The night before our wedding, Desmond Arlington got jumped out of nowhere.

By the time I made it to the hospital, he stared at me like I was a total stranger.

Doctor said it was memory loss—some brain rattle from the hit. Temporary, supposedly.

So I went full nostalgia tour, dragging him back to all our spots, hoping something would click.

Then one day at the hospital, I caught him running his mouth with his buddy.

"Rhea's trying so hard. Doesn't that do anything for you?"

"Do what? I'm over it. Same spots, same girl. The new ones are way more fun."

"So why marry her? Just call it off and live your life."

He snapped, "Shut up. I LOVE Rhea. I'd never bail on the wedding. I'm just... pushing it back a bit."

I looked down at the test results—zero issues. Everything normal.

And that's when it hit me: you can't help a faker.

Desmond Arlington was still yapping with his buddy in the hospital room.

Their voices dropped, but whatever they were whispering cracked them up hard enough to make me feel sick.

He sounded hyped. "Get ready! Tonight's gonna be insane!"

"Relax, Desmond. I'll find you some fun, easy girls to really light it up. But aren't you worried Rhea's gonna bounce if you keep playing like this?"

His laugh hit like a slap. "Bounce? Nah. She's obsessed. She would wait a decade and still come running."

Footsteps echoed out the door.

I wiped my tears fast and faked like I'd just walked in.

His friend stepped out, flashing a grin. "Rhea, hey. It sucks that Desmond's still messed up—dude barely remembers us. But don't stress, I'm cooking something up tonight to help jog his memory."

I gave a tight smile.

God, I was an idiot.

I already knew exactly what he meant by "cooking something up."

Back then, I used to be in the dark, smiling and thanking him like he was doing me a favor.

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

"Come on, Rhea, don't be all formal. He's inside with a headache. Go hang while I get things ready for tonight."

I walked in.

Desmond scowled, voice dripping with irritation. "You again? Didn't I say I don't know you?

"Look, I get it—I'm hot, girls throw themselves at me. But you? Thinking we were gonna get married? Get real.

"I played along, hit all your little memory spots, and guess what? Still nothing. Why are you so stuck on me?"

I bit down hard on my lip. I already knew the truth, but hearing it still cut deep.

He used to go toe-to-toe with his family for me. Now, with the wedding right there? He flipped.

I handed him the report. "Just your results. You're good. Discharge-ready."

His eyes lit up. "For real?"

The only reason he was still here was because I pushed for it—wanted him monitored in case the "amnesia" turned into something real.

But now? I knew the deal. He was never sick. No memory loss. Hell, maybe even the whole attack was a setup.

Just a stunt to stall the wedding.

Fine. Let him have his freedom.

"It's legit. You're fine. No use hogging a hospital bed."

Desmond jumped out of bed, rummaging through his stuff.

"Where's my navy jacket?"

My chest tightened.

That jacket? I bought it for him.

He was so pumped to bounce, he didn't even realize he slipped.

"You don't know me, but you remember the jacket I gave you?"

I locked eyes with him, hoping something would click.

His hand froze mid-reach. Then—boom. He grabbed his head and dropped, yelling, "It hurts! My head—!"

The doctor rushed in, got him calm after a few minutes.

Desmond shot daggers at me. "Get her out! She's making it worse! She's not helping—she's torturing me!"

I let out a dry laugh and closed my eyes for a beat.

Then I walked out without looking back.

The doctor followed. "Ms. Wayne, he's still unstable. We need to avoid overstimulation."

Message received.

I nodded. "No worries, Doc. He won't be 'stimulated' by me again."

After the hospital, I didn't hear from Desmond again.

But his party boy life? All over social.

Every night he was out—bars, karaoke, always surrounded by girls who looked like they lived for attention. Young, loud, full of energy. I figured this was the life he actually wanted.

I was halfway through packing when he showed up at the door—with some girl latched onto his arm.

He stalled, dropped his hand from her waist, then slapped it right back like nothing happened. Oh right, the amnesia.

"I believe this is my house. Without my permission, Ms. Wayne, wouldn't this count as trespassing?"

My fingers clenched the suitcase handle. Technically, yeah—it was his place. Supposed to be our home.

And now he's just gonna waltz in with a new girl like this is his hookup pad?

I bit my tongue.

"But since you claim to have been my fiancée," he smirked, "I'll let it slide this time. Just don't come in without asking next time."

I looked him dead in the eye. "Understood. Won't happen again. Thanks."

And it wouldn't. I was done with this place—and with him.

