"Master Bruno is missing!"

The Ryan estate in Port City was in complete chaos. Every light was blazing, and the air crackled with panic. Bruno Ryan—heir to the Ryan Group empire—had vanished without a trace.

Mr. Ryan, the patriarch, was a wreck. His hands trembled, his voice cracking with desperation. "If it's a kidnapping, they'll be making demands any minute. Pay them—whatever it takes!" He barked the order, then his tone dropped to a frantic whisper. "And we keep this quiet. The media gets a whiff of this, it could set the bastards off. And that means he's dead. Got it?"

---

Several hundred miles away, in the sleepy little town of Westfield, Cecilia Dunn was chugging home in her beat-up old truck. It was just past nine when she stomped on the brakes, heart in her throat. She'd almost run right over a figure slumped at the side of the road.

Gulping down her shock, Cecilia squinted through the windshield. The guy was barely holding on, his face ashen and slick with blood. She wasn't the type to stick her nose in other people's messes, but damn, she couldn't just leave him like that.

"Help... me... I'll give you half a million..." the bloodied stranger rasped, his voice weak but urgent.

Cecilia's thumb froze over the emergency-call button. "Come again?! Half a mil?!"

On her shoestring budget and pitiful paychecks, that kind of cash was next to impossible. Pure fantasy.

"Don't... tell anyone... where I am..." Bruno managed before his body went limp, pressing a heavy gold ring into her palm.

Cecilia blinked at the expensive piece, then glanced at his wounds. Summoning every ounce of strength, she grunted and hauled him into the truck. With every second she wasted, she felt like she was straight-up disrespecting that half-a-million-dollar promise, she thought.

As she scrambled to leave, a glint on the ground caught her eye. Her locket—the one she always kept at home.

"That sneaky little Santos, always shoving things in my bag!" she huffed, snatching up the necklace and shoving it into her pocket before peeling out.

Back at home, it took hours to clean the guy up. She went through his clothes—no ID, no phone, just a thick cloud of mystery clinging to him like a second skin. And this whole needing-to-stay-hidden situation? Yeah, that screamed trouble.

Unsure if she'd just dragged a dangerous man into her house, she didn't take chances. She cuffed his wrists and tied his ankles to the bedposts. Better safe than dead, right?

Then, as she turned to toss a blanket over him, she froze. And stared.

There was Bruno, sprawled out in nothing but his boxers, bound and helpless. Up close, she'd been too focused on his injuries to notice... well, the rest of him. The sculpted chest, the abs that looked like they'd been carved from stone, the lean, sinewy limbs—and a face that belonged on a goddamn magazine cover. It was almost unreal.

"Is this, like... performance art or something?" she breathed, her heart hammering harder than it had any right to. Her cheeks flushed.

After a few more jaw-dropped moments of sheer awe, she finally managed to cover him up and shuffle off to her own bed, bone-tired and more than a little flustered.

---

The next morning, little Santos wobbled his way to the bathroom. Peeking into the next room, his eyes went wide at the stranger on the bed.

"Daddy?" he squealed, tiny face lighting up. "Daddy, you came back!"

The sound pulled Bruno partway from unconsciousness. He cracked his eyes open to the sight of a small boy beaming down at him.

"What did you just call me?" Bruno's voice was gravelly but held an edge of command.

"Daddy! Mommy said you'd be back for my birthday, and here you are!" Santos chirped, completely unafraid.

Bruno's brow furrowed, confusion clouding his features. He took in the cramped, cluttered room, the unfamiliar smells, the musty blanket. Everything about this felt wrong. He tried to move, only to realize his limbs were locked down.

He looked down—handcuffs on his wrists, ropes binding his ankles. His expression darkened like thunder. "Get your parents in here. Now."

Cecilia jolted awake, groggy and disoriented. Her hand reached for Santos and found empty sheets. Barefoot and panicked, she rushed into the next room.

"Santos!"

