My memory was gone—severed cleanly at the precise moment I hated Hannah Swanson the most.

The last thing I remembered, we were sworn enemies. Ten years ago, a dispute over a project escalated into a brawl on the staircase. We tore at each other until gravity took over. I walked away with a fractured leg; she took seven stitches to the forehead.

We'd cursed each other to hell, both wishing the other would vanish from the earth.

But my best friend told me I'd lost ten years. He claimed Hannah and I had been married for six—a "model couple" in our elite circle.

Then he hesitated. With a pained look, he admitted she'd recently had a change of heart.

I didn't believe it until I saw it myself.

A man sat in my living room, his neck plastered with lipstick marks and hickeys. He leaned drunkenly against Hannah's chest, eyes gleaming with undisguised smugness. She stood before him like an impenetrable wall.

She glared at me, brows knitted. "Are you done? He's uncomfortable and needs rest. Do you think wrapping gauze around your head proves you were in a car accident?"

I stared at her, and dark amusement bubbled up.

Yes. This is right.

Hannah Swanson and I were meant to be like this—at daggers drawn, destined never to interact until we died of old age.

——

"What are you laughing at?" Astonishment flashed across her face.

Even Dominic Sullivan seemed thrown. He hadn't expected me to smile, let alone look relaxed.

I ended the call and cleared my throat. "Nothing."

The memories my friend had briefed me on raced through my mind. Apparently, the "current me" had been bitterly waiting for her return. I arranged my features into a mask of hurt. "Wife, you're finally back."

In reality, my gaze roamed over Hannah and Dominic, and I felt nothing but delight.

Hannah was a notorious germaphobe, yet she let this man cling to her like a parasite. Her feelings for him must run deep.

I looked at their intertwined hands, then at her defensive posture—terrified I might hurt him. Both sights brought me satisfaction.

This is how it should be.

The version of me from ten years ago who wanted to marry her must have been an idiot. Now I only hoped they'd love each other deeply and produce a child immediately. Locked together forever. The best outcome.

Hannah's expression softened. She turned to the secretary behind her. "See? Joel loves me too much to stay angry over something this small. Go buy daily necessities for Dominic to use here."

My eyes lit up. She wants him to move in? Could I be this lucky?

The secretary—whom I'd trained personally—looked at me with concern. "President Swanson, your husband just returned from the hospital. Letting Mr. Sullivan move in... isn't that disrespectful?"

Hannah glanced at me, her explanation short on patience. "Dominic tripped today. It's dark, his place is far. I'm not comfortable leaving him alone." She fixed me with a look. "You aren't that unreasonable, are you, Joel?"

I fought to suppress my grin. "Let him in."

Dominic limped through the door. His eyes widened at the interior. "You live like a king. I've never seen anything like this."

I gave him a cold look. "If you're poor, just say so. I paid for every inch myself."

Hannah froze. Guilt flickered across her face as she surveyed the furnishings. "I really have neglected you lately. Tomorrow, I'll take you to pick out that Land Rover you wanted."

"No need."

Even if you gave it to me, I'd feel like it dirtied my hands.

Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you acting so... today..."

Before she could say "obedient," I realized I was blowing my cover. I needed to act like the jealous husband she expected. I widened my eyes in mock fury. "Just go over there with your little lover!"

Her tension evaporated. She actually chuckled, her arm sliding around my waist. "I knew you were jealous. There's nothing between us—it's just acting for business..."

Revulsion rippled through me the moment she touched me. I recoiled, pushing her away with two fingers like she was contaminated.

Her expression faltered. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Before I could answer, Dominic's voice boomed from the bathroom. "Hannah! How do you turn on this shower?"

Panic flickered in her eyes. She abandoned me instantly. "Don't touch it! The floor's slippery—I'm coming."

I seized the moment, slipping back to my room and locking the door.

Silence.

I redialed my best friend. He picked up on the first ring, voice dripping with outrage.

"It's insane! She swore eternal devotion to marry you. Worshipped the ground you walked on. And now? She brings her lover into your home?"

"Refresh my memory," I said. "What exactly did she do to marry me?"

His account painted a woman I couldn't reconcile with the nemesis in my memories.

Ten years ago, Hannah and I had clashed over a project—a dispute that ended with both of us falling from a rooftop. She got stitches. I got fractured bones, a secondary infection, and a month in the ICU.

"While you were fighting the reaper," he said, "Hannah stood guard outside your door. Dug her nails into her palms until they bled. Eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights. She refused to leave."

She'd confessed in a rasp that facing death had shattered her pride. She realized how many years we'd wasted on hatred. She swore if fate gave her another chance, she'd never let me go.

When I finally woke, this proud, obstinate woman broke down. Clung to me sobbing, impossible to pull away. The same woman who scoffed at religion knelt in the hospital corridor, thanking a God she didn't believe in.

From that day, she buried her temper. Handed over the disputed project without a fight. Stopped obstructing my deals. Even learned to cook—wielding a spatula with hands that had never known labor—just to nurse me back to health.

She cut off every suitor. Ended her reputation as a socialite.

At her company's ribbon-cutting, she made a public vow: she would love only me. She implemented a three-meter rule—no man allowed within ten feet of her.

She enforced it ruthlessly, firing any employee who breached the perimeter. The city buzzed: the ice-cold heiress had melted for Joel, loving him to madness.

Hearing this, I felt a strange disconnect.

My memories were different. I remembered only war.

Hannah and I had been enemies since childhood. If I topped the class, she poured ink on my textbooks. I shredded her notes in retaliation.

During finals, she spread rumors about my mother's infidelity to rattle me. I countered by bringing her family's illegitimate daughter to school, having the girl call Hannah "Big Sister" in front of everyone. Her face turned a lovely shade of green.