As I turned to leave, suitcase in hand, the girl piped up. "Desmond, who knows what she's hiding in there? We should check."

He'd just told me to go, but now he flipped like a switch.

He spun around, grabbing at my suitcase.

"Right! Totally forgot. Good call, babe. Who knows what this broke chick's trying to steal?"

He tugged at it like he was about to dump it out.

I held tight. "It's mine. You can't touch it."

Desmond snapped, "You're leaving my house. You could've swiped something."

A chill hit.

That's all I was to him now—a thief.

He tore it from my hands. I fought, but it was useless.

Clothes spilled everywhere.

I let go.

"Go ahead. Nothing in there's yours."

Juliet Kemp giggled behind her hand. "Seriously? You actually wore this outdated mess? Total bumpkin vibes."

Desmond laughed. "Well yeah. She's just some nobody from the sticks. Not like you, babe—you've got real taste."

They kept going, shredding me with every word.

That suitcase was the last straw.

"Since none of it's yours, I'll handle it."

I grabbed a few old pieces, then tossed the rest in the trash.

Desmond's smile cracked.

He recognized the stuff—he'd bought most of it.

Even the white wedding dress. The one I picked for our big day.

"You're throwing it all away? Even the dress?"

I shot him a look. Cold.

Then dropped a lighter in the trash.

The flames jumped fast.

"Don't need it. Never will."

I waited until it burned out—then walked.

Under the weak light, Desmond's face was unreadable.

Just as I hit the corner, he rushed up and grabbed my wrist.

"Even if I forgot you, you shouldn't give up on yourself. What if I remember someday?"

I let out a short, bitter laugh.

Didn't say a word.

Pulled my hand free and kept walking.

For once, I was actually glad he faked the whole amnesia thing before the wedding.

If he'd done this after we were married?

Yeah... the damage would've been way worse.

After I left, I crashed at a hotel for the night.

Next day, got an apartment with a realtor's help.

I thought that was the end of Desmond.

Then I found out I was pregnant.

I hadn't even eaten, but I was already throwing up.

At the hospital for a checkup, I ran straight into Desmond—and a bunch of his siblings and cousins.

Tried to walk past, but my feet froze.

They circled me, all smug smiles and nasty stares.

"You really thought some country girl like you could marry into our family?"

"Back then, who knows what spell you put on Desmond. He even cut us off for you. Good thing he finally snapped out of it."

"Wait—is that an ultrasound in her hand?"

Yeah. They never liked me.

Not since Desmond picked me over them.

One of them snatched the report from my hands and laughed.

"Rhea Wayne, seriously? Desmond dumps you, and now you're faking a pregnancy?"

"Still clinging to our family, huh?"

"As long as we're around, forget it. Desmond's locked in with the Kemp heiress now. You don't even register."

I ripped the ultrasound back from Peggy and shoved past them.

Desmond strolled over, fresh from his checkup. Saw me, paused—then smirked.

"Followed me all the way here, huh? Must be obsessed. Alright, I'm feeling nice today. Win me over, and maybe I'll be your boyfriend."

I said nothing.

After Peggy whispered the tea, Desmond glanced at the ultrasound and suddenly acted like everything clicked.

"Wow. Bribing a doctor to fake a pregnancy? Just to marry up? That's bold. Too bad I'm not ready for dad life. Let's start smaller—be my girlfriend first."

I closed my eyes, let out a quiet laugh.

Why was I still hoping for anything?

"No thanks. I was never chasing your money. And I sure as hell don't wanna be your girlfriend."

Five years ago, he was the one chasing me.

Yeah, I knew he came from money. That's why I always gave back, matched every gift. I never took advantage—because I actually loved him. I wanted it to be real. Wanted us to last.

At least, that's what I believed—before he pulled the amnesia stunt.

Now it hit me. He never saw me as anything but a social climber. Thought I was using him. Like I was some backwoods embarrassment stuck to his shoe.

That's why he faked it.

I looked at him—finally seeing things for what they were.

He looked away, all awkward.

"Alright, alright, I get it. You're head over heels. I'll be your boyfriend—just no marriage talk 'til my memory's back."

Maybe he still thought I'd melt for scraps.

That used to be true. Back when love made me settle for crumbs.

Not anymore.

"Thanks, but nah. You've got a girlfriend. I'm not about to be the other girl."

I turned and walked.

Could feel his eyes on me.

"Rhea..."

He was about to say more, but Peggy pulled at his sleeve.

"Let's go. Juliet's waiting at home."