He leaped into her arms, all giggles. "Mommy, Daddy really came back!"

Bruno's cold stare cut right through her. He lifted his cuffed wrists. "What the hell is this?"

Relief flooded her that her son was safe. She grabbed the key. "Just a precaution. Didn't want you thrashing around and hurting yourself in your sleep."

Yeah, like anyone over the age of three would fall for that, she thought as she unlocked the cuffs and untied the ropes.

Bruno flexed his freed wrists, his eyes never leaving hers. And then his voice went frostier than a January morning. "Who am I?"

Cecilia froze, speechless for a beat.

Seriously? Faking amnesia to dodge payment? Her mood curdled. "You've gotta be kidding me!"

But Bruno's expression was dead serious, his eyes searching for answers she didn't have. "I'm not joking. I can't remember a thing. Who am I? How do I know you? Where am I?"

The rapid-fire questions tipped her irritation toward genuine worry. No one could be this calm if their memory was truly gone. He had to be putting on a show.

Forcing a scowl, she snapped, "You're my freaking husband, that's who! Don't think you can fake a little amnesia and weasel out of your responsibilities!"

Doubt flickered in Bruno's eyes. Deep in his gut, he knew he didn't belong in this rundown house, or with this sharp-tongued woman.

But Cecilia's mind was stuck on one thing: that half-a-million-dollar promise slipping through her fingers. Frustration coiled tight in her chest. She clenched her teeth.

"Yes!" she declared, jaw set. "You're my husband!"

The word had barely left her lips when Bruno moved. With one fluid motion, he flipped her onto the bed, pinning her beneath him.

His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "If we're really husband and wife... prove it."

Cecilia suddenly found herself wrapped in Bruno's arms, his bare skin pressing against hers, and she froze like a deer in the headlights.

"What the heck?! I'm not your wife! Let me go!"

Bruno didn't loosen his grip; if anything, he tightened it, his hand slipping under the edge of her pajamas.

"Cut the crap," he warned. "I'll ask you one more time—who am I?!"

Pinned against him, Cecilia trembled, a mix of fear and humiliation burning through her. She realized she couldn't keep making things up.

"I swear, I have no idea! Last night, you were hurt on the side of the road. You promised me five hundred grand to help you, so I brought you home!"

"Then why did your kid call me 'Daddy'?"

"His dad died three years ago. I told him his daddy was overseas for work and would be back soon. He's never even seen a photo, so he got confused!"

"What else did I say yesterday?"

"You kept saying no one could know where you were, and then you blacked out! That's it, I swear!"

Bruno glanced down at the stab wound in his side, then at her flushed, trembling face. She didn't look like she was lying. He let her go.

Cecilia stumbled back a few steps, glaring at him. "I don't want your damn money. Just get the hell out of my house!"

The money was tempting, but her son's safety—and her own—came first.

The struggle had Bruno's wound bleeding again, cold sweat beading on his forehead from the pain. The mysterious knife injuries, along with his urgent instructions to Cecilia, told him one thing: stepping outside could put him right back in danger.

His tone softened a fraction, though it held no warmth. "I need to lie low here for a few days. I'll get you your half a million one way or another."

Cecilia wasn't stupid enough to fall for that again. A man with no money and no clue who he was? How the hell was he gonna make good on that promise? And he was terrifying—the thought of living under the same roof with him scared her half to death!

She was about to refuse when his icy glare sent a chill racing down her spine, killing the words in her throat.

"Where are my things?" Bruno asked.

Reluctantly, she handed over a treasured ring. "Aside from your clothes, just this. But you gave it to me, remember? You wouldn't want it back, would you?"

Bruno turned the ring over, spotting the 'RY' engraved inside. He mulled it over, but nothing clicked.

At last, he handed it back to her—a fiercely contested heirloom from the Ryan family, though he had no idea. "Looks valuable. Take good care of me these next few days."

Cecilia breathed a little easier—at least she hadn't lost it all. Catching the engraving, she frowned. "So your last name is Ryan?"

