تسجيل الدخولIn the brutal world of Manhattan's finance, Cassius Thornfield ruthlessly controls a $200 billion fintech empire. However, a sudden impact in the rain leaves him with amnesia and a nameless wound, his entire identity erased instantly. A panicked Ella Cross tells him he is her fiancé, "Noah." Cassius is forced into a completely unfamiliar world: a dilapidated Brooklyn apartment, unpaid bills, and a woman's seemingly gentle care. When his memories return, he should send this woman to jail—damn it, why can't he do it? Watching her lips continuously utter lies, he only wanted to punish her severely with his body.She thought she could tame a wounded predator. But a predator, even broken, still knows how to hunt.As layers of deceit fracture and raw truth seeps through, two confused hearts spiral into a passion neither can control.But who is the real Noah? And when the final mask falls, will Cassius be able to accept that he was loved only as a reflection?
عرض المزيدElla's POV
I came back to myself with a jolt, that harsh buzz from the call button still vibrating in my ears.For a few seconds I couldn’t place where I was.
The chair pressed hard against my back, the air smelled sharp and clean, and exhaustion sat on my chest like a stone. Then I remembered the rain.A downpour I’d sprinted through, my portfolio hugged tight, my heart slamming because I was about to be late for the one interview that mattered.
Sterling & Webb. A real firm. The kind that could lift a fresh design graduate out of coffee shop gigs and give me a future. I saw those glass doors, so close. And then I saw nothing but a dark shape, a collision, and the horrible soft sound of a body hitting wet pavement. My portfolio exploded. Papers scattered. And the man who had simply been there was suddenly on the ground, motionless.Now I was outside his room, peering through the door’s little window.
I’d expected bandages, blood, some visible proof of the damage I’d caused. Instead he just looked asleep. His face was unmarked, all sharp aristocratic lines: a strong nose, an angular chin, thick brows. Dark hair spread across the pillow. Even with tubes and wires connected to him, he radiated wealth and authority.
A man like that would destroy me without a second thought.
I pressed my palm to the cold glass and stared at my own reflection. Pale skin, deep shadows under my eyes, reddish brown hair a mess.
I looked exactly like what I was. A girl who’d ruined someone and was waiting for the axe to fall.
The nurse had been telling me his vitals were stable, her voice gentle but efficient. Then her tone shifted, and the words she added knocked the air out of my lungs.
“He opened his eyes a little while ago, but he’s confused. He can’t tell us what happened. Honestly, he doesn’t seem to recall anything at all. Not his name, not where he was headed. The doctor said a concussion can cause retrograde amnesia. He lost the moments before the blow. Might be temporary, might not. We’ll know more soon.”
My guilt erupted before I could cage it. I’d done this.
My frantic, selfish sprint had wiped a stranger’s mind clean.
The interview, the firm, my career, everything I’d been chasing, it all dissolved right there.
I saw myself drowning in legal fees, my reputation destroyed before I’d even built one.
And this man, whoever he was, lay in that bed a blank because of me.
I hated the thought that surfaced next. It crawled up from a gut full of panic and refused to be silenced.
If he remembered nothing, if his identity was a void, then maybe I didn’t have to be the one who ruined him. Maybe I could be something else entirely.
The nurse studied my face. “Miss? You’ve gone very white. Are you alright?”
I straightened up and forced my fingers to relax on my bag strap before they snapped it.
I needed to look shattered but relieved. I made my voice thin, scraped raw. “Sorry. It’s just… the shock. You said he remembers nothing?”
“Nothing yet. We’re trying to locate family. Do you know anyone we should call? A next of kin?”
My pulse thundered. This was the edge. I could fall back and let the truth crush me, or I could step forward into a lie so enormous it would either save me or swallow me whole.
Then the man inside the room moved.
He turned his head on the pillow and his gaze drifted toward the window.
Toward me. His eyes were blank, utterly empty. No anger. No recognition. Just confusion so deep it made my chest ache.
I looked back at the nurse and let the rehearsed tears come. One slipped down my cheek. I let my voice crack. “You don’t need to look for his family.”
Her brows lifted.“He has me,” I said. “I’m his fiancée.”
The word tasted like metal and rain on my tongue, but I didn’t let myself flinch.
“My name is Ella,” I said. “And he’s… he’s my Noah.”Ella's POVI opened it carefully, peeling back the paper to reveal a small velvet pouch. Inside was a pendant. The stone was amber, a warm, honey-colored gem that caught the candlelight and glowed like captured sunlight. The setting was simple silver, slightly tarnished, the kind of thing that had clearly been loved by someone else before it found its way to me. It was not expensive. It was not new. It was perfect."I found it at a thrift store in Cobble Hill," Noah said, his voice almost shy. "The woman who sold it to me said amber is fossilized tree resin. It holds things. Insects, leaves, pieces of the past. She said it was a stone for keeping memories."I closed my fingers around the pendant, the warmth of my palm heating the amber. A stone for keeping memories. The irony was so sharp it almost made me weep. He had bought me a stone for keeping memories, and I was the reason he had none."Do you like it?" he asked."I love it," I said, and my voice cracked on the last word.
Ella's POVChristmas Eve was a Tuesday, and the biting wind seemed to pierce the earth like a knife. The streets were adorned with colorful lights, and the whole city seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the arrival of the holiday.The apartment had been transformed. Not by money, because money was still tight and always would be, but by the small accumulations of care. A string of fairy lights hung across the window, casting warm pinpricks of light against the glass. A tiny artificial tree, bought secondhand from a thrift shop on Atlantic Avenue, stood on the kitchen table, its plastic branches bent from years of use but its presence improbably cheerful. Beneath it, I had arranged a handful of wrapped packages. Most were small. A book I had found at a used bookstore. A set of graphite pencils I thought he might like for sketching the diagrams he sometimes drew when he was thinking through a problem. A tin of the fancy coffee he had once mentioned enjoying.The centerpiece of ou
Ella's POVThe night before the event I sat at the kitchen table with a stack of black foam boards and a gold paint pen.The lettering flowed from my hand, elegant loops and flourishes that I hadn't practiced in years.It felt good. It felt like remembering a language I thought I had forgotten.Noah watched me from the sofa. "You're really good at that.""I used to do all my design work by hand. Before I could afford software.""I like watching you work."The simple statement made something catch in my chest.I bent my head over the board again so he wouldn't see my expression.Saturday morning arrived cold and bright.I left for the café before sunrise, my arms full of supplies.Susan had given me free rein over the space, and I used every inch of it. Four tables became gingerbread construction zones.The back counter transformed into a hot chocolate bomb station with warming trays and towers of toppings.The ornament bar stretched along the front window where the light was best.Noa
Ella's POVSusan cornered me by the espresso machine on a Tuesday morning, her expression harried and her hair escaping its bun in wild gray strands."Lucy quit," she announced without preamble. "Walked out yesterday. Said she was moving to Florida with some cousin. "I wiped milk froth from the steam wand and tried to look sympathetic. "That's rough. Do you need me to cover her shifts?""I need you to plan the Christmas event."The rag stilled in my hand. "What?"Susan leaned against the counter, her voice dropping. "Every year The Daily Grind does a holiday thing. Mulled wine, decorated cookies, ugly sweaters, the whole mess. It brings in extra revenue, and frankly I need extra revenue or January is going to be very lean. Lucy was supposed to handle it. Now she's gone." She fixed me with a look that was half desperation and half hope. "I know about your design work. The wedding invitations, the freelance stuff. Mark told me. You have an eye for this kind of thing.""Susan, I've









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