Adulthood brought no peace. Every deal became a gladiator match.

She overwatered my office plants until they rotted. I plucked the tail feathers of her family's prized "fortune goose." When she hosted a VIP client, that bald, furious bird attacked the partner. The deal collapsed. I laughed until my sides ached.

Yet in the eye of that storm—passion.

Office arguments turned physical. Screaming matches dissolved into aggressive kisses. I never knew who started it. Only that it was unstoppable.

Post-coital clarity was brutal. I'd sneer she was boring in bed; she'd reply my technique was garbage.

Despite the insults, we booked hotel rooms with increasing frequency.

We never spoke of love. On Valentine's Day, she sent roses with a card addressed to "a boyfriend"—refusing to name me.

To provoke me, she'd kiss some B-list celebrity by the fountain, watching me from the corner of her eye. I'd pull a pretty waitress into my lap. As I admired the girl's flushed cheeks, I savored the sound of smashing glass from Hannah's direction.

I never planned to build a life with Hannah. In my mind, we were two apex predators trapped in the same cage—circling, snapping, tearing at each other. That friction was normal. Affection was not.

So when I woke with my memories reset to ten years ago—back to pure, unadulterated loathing—and discovered she'd taken a lover, I didn't feel betrayed. I felt relieved.

"I'm filing for divorce," I told my friend later that day.

"Divorce?" He stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "You? You're obsessed with her. You love her down to the bone. There's no way you'd walk away."

His certainty baffled me. According to him, Hannah treated me like a king. But I wasn't the type to be swayed by domestic servitude or superficial kindness.

There has to be a catch, I thought. Or a trap.

The next morning, I wasted no time. I drafted the divorce agreement and tossed it onto the breakfast table.

Hannah looked terrible. Dark circles bruised the skin under her eyes, her complexion sallow. She stared at the papers, jaw tightening. "I brought him home for one night, and you're already trying to divorce me?"

I looked up from my coffee, genuinely surprised. "You two were loud enough to wake the dead last night. Clearly, you enjoy each other's company. I'm just granting your wish."

My compliance only seemed to infuriate her further. She snatched the document, shredded it into confetti, and slammed me against the doorframe. Her fingers dug into my wrist with desperate, painful strength.

"Get this through your head," she hissed, her face inches from mine. "Between us, there is only widowhood. I will never be a divorcée."

I slapped her. A sharp, reflexive strike to snap her out of her hysteria. "You're delusional."

"Morning."

Dominic sauntered out of the master bedroom wearing Hannah's silk bathrobe, the belt tied loosely. His neck was a canvas of fresh, violent love bites.

"Bit stifling in here." He tugged the collar open, exposing a chest mottled with even more red marks.

He smirked, waiting for my face to crumble in jealousy or rage.

Instead, I walked over, grabbed the lapels of the robe, and yanked them shut.

"Cover up," I said flatly. "Your pecs are non-existent. Flaunt that scrawny chest and people will think we're starving you."

Dominic's smirk vanished, replaced by a flush of humiliation. He shot a wounded glance at Hannah.

She grabbed my arm immediately. "Apologize to him."

I shrugged. I'd only spoken the truth, but arguing with a cheater and her pet was beneath me. "Fine. Consider this my apology gift—take whatever you want from the house." I waved vaguely at the living room. "Pick something and get out of my sight."

Dominic's eyes narrowed. He scanned the room, then pointed at the glass display case.

"I want that."

The cabinet held limited-edition watches and heirlooms worth millions. Yet his finger hovered precisely over the platinum wedding band—the match to Hannah's.

She froze. Her breath hitched.

The Housekeeper, who'd been silently dusting, couldn't stay quiet. "Sir... that's the Young Master's wedding ring. It's precious. Perhaps Mr. Sullivan should choose something else."

I walked over, unlocked the cabinet, and pulled the ring out.

"It's fine. Take it."

To my amnesiac mind, the ring looked vaguely familiar, but it held no weight. Just a circle of metal. I had drawers full of jewelry; I wouldn't miss this one.

I tossed it through the air. Dominic caught it with a greedy grin.

Hannah stared at me, eyes wide with disbelief, as if I'd committed a capital crime. "You... you're just giving it away? Just like that?"

I blinked, confused by her intensity. "Why? Is it worth a lot?"

She searched my eyes for any sign of a lie, any flicker of pain. Finding none, she gritted her teeth. "Of course not."

She snatched the ring from Dominic's hand and slid it onto his finger herself, interlocking their fingers. "Wear it properly," she commanded, though her voice trembled.

She turned to leave, dragging him with her.

"Madam," the Housekeeper called out desperately. "Today is the Young Master's birthday."

Hannah stopped dead. I paused too. My birthday?

Dominic immediately slumped his shoulders, putting on a masterful display of grievance. "You should stay, Hannah. Accompany your husband for his birthday. I know we've been planning this cruise for months, but... I'm not important. I can go alone."

Hannah looked between us. Guilt warred with pride in her eyes. Finally, she hardened her expression.

"Dominic has been looking forward to this trip for a long time," she said coldly, refusing to meet my gaze. "We've spent plenty of birthdays together, Joel. We're not short on time. Don't be petty."

I nodded, unbothered. "Have fun."

She frowned. My indifference clearly unsettled her—she sensed something was wrong. But before she could analyze it, Dominic tugged her hand, pulling her out the door.

Once silence returned, I picked up my phone and dialed my friend.

"Forget the divorce paperwork for now," I said, all business. "I need a full audit of my assets. Walk me through every company I own."

Ten years ago, I was a man consumed by ambition. Compared to a woman with a wandering heart, I was far more interested in the cold, reliable comfort of gold and silver.