Hearing the odd note in her voice, Bruno asked, "Got a problem with the Ryans?"

Something dark flashed in her eyes. "That's none of your business," she said coolly.

Clutching the ring, she left the room. To keep up the illusion that Santos's father was still around, she kept some men's toiletries and clothes at home, which she now offered to Bruno.

Bruno, however, had no strength left. "I can't... handle it. Can you help?"

She noted he at least asked nicely.

Cecilia's eyes flicked to his bare, sculpted chest for a moment, her cheeks heating. Steeling herself, she moved to help him dress.

The shirt went on easily, but the pants were a battle. Trying to make it less awkward, she straddled his legs and bent close.

"Lift your hips a little," she said.

He did, straining to lift himself up, arms braced against the bed. With Cecilia leaning forward and Bruno arching upward, the situation was undeniably suggestive.

The indecent image that popped into her head made her cheeks burn, her ears going red.

Bruno caught her embarrassment right away. A 'lonely widow'... he thought wryly, frowning. After three years, who wouldn't be a little... frustrated?

A sharp pain ripped through his abdomen. His arms buckled, and he collapsed onto the bed, unable to hold the pose. With his pants still undone, Cecilia tumbled right on top of him!

"Ugh—ah—" Bruno groaned, his face twisting in pain. "Get... off!" he bit out.

Cecilia's face turned tomato-red.

"Ah... I can't move... My back seized up—probably from hauling you around last night..."

Her job involved driving deliveries and unloading, which had done a number on her back.

Bruno half-suspected she was exaggerating, the 'lonely widow' thought still in his head, but he didn't have the strength to shove her off.

Mortified, Cecilia squirmed on top of him, trying to scramble off.

"...Just hang on, I'm almost—almost there..."

Her sluggish movements only made his pain worse, and he groaned even louder.

One battling a bad back, the other suffering from a wound—the two of them were trapped in a mess, panting hard.

Cecilia finally managed to sit up, still straddling Bruno's lap, when a sudden cry from outside snapped her head around.

"Cecilia, I'm here to pick up— Oh my goodness, what in the—! Good heavens!"

It was Kahlani, the neighbor, who shrieked and fled. Cecilia often left Santos with her while she worked. Hearing noises, Kahlani's curiosity got the better of her, and she'd peeked inside.

The sight was downright scandalous! A man with his pants around his ankles and Cecilia on top of him, both slick with sweat and breathless...

In her sixty-plus years, Kahlani had seen plenty—and she drew her conclusion fast: a daytime romp!

"Cecilia! It's not what you think!" Cecilia Dunn rushed to explain, wincing as she scrambled out of bed to catch up with her neighbor.

"Hold on!" Bruno Ryan called after her. "Remember, keep my identity under wraps—don't blow it!"

Cecilia nodded quickly, one hand bracing her lower back as she hobbled toward the next-door apartment. "I'll just tell her you're my cousin visiting from out of town."

"Kahlani, he's just—" Cecilia started, but Kahlani cut her off with a knowing smile. "Santos already told me—that's his dad!"

Cecilia's eyes went wide. She spun toward Santos. "You little rascal—"

Kahlani's gaze flicked to Cecilia's hand on her back, and she gave a kind laugh. "It's normal for couples to fight and separate for a while. But with a kid this young, you two should really try to work it out."

Cecilia realized she had to roll with it. "Oh, we didn't fight. He just works out of town and doesn't get home much."

Thinking on her feet, she spun a few more tales about Santos's dad, painting the perfect picture of Bruno's made-up backstory until Kahlani was completely sold.

Back home, Bruno asked, "She buy it?"

Cecilia shook her head, a little apologetic. "Looks like you're gonna have to play Santos's dad for a few days."

Bruno frowned. "Weren't we going with the cousin story?"

Cecilia hadn't expected things to snowball like this. "Santos was running his mouth, and Kahlani jumped to conclusions. There was no way I could set it straight!"

