###Chapter 3

Kristen's POV

"Sir Michael," the maid piped up, stepping forward with a sly grin, "it was Sir William who brought her back. Said the Master and Madam are coming back soon, and we should take care of her properly so that they wouldn't get upset."

Then she turned to me with a smug little smirk and rolled her eyes. "Or maybe you knew Sir Michael was coming and decided to strut around half-naked on purpose, huh? Trying to seduce him now? You really don't quit."

'How downright audacious of her to even mock me?'

But I didn't say anything. Didn't even look at her. What was the point?

In front of me, Michael's sharp gaze landed on me like a knife. "Kristen, you really are trying to seduce me, huh? Even with amnesia, you can't stay away."

There was something disturbingly pleased in his voice. He shrugged off his coat and draped it over my bare shoulders like it was some chivalrous gesture.

The scent of it—sharp and clean, that same cloying hawthorn cologne he always wore—rushed up my nose, and bile surged in my throat.

All I could see in my mind was the image of him with Courtney in that car. The way he touched her, kissed her, gave her everything I had begged for.

Without hesitation, I peeled the coat away and handed it back.

"I'm just the maid around here," I said calmly. "Pretty sure I don't deserve that kind of attention from someone like you, Mr. Donovan."

I knew what he expected. Gratitude. Flushed cheeks. Adoration.

But I looked at him with none of that.

Just blank, cool indifference. And Michael hated it.

"Fine. Have it your way," he sneered, his jaw clenching.

He flicked his eyes at the maid, and she scurried off before returning with a wrinkled maid's uniform, tossing it straight into my arms like garbage.

"If you want to act like the help, then do your damn job," he snapped, glaring at me one last time before storming off.

I let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

With the broom in one hand and shame in the other, I swept my way down the halls to the outside of my brother's study. That's when I heard their voices—Michael and Courtney's loyal lapdog, my own brother, William.

Michael was speaking first.

"I mean, sure, I planned the accident. But it was only to help Courtney. She needed someone to stand up for her. That's all. You're the one who took it further and had Kristen drugged into forgetting everything. So that she wouldn't hurt Courtney anymore."

"You've done so much for her in secret," Michael added, "Don't you ever wish she knew the truth?"

I froze.

William's fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "As long as Courtney's happy in the time she has left, she doesn't have to know. I'll stay the nameless hero if that's what it takes."

My whole body got cold.

So that was it.

'William wanted to be a hero… so you made me the villain? You sacrificed me, your own sister, to make Courtney happy?'

I pressed in closer, barely breathing.

Then William said something that made my blood run colder. "And what about Kristen? Heard you're planning to have a baby with Courtney. What happens to Kristen then?"

Michael gave a bitter scoff. "Kristen? Please. She was already 'used up' in college. Do you think someone like her is fit to carry my heir? Courtney is pure. She's the only one worthy of having a child of mine."

William didn't say anything, so Michael went on like he hadn't just gutted me with those words.

"So yeah. When the hospital called and said Kristen was pregnant, I arranged that car crash. You think I'd let her trap me with a baby that might not even be mine? Marrying her was already charity."

I clutched the broom handle so hard it felt like my fingers would snap.

'That baby… the one I lost in that crash…'

Because I was 'dirty'? Because he couldn't be sure it was his?

Did Michael really forget everything?

In our junior year, he was kidnapped during a late-night ride. I'd followed him, only to be taken instead.

I was the one who got dragged into that abandoned building, the one they hurt. Again and again.

When they finally found me, I was barely conscious, bleeding out. The doctor said I might never carry a child again.

I'd been spiraling deep in depression, barely able to breathe.

Michael even held me through it. Cried with me. Promised me everything.

"I'll make them suffer," he said back then. "Every one of them. I'll destroy them for what they did to you."

And he did.

He showed me a video of them—those men—screaming in some godforsaken warehouse. I had nightmares for weeks. And every night, he was there, holding me, whispering how he'd never leave, that we'd be together forever.

He even blew half his fortune to plan the perfect wedding, swearing he loved me more than life itself.

But now?

Now, he was calling me filthy, acting like I was nothing, like everything I gave was meaningless.

"Courtney wants a beautiful wedding before she dies," Michael was saying, his voice suddenly soft, eyes probably glassy. "And I'm gonna give it to her."

"You're not worried Kristen might get her memory back and ruin everything?" William asked.

Michael sneered. "We'll just have the doctor sedate her again. Keep her dumb and clueless. Problem solved."

They were talking about me like I wasn't even human. Like I was just some broken doll, they could program and reset me when I got inconvenient.

Like I wasn't once my brother's sister.

Like I wasn't still his fiancée.

