Chapter 2

Sophia

But his voice on the other end of the line was cold as ice: "Who are you?" I froze, my mind going blank, thinking I'd heard wrong.

"Blake, it's me, Sophia, your wife!" My voice shook with desperation. "We met at Princeton, fell in love at Harvard Business School, got married in Hawaii. Don't you remember?" He paused for a second, his tone growing colder: "I don't know you. Don't call again." The line went dead, like a slap across my face.

I later found out that Amanda had been sitting by his bedside the very first day he woke up, holding his hand, saying softly: "Blake, I'm Amanda, your fiancée. You were in an accident, but I'm here."

She'd crafted a perfect story, completely erasing me from his world.

I found her, demanded to know why. She wore a silk robe, her hair loosely pulled up, her face wearing a mask of fake sympathy: "Sophia, I was only trying to help him. When he woke up, he was like a child, remembering nothing. I just... filled in the blanks."

She paused, her voice growing softer, as if consoling me, "You were unconscious for so long. I thought you wouldn't wake up." Her words cut like knives, slicing through my heart. I wanted to scream, to ask how she could betray me, how she could trade my coma for her happiness.

But my throat felt blocked, and I only managed to squeeze out: "How could you do this to me?" Then I turned and left, because I knew she would never understand my pain.

Blake is getting married to her now. That news hit me like a punch, leaving me breathless. After my physical recovery, I didn't go back to work, instead pouring all my energy into helping him recover his memory. I took him to the bench by the Charles River where we had our first kiss, pointing at that old oak tree: "You kissed me here, Blake, and said you'd love me forever."

I showed him our wedding photos—him in a white suit, me in a flowing wedding dress, smiling like an idiot.

But his eyes remained empty, like he was looking at a crazy person. "I don't remember any of this," he said coldly, "stop making up stories." He didn't even believe we were married, thinking it was a lie.

"I told you, I don't remember you!" he shouted the last time, his voice full of impatience. "Why the fuck won't you give up? I just want a good life with Amanda. How could I ever have fallen in love with you?"

Those words were like a knife, making me bleed out. But that night two months ago gave me a stupid flicker of hope. We were both drunk, spinning in intoxication, and in that hotel room, the Blake I knew seemed to return—that man with fire in his eyes, whose tenderness could break my heart.

The clock ticked relentlessly, each sound reminding me that I couldn't hold onto a damn thing.

I'd spent the afternoon preparing this dinner, and that fucking crystal vase he gave me for our first wedding anniversary—filled with white lilies, their fragrance mocking how foolish I was.

A dinner he would never come to eat.

I tugged at my dress, staring at myself in the mirror, my hands shaking like a neurotic mess as I adjusted those pearl earrings. Two years ago, Blake had pressed them into my palm. "For my Sophia," he'd said, his voice so tender it made me feel like the center of the universe.

After getting married, I thought life would be sweet as honey. I'd planned to buy a house by the Charles River, have kids, be busy but happy. Now, he was about to kill our marriage with his own hands.

Fuck, what a mess. How did we end up here?

The doorbell rang, yanking me from my memories. I took a deep breath, wiped my face, and walked to the door, my heart racing. I thought only Blake would come. But when I opened the door, he stood there with Amanda wrapped around him like a snake. I clenched my jaw, feeling my anger surge.

Blake's blue eyes were cold as ice as he glanced at the dinner, his lips twisting into a sneer, like he was watching a bad play. "You really are a dreamer," he said, striding in, his tone harsh as if discarding trash. "You didn't actually think I came for dinner, did you? That night I was drunk, and you took advantage by crawling into my bed. That's low, Sophia."

Amanda stood behind him, the smugness on her face suddenly frozen, her eyes wide with shock. She clearly didn't know about that night Blake and I spent at the hotel. I laughed coldly inside: good, let her taste betrayal too.

Blake pulled a manila envelope from his suit pocket and tossed it in front of me. "Sign it."

My hands trembled as I opened the envelope. Inside was the divorce agreement, the black and white text as sharp as knives. Every clause told me this was the funeral of our love. My eyes burned, my stomach churned, and for a second I was afraid I might pass out.

I looked up, forcing words out: "I won't sign, Blake. "

He laughed coldly, his voice so loud it made the kitchen counter shake. "Amanda and I are getting engaged. Sign the damn thing, Sophia, and stop wasting time!"

Nausea surged through me. I didn't make it to the bathroom, instead leaning against the table as I threw up. I straightened up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, still shaking, only to see Blake's face cold as stone, without a hint of concern.

"Keep pretending to be sick. I'm not buying it," he said coldly.

Amanda's face flashed with a strange expression, as if she was scared, or afraid something might be revealed. I hated her with every fiber of my being.

"Can't you see? They're fucking lying to you!" I shouted, my voice hoarse. "Amanda, and your mother, Julianna! She never liked me from the start. But you used to say you'd give up everything to be with me!"

Blake snorted, as if he'd heard the biggest joke. " You're out of your mind, Sophia. I would never do something that stupid. Sign the papers, I'll give you enough money to last a lifetime. Take it and go find another man to manipulate."

"I never cared about your money!" I gritted my teeth, my voice so low it felt squeezed from my throat.

"Stop acting!" he shouted, the anger on his face like knives. "You're nothing but a con artist! Amanda told me how you schemed to get me. Sign the papers, take the money, and get out of my life!"

I stared at him—the man who once held me in the night whispering, "It's okay, baby, we'll figure it out"—now glaring at me with hatred, like I was garbage from the sewer. The pain made me dizzy, nearly knocking me off balance. The Blake I loved and this cold-blooded bastard were separated by a universe.

I had lost. I picked up the divorce agreement, my hands shaking like they might fall apart. Blake tossed a pen my way, muttering: "There's one more thing I want to say."

I looked up, my heart stupidly lighting with hope. Maybe... maybe he would...

"I fucking regret ever meeting you," he said, each word cold as a blade.

His words hit me like a fist to the chest, nearly buckling my knees. "So do I," I said softly, my voice cracking, "then I wouldn't know how much it hurts to love someone and lose them."