LOGIN“You’re going to abort our child?!” Maxwell Lohr's voice ripped through the night as he chased me down the rain-slicked street. “Why do you even care?” I cried, tears burning my eyes. “You already have a child with your so-called ‘sister’ you protected so much—and I just signed the divorce papers!” “Just give birth to it! Elise and I will raise the baby.” The betrayal slammed into me like a freight train. I spun and ran blindly across the road, desperate to get away from him, from everything. I never saw the red light. But Maxwell did. He lunged forward, shoving me out of the way just as the car came barreling toward us. “NO!” My scream tore through the air right before the sickening crunch of metal and bone. Then… silence. He wakes up in a hospital bed weeks later with amnesia. He doesn’t remember cheating with Elise, the girl his parents raised enough to be her sister. He doesn’t remember divorcing me for her. He doesn’t remember the betrayal that broke my heart into pieces. But he remembers only ME. And the love he once felt for me burns brighter than ever. And now the man who once destroyed everything is back—desperate, tender, and refusing to let me go. He looks at me like I’m still his wife. Like I’m still the love of his life. He begs for a second chance, willing to fight for me and our unborn child with everything he has. But… Can I trust the man who once shattered me? Or will the truth destroy us both when his memories finally return?
View MoreMONIQUEI must have drifted off again after the morning haze of skin and low voices and careful hands.When I woke the second time, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin. My limbs felt heavy, my mind slow. For a few disoriented seconds I simply lay there, staring at the familiar ceiling of the master bedroom, trying to gather the scattered pieces of myself.Then the nausea hit.It rose sharp and sudden from the pit of my stomach, the unmistakable wave of morning sickness that had become my unwelcome companion these past weeks. I swallowed hard, pressing a hand lightly over my still-flat abdomen as if I could will it to settle.Beside me, the bed was empty.I turned my head. The space where Maxwell had been was already cold. The sheets held no lingering warmth, no indentation deep enough to suggest he had only just left. Something heavy twisted low in my chest at the sight. I frowned at the feeling, then deliberately swallowed it down.I didn’t want to think about it.I didn’t want
MAXWELLMorning light filtered through the heavy curtains in soft gold streaks, painting across the bed and the woman still asleep in my arms.Monique.Her face was turned toward me, lips slightly parted, dark lashes resting against her cheeks. One of her hands was loosely curled against my chest, as if even in sleep she couldn’t fully decide whether to push me away or hold on. Her breathing was slow and even. Peaceful in a way I rarely saw when she was awake.I stayed completely still, afraid that any movement might shatter the moment.My mind was still a fractured thing, pieces missing, names and faces swimming in and out of focus, but this… this felt solid. The weight of her body against mine. The faint scent of her skin mixed with last night’s sweat and sex. The quiet, possessive certainty settling deep in my chest.She had set conditions.Boundaries.Rules designed to keep me at a careful distance while she “helped” me recover my memories.I almost smiled.She could draw as many
MONIQUEMaxwell stayed buried inside me for a long moment, his chest rising and falling hard against mine. The aftershocks still fluttered through my body in small, involuntary pulses. Every tiny movement—every slight shift of his hips, every breath he took—made me flinch. My inner walls kept clenching around him without permission, as if my body refused to let go of the first orgasm he had forced out of me.He lifted his head slowly. His eyes were dark, almost feverish, as if the fog in his mind had thinned just enough for him to feel everything more sharply. There was something raw in the way he looked at me, something that made my stomach twist.“You’re still shaking,” he murmured.Before I could answer, before I could gather enough strength to push him away or demand space, he carefully rolled us over. The motion was controlled, mindful of the life growing inside me, but it still made him sink even deeper. A broken, high-pitched sound tore out of my throat the second the new angle
MONIQUE“I want to remember you, Monique Sinclair.”The words hung between us, thick and dangerous. His breath brushed against my lips, warm and heavy with wine. My hands were still trapped against the hard plane of his chest, and every shallow rise and fall of it only made my own breathing worse.“Don’t,” I whispered, turning my face away. “You’re drunk. You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”“I know enough.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “I know the way your body tensed the second I got close. I know your pulse is racing under my fingers.” His thumb stroked over the inside of my wrist, slow and deliberate. “And I know you haven’t pushed me away hard enough to mean it.”I hated how right he was. Heat was already pooling low in my stomach, traitorous and familiar. Five years of muscle memory I thought I had buried. I tried to step back, but the wall of the hallway was right behind me.“Maxwell—”“I’ll be careful,” he murmured, cutting me off. His free hand slid down to rest






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