I stepped back, my breath caught in my throat, heart pounding in my ears. My lips pressed together to keep from screaming.

###Chapter 4

Kristen's POV

My heart felt dead, cold, and hollow, like ashes left after a fire, as I stumbled back to my bedroom, desperate for refuge.

I thought this room was my last sanctuary, my one place left untouched.

But the moment I pushed open the door, my heart sank.

Everything was gone.

Garish pinks had replaced the minimal, elegant decor I had loved.

My cozy study was converted into a massive walk-in closet filled with luxury handbags, tiny dresses, and rows of high heels.

My books—rare editions I had spent years collecting—were nowhere to be found.

Out on the balcony, the small turtle I'd raised for years had vanished. In its place was a purebred Persian cat with an arrogant glare, lounging as if it owned the world.

I couldn't believe it. While I was lost to the world and my parents searched everywhere for me, they wiped every trace of me from this house.

I stood frozen. This wasn't my room anymore.

In the time I'd been 'missing,' and while my parents were off searching for me, they had erased every trace of me, rewritten my existence, and replaced me with her.

Laughter and flattery floated in from outside my door.

"Miss Courtney, you were born to wear that dress!" one voice said. "You look like a dream!"

Another chimed in, "It's no wonder Sir Michael's so taken with you. Everything about you just... sparkles."

Then she walked in.

Courtney.

Drenched in designer perfume and swathed in a gleaming white wedding gown, she entered like a goddess descending from the clouds. Her cheeks glowed, her lips were plump and red, and joy clung to every flutter of her lashes.

She glanced down at my wrinkled housemaid's uniform and gave me a thin, satisfied smile.

"This dress," she said sweetly, "looks familiar, doesn't it?"

It did.

It was the one Michael had claimed he'd commissioned for me—a one-of-a-kind gown from a Parisian designer. I'd once tried it on and found the chest area too loose.

When it first arrived, I thought it didn't fit right.

I remembered even telling him, "Michael, it's too loose around the bust. Have the designer adjust it."

But, back then, he hadn't even looked up from his magazine and replied, "You'll fill it out once you've had the baby."

I hadn't thought much of it then.

Now, staring at Courtney's perfectly full figure spilling into the gown like it had been molded for her...

I understood.

It had never been mine.

Just like the ring that was always a little too tight.

Just like the wedding itself.

Just like him.

Michael's bride had always been Courtney.

Watching my devastated expression, Courtney arrogantly cooed, "You don't look pleased."

I dropped my eyes and said quietly, "I'm sorry. I lost my memory. I don't remember that dress."

She frowned, clearly disappointed by my lack of reaction.

I turned to leave.

Then, suddenly, Courtney grabbed a pair of scissors from the closet and began shredding the dress into pieces. Ribbons of silk fluttered to the ground.

She dropped the scissors, messed up her hair, then flung herself to the floor in a dramatic heap, sobbing.

"I just wanted one beautiful wedding before I die! And you couldn't even let me have that?"

The door slammed open.

Michael stormed in, eyes blazing. The moment he saw the ruined dress, his fury exploded.

"Kristen, you unbelievable bitch! Even with amnesia, you're still the same selfish, bitter woman! Do you even know how much this wedding means to Courtney?"

I shook my head frantically. "I didn't touch it! She...she cut it up herself—"

Michael cut me off, bellowing, "Shut up! I can't stand the sound of your voice!"

He cradled Courtney in his arms, pressing kisses into her hair and onto her lips like a man possessed like he wanted to prove something.

Like he wanted to hurt me with how deeply, madly he adored her.

I stood there, stiff and silent, as he swept her up and carried her out, brushing past me like I was invisible.

Courtney glanced over his shoulder at me with a victorious smile. "Kristen, you'd better watch yourself."

The sun streamed in warmly through the windows.

But I was ice.

...

However, the nightmare was far from over.

At dinner, the butler summoned me to join the rest of the family.

Cautiously, I stepped into the dining room.

William was waiting. Without a word, he reached for the ruby necklace around my neck, an heirloom passed down for nine generations in our family.

My mother had given it to me personally.

But he unfastened it and handed it to Courtney.

Then, William proudly announced, "With this, you're officially the daughter of the Lawson family."

He didn't even look at me and said, "Kristen still hasn't learned her place. A maid is all she deserves to be."

My breath caught in my throat. 'How could my brother, flesh and blood, even do this to me?'

That necklace was mine. It was the last piece of my identity that hadn't been stripped away.

"You can't do this," I said, voice trembling. "No! That belongs to me. You don't deserve it!"

So I lunged for it.

Quickly, Courtney dropped to her knees, clutching the necklace in both hands.

"You're right. I don't deserve it," Courtney sobbed. "Here! Take it back!"