Bruno's brow furrowed. Trying to explain now would only raise more questions about his real identity. For now, playing the stand-in husband to a widow seemed like the safest cover.

But the kid already seemed way too attached.

"I'm not a kid person. Keep your son out of my hair!" he insisted.

Cecilia had originally planned to hire someone to act as Santos's dad for his birthday. But with Bruno conveniently here, it was too good an opportunity to pass up.

"No way! If Santos likes you, you be nice to him! You make him cry, I swear I'll throw you out and let those guys chasing you do whatever they want!"

For the first time, someone dared threaten Bruno like that. Even with amnesia, his natural pride flared, the urge to snap back almost overwhelming. But with his injuries, just standing was a struggle.

Helpless, he grudgingly agreed. "Fine. Let me recover here, and I'll play dad."

The two became unlikely allies.

Keeping her word, Cecilia made a hearty bowl of ravioli and set it beside Bruno's bed. He stared at it, brow furrowing.

"What, not your style?" she teased. "This is as good as it gets around here. You want something better? Then maybe remember your bank password and pay me back that five hundred grand!"

Bruno's face twisted with a mix of unease and embarrassment. "It's not that. I just... I need to use the bathroom..."

She pointed. "Over there."

His face flushed. "Can't move. I need a hand."

Understanding his condition, Cecilia resigned herself to helping. She discreetly supported his arm as he shuffled toward the bathroom.

He managed to grip the wall for balance while Cecilia waited outside, exhausted.

"I'll get you a bedpan later," she joked.

"No way!" Bruno shot back, indignant. Raised in luxury, dignity was ingrained. Already having to rely on her just to take a piss was humiliating enough.

But Cecilia, practical as ever, wasn't moved. "If you even think about messing up that bed, you'll regret it."

Stripped of power and pride, Bruno was completely at her mercy. The once-mighty Mr. Ryan had no choice but to suffer in silence.

Afterward, they sat down to eat. Cecilia couldn't help asking, "You seriously don't remember anything?"

Bruno shook his head.

Cecilia clung to a shred of hope. "Maybe it's the head injury. You might get your memory back soon."

Bruno nodded, though his tone was indifferent. "Here's hoping."

Curious, he asked, "Tell me about yourself."

Cecilia gave a quick rundown. "I'm Cecilia Dunn, from some small town. I drive a delivery truck, barely scraping by. My son Santos—his dad died before he was born."

"Do you have to work today?" Bruno asked.

Cecilia replied dryly, "Thanks to you, my back's shot. No driving for me today."

Bruno looked a little surprised. "You actually hurt yourself?" He'd half-suspected she was playing it up to guilt-trip him.

Cecilia waved off his doubt. "I don't have time for games, not with a kid to raise and now you to look after. Just focus on getting better, remembering your life, and having your family come get you—along with my five hundred grand."

Bruno nodded in agreement but remained silent.

After breakfast, Cecilia called Santos over. "Your dad's not feeling well. Stay out of his way."

Santos contented himself with peeking through the door at Bruno.

Bruno, noticing the curious eyes, frowned deeply in disapproval.

Meanwhile, Cecilia was tidying up when she spotted the pearl earring from the night before, her frown deepening.

"Santos, come here," she called.

The little boy toddled over. Cecilia held up the earring. "How many times have I told you not to mess with my jewelry? Especially this one!"

Santos looked genuinely puzzled, eyes wide and innocent. "Mom, I didn't touch it."

Cecilia wasn't convinced. "It's just you and me in this house. Fess up, and I won't yell at you. Just don't do it again. Put it back where it belongs."

Santos took the earring with a solemn nod, scampered to the bedroom, and opened the dresser drawer—only to find an identical earring already there. He muttered to himself, confused, "Wasn't there only one before? What's going on?"

"Mom, now there are two!" he called out, puzzled by the unexpected discovery.