harper returned, I told her I was resigning from Hayes Group.
“You’re serious?”
“I found an old acceptance letter in my email. The Royal College of Art in London deferred my place after Mom died. I contacted admissions this morning.”
Harper’s mouth fell open.
“They’ll still take me.”
“Chloe, that’s huge.”
“I’m going.”
She grabbed my hands.
“What about Ethan?”
I looked toward the closed door.
“He has nothing to do with my future.”
The following afternoon, Veronica came to visit.
She was beautiful in the polished, delicate way expensive women often are. She brought white lilies and a smile that never reached her eyes.
“I heard about the amnesia.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
She sat beside the bed.
“Ethan worries terribly about me. He barely lets me out of his sight now.”
I nodded.
“That sounds exhausting.”
Her smile tightened.
“You really don’t remember.”
“Apparently not.”
Then the sweetness disappeared.
“You followed him around like a pathetic little dog for five years. It was embarrassing. Now that I’m back, do everyone a favor and stay away from him.”
I stared at her.
“That was your reason for coming?”
Her eyes instantly filled with tears.
Before I understood why, Ethan rushed into the room.
He saw Veronica crying.
He did not ask what happened.
He looked at me with fury.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
Veronica lowered her head. “Please don’t be angry with Chloe. She’s recovering.”
I almost admired the performance.
“There’s a camera in the room,” I said. “Check it.”
Ethan ignored me.
“Apologize to Veronica.”
“No.”
His face became cold.
“Chloe.”
“I said no.”
Two security men stood behind him. At a small gesture from Ethan, they stepped toward my bed.
My stomach tightened.
“Ethan, what are you doing?”
“If you won’t show basic respect voluntarily, perhaps someone needs to teach you.”
One guard grabbed my arm.
The other seized my shoulder.
I was still recovering from a concussion. The room spun immediately.
“Let go of me!”
They dragged me from the bed.
My forehead struck the metal rail.
Pain exploded through my skull.
Warm blood ran into my eye.
I heard Veronica gasp theatrically.
I heard Ethan say, “She’s making it worse by fighting.”
Then my knees hit the floor.
The last thing I saw before darkness swallowed me was Veronica standing safely behind Ethan.
She smiled.
And suddenly, somewhere deep inside my damaged mind, a locked door opened.