As soon as my fingers brushed the pendant, she let go.

The necklace slipped through my hands and shattered on the marble floor.

A sharp gasp cut through the room.

Blood trickled down her palm from a small cut.

Michael rushed to her side in an instant.

"Get the doctor!" he barked at the butler, holding her like she was made of porcelain.

William pointed a trembling, furious finger at me. "You broke the necklace and injured your sister? How dare you! You owe her an apology!"

That word again...

'Sorry...'

Since the day Courtney showed up, it had become my mantra.

'I'm sorry I tripped her.'

'I'm sorry I got more compliments at the gala.'

'I'm sorry, I saw the text she sent Michael asking him to meet her at the hotel.'

'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!'

My mouth was dry. My eyes burned.

But, still, I bowed.

Once. Twice. Three times.

And right under their judging stare, I resignedly bowed to Courtney. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Then I looked up at the man I had once loved and the brother I'd trusted with my life.

"Well? Is that enough for you two? Are you satisfied now?"

###Chapter 5

Kristen's POV

A streak of fresh blood stained the corner of my lips. Michael's eyes flickered, his chest rising and falling in a tense, shallow rhythm.

"Cut the act," he snapped. "Losing your memory doesn't excuse you for bullying Courtney!"

William's face was icy, his tone cutting like a blade. "Mom and Dad aren't even here. Who are you trying to impress with this pathetic performance?"

Before I could say a word, the doctor arrived. Without looking back, Michael pushed past me, clutching Courtney protectively in his arms.

William turned back before leaving, warning me, "Courtney's birthday is coming up. I'm warning you, Kristen. Don't try any stunts. One more slip-up, and you'll regret it."

This was supposed to be my home, my sanctuary. Instead, it felt like a cage, cold and suffocating. I couldn't stay another second.

That night, the housekeeper came and relocated me to a room fit for a prison: moldy, cold, not even a window—just a broken bed and four walls that smelled like rot.

...

At dawn, I walked straight out without looking back.

But fate wasn't done with me yet.

When I stepped outside, a mob of reporters ambushed me like vultures around a carcass.

Cameras. Microphones. Lights. Dozens of them, closing in like a pack of wolves.

I froze, heart pounding in terror.

"Miss Lawson," one sneered, "rumor has it you've been sleeping around and abusing drugs. Got yourself amnesia from partying too hard—care to comment?"

Someone eyed my shabby uniform and sneered. "So the prim-and-proper heiress act was just that? Seems like your family finally saw through you."

Another voice chimed in, sharper, nastier. "We heard you've had multiple abortions. Can't even get pregnant anymore. Is it true you're just a barren, broken little bird now?"

Shame crashed down on me like a tidal wave. My throat closed. I couldn't breathe.

Their words stabbed me, one after another—sharp, merciless, leaving invisible wounds that bled inside my chest.

I couldn't hold back my tears any longer, and they kept falling gently to the ground.

Suddenly, William stormed out, fury radiating from every step.

"You've brought shame to Lawson's name!" he spat.

Then he turned to bark at the staff, "Where are the damn security guards?! Get these paparazzi out of here!"

But the cameras pushed on, relentless.

Just so, a car pulled up at the gate. Michael stepped out, frowning, walking quickly toward us.

He saw me first—pale, trembling, eyes wide with panic—and stepped forward to shield me slightly with his body.

"She doesn't remember anything," he said coldly. "What are you trying to do, harass a trauma patient?"

A woman's voice cut through the noise, smug and bright. "Is she refusing to answer because the rumors are true? Just some drugged-out party slut who slept her way through half the city?"

Cameras surged forward again.

A few reporters even went live, shoving phones and mics directly in my face.

"The once-revered Miss Lawson turns out to be just a cautionary tale. Ladies, don't be like her. You play with fire, and your womb ends up burnt."

I stumbled backward, crushed by shame, retreating behind Michael even as the cameras kept rolling—capturing my humiliation in HD.

Then she appeared.

Courtney, dressed like a fairytale in white chiffon, walked gracefully out into the courtyard.

Like magic, the energy shifted.

Cameras immediately swiveled toward her. The jeers turned to awe.

Michael moved instantly, instinctively, like she was made of glass, wrapping his arm around her and shielding her like she was some precious national treasure.

Gone was the coldness.

He looked almost… protective.

The reporters, now syrupy sweet, cooed at her like she was royalty:

"Now that's a real lady, pure, poised, just the kind of girl who deserves the Lawson name."

"She and Michael look like the perfect couple. You should move up the wedding and make it official!"

Courtney gave them a shy, graceful smile, basking in praise.

The light faded from my eyes. My knees buckled.

A thud came, and I collapsed heavily to the ground.