The Amnesiac Billionaire's Fake Perfect Wife

The nine-figure number on the encrypted tablet glowed in the dim light of the master bedroom.

Jessenia sat on the edge of the velvet armchair. The fabric was soft against her bare legs. She scrolled through the monthly statement of the Schwartz family trust fund. The numbers were staggering. They were enough to buy small countries. They were enough to erase a lifetime of poverty.

She picked up the bone china cup from the marble table. The black coffee was still hot. She took a slow sip. The bitter liquid burned the back of her throat, but it felt like victory. This penthouse was hers. The security was hers. The class leap was complete.

The private cell phone resting on the marble table suddenly vibrated.

The harsh buzzing sound shattered the quiet of the room. Jessenia flinched. She set the coffee cup down and picked up the phone. The screen displayed a name: Eleanor Vance. Harlan's mother.

Jessenia cleared her throat. She sat up straighter, adjusting her posture even though she was completely alone in the room. She forced her facial muscles to soften into the gentle, obedient mask she wore every day.

"Hello, Eleanor," Jessenia said. Her voice was sweet and perfectly measured.

"Jessie," Eleanor gasped. Her voice was shaking violently. "Jessie, he's alive. Harlan is alive."

Jessenia's pupils dilated. Her lungs stopped working. The air in the room vanished in a single second.

Her fingers lost all their strength. The phone slipped. Her arm hit the edge of the marble table. The bone china cup tipped over and crashed onto the floor. It shattered into dozens of sharp white pieces. The hot black coffee splashed across the expensive Persian rug, a dark stain spreading rapidly through the fibers.

The heavy oak door of the bedroom pushed open. Brenda, the assistant housekeeper, stepped inside.

"Ms. Strickland? I heard a crash. Do you need me to clean-"

Jessenia's head snapped around. Her eyes were wide, but her voice was dangerously quiet. "Leave us," she said, with an icy finality that made Brenda feel a chill and quickly exit the room.

Brenda slammed the door shut.

Jessenia slid off the velvet chair. Her knees hit the floor. The sharp edge of a broken china piece sliced into her knee, but she didn't feel the pain. Her mind was already three years in the past.

She remembered the cold marble floor of Harlan's office. She remembered the crisp white paper of the Non-Disclosure Agreement hitting her chest. She remembered his dark, merciless eyes.

"Get rid of the problem, Jessenia," Harlan had said. His voice was devoid of any human warmth. He tossed a pen onto the desk, right next to a check with seven zeros on it. "Sign the NDA. Take the money. Or my legal team will make sure you cease to exist in this city. You will never work again. You will never breathe without my permission."

He didn't love her. He despised her. She was just an administrative assistant who had manipulated a situation to get into his bed.

Jessenia wrapped her arms around her shoulders. Her stomach twisted into a violent knot. She was going to lose everything. If Harlan walked through those doors, he wouldn't just kick her out. He would take her son, Leo. He would throw her in prison for fraud.

She scrambled to her feet. She stumbled into the massive walk-in closet.

She dragged a silver Rimowa suitcase from the top shelf. It hit the floor with a heavy thud. She ripped open the zipper. She didn't bother folding anything. She grabbed handfuls of cashmere sweaters and threw them inside. She needed her passport. She needed Leo's birth certificate. She had to leave the country tonight.

Her phone buzzed again.

Jessenia froze. She walked back into the bedroom and picked up the phone from the carpet. It was a text message from Eleanor. It contained a location pin for a private hospital on the Upper East Side.

Below the pin was a second message.

He is hurt very badly. The doctors say he doesn't remember anything.

Jessenia stared at the word remember.

Her thumb hovered over the screen. The frantic beating of her heart began to slow down. The paralyzing terror in her veins suddenly morphed into something else. It twisted into a dark, reckless ambition. A gambler's high.

If he didn't remember the NDA. If he didn't remember his hatred for her.

Jessenia dropped the clothes. She kicked the suitcase back into the closet. She walked into the master bathroom and stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She looked at her face. Her skin was pale. Her eyes were wide and manic.

She turned on the faucet. She splashed freezing water onto her face. The shock of the cold grounded her. She forced her hands to stop shaking.

She reached for her makeup bag. She applied a thin layer of concealer. She left the redness around her eyes untouched. She applied a pale lip tint. She looked exactly like a woman who had spent the last three years crying over her dead lover.

Jessenia walked back into the closet. She put on a simple, perfectly tailored cashmere coat. It made her look fragile but elegant.

She grabbed her purse and ran out of the bedroom. She ordered the driver to bring the car around immediately.

The black Maybach sped through the streets of Manhattan. A sudden rainstorm battered the windows. The sound of the rain was deafening, but inside Jessenia's head, it was completely silent. Her brain was working at lightning speed, building a flawless circle of lies.

The car pulled up to the private hospital. Jessenia ran through the sliding doors.

She took the elevator to the VIP floor. The doors opened. She saw Eleanor and Mitchell Schwartz standing outside a hospital room. Eleanor was pressing a tissue to her face.

Jessenia forced her tear ducts to open. The saltwater stung her eyes. She ran down the hallway.

"Eleanor!" Jessenia cried out.

She threw her arms around the older woman. She buried her face in Eleanor's shoulder, playing the role of the perfect, devastated fiancée.

The attending doctor walked out of the room. He held a clipboard.

"Mr. Schwartz is stable," the doctor said. "But he is suffering from severe retrograde amnesia due to head trauma. The memory gap seems to be a few years, but the exact timeframe needs more detailed cognitive assessment."

A few years.

Jessenia's heart soared. The heavy weight in her chest vanished. A gap of a few years covered exactly what she needed. It gave her the perfect gray area. It covered her hiring as an assistant. It covered the one-night stand. It covered the NDA.

She hid her face against Eleanor's shoulder. The corners of her mouth twitched upward into a cold, sharp smile.

Jessenia pulled away. She wiped her eyes. She took a deep breath. She walked toward the heavy oak door of the hospital room. She pushed the handle down.

The door opened.

Jessenia stepped inside. She looked at the hospital bed. Harlan Schwartz was sitting up. His face was pale, and a white bandage was wrapped around his head. But his dark eyes were exactly the same.

Their eyes locked.