chapter 4: The Other Woman

The Blackwood mansion had never felt so suffocating.

All morning, Amelia moved like a shadow, her every breath tight with dread. Damien’s words from the day before echoed in her mind like a curse: “The woman I remember. The one I believe is my wife.”

That woman had a name.

Elena.

Amelia had heard whispers of her before—stories told in hushed tones by the staff, fragments of gossip about Damien’s former fiancée who had vanished suddenly, leaving him broken. Amelia had never pressed for details; Damien had never offered them. She only knew that Elena had been his first love, his obsession. And now, with his memory twisted by the accident, Elena had become the ghost resurrected to torment Amelia’s marriage.

When the grand doors opened that afternoon, Amelia’s heart lurched violently.

Elena stepped inside like she owned the world. Tall, graceful, and dressed in a pale lavender dress that shimmered like sunlight on water, she was the kind of woman people noticed instantly. Her raven-black hair fell in smooth waves down her back, and her smile was sweet, almost angelic. But when her eyes flicked to Amelia, there was something sharp lurking beneath the sweetness—a glimmer of triumph.

“Damien,” Elena breathed, her voice soft, musical, familiar. She crossed the marble floor as if floating, and without hesitation, Damien rose to meet her.

Amelia’s throat closed as she watched the man who was supposed to be her husband embrace another woman. His hand cupped Elena’s cheek with a tenderness Amelia had never known. For a moment, she could only stand frozen, her fists trembling at her sides, her chest burning with a mixture of rage and despair.

“You’re here,” Damien said, his voice low, reverent.

“Of course,” Elena whispered, her gaze never leaving his. “I would always come back to you.”

Amelia’s nails dug into her palms. Back?

So this was the woman he remembered. The woman who had abandoned him years ago. And now, Amelia—the wife who had stood beside him, endured his cruelty, and prayed for his love—was nothing but an impostor in his eyes.

Damien turned then, his arm still around Elena, his expression unreadable as he faced Amelia.

“Amelia,” he said coldly. “This is the woman I know. The woman I remember as my wife.”

The words shattered something inside her. Her lips parted, but no sound came. The staff, lined along the walls, exchanged shocked glances. Even they knew the truth—that Amelia had been in this house as Mrs. Blackwood for two years. Yet Damien’s conviction was absolute.

Elena, with a delicate smile, extended her hand toward Amelia. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she said sweetly. “I’ve heard… so much.”

The false kindness in her tone cut deeper than open hostility. Amelia stared at that perfectly manicured hand, her body stiff with defiance, and did not take it.

“I wish I could say the same,” Amelia replied, her voice tight.

For a flicker of a second, Elena’s smile faltered, but then it returned, brighter, as though Amelia’s resistance only entertained her.

Damien’s eyes narrowed at Amelia’s tone. “You will show her respect,” he ordered.

Amelia turned to him sharply, her voice trembling with suppressed fury. “Respect? For the woman who left you broken once before? The woman who disappeared when you needed her?”

Gasps rippled through the staff. Elena’s face paled, but Damien’s jaw clenched, his eyes blazing.

“Enough,” he growled. “You will not speak of her that way.”

Amelia’s heart twisted painfully. No matter what Elena had done in the past, Damien’s loyalty to her remained unshaken. Amelia could see it now—the way he looked at Elena was nothing like how he had ever looked at her. To him, Elena was light, salvation. And Amelia… was nothing but an intruder.

Dinner that night was worse than any nightmare Amelia could have imagined.

Elena sat beside Damien at the head of the table, her laughter filling the hall, her voice a melody Damien seemed enchanted by. He listened intently, his eyes softening with every word she spoke, and every time his hand brushed hers, Amelia felt another piece of herself crumble.

She sat opposite them, her food untouched, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. To the staff, she was still Mrs. Blackwood, but to Damien, she was already fading. Invisible.

“Elena,” Damien said at one point, his voice warm in a way Amelia hadn’t heard in years, “I don’t know why I ever let you go.”

Elena’s lashes lowered as she smiled. “Perhaps… fate wanted us to find our way back.”

Amelia’s stomach twisted violently. Fate? No. This wasn’t fate. This was cruelty.

When Damien’s hand covered Elena’s on the table, Amelia couldn’t bear it any longer. She pushed back her chair, the scrape loud against the polished floors.

“Excuse me,” she said tightly, her voice cracking. Without waiting for permission, she left the room, her heels clicking sharply against the marble as she fled.

In the solitude of her room, Amelia collapsed onto the edge of the bed, her hands shaking uncontrollably. Tears streamed down her cheeks, unchecked, as she whispered into the emptiness, “What am I to you, Damien? What have I been all this time?”

For two years, she had been his lawful wife. She had lived in his home, carried his name, endured his cold indifference with the fragile hope that one day he might see her—not as a stranger, not as an obligation, but as a woman who loved him. And yet, with a single accident, everything she had fought for had been erased.

The man she had married had forgotten her. Worse, he had chosen someone else in her place.

Her chest heaved as sobs wracked her body. For the first time, Amelia wondered if she was strong enough to fight for a man who no longer wanted her.

But beneath the anguish, a flicker of resolve sparked. She wasn’t just going to hand him over—not to Elena, not to anyone. She had fought too hard, lost too much, to walk away now.

Amelia wiped her tears, straightened her spine, and whispered to herself, “I am Amelia Blackwood. I am his wife. And I will not be erased.”

Outside her door, unnoticed, footsteps lingered for a moment—Damien’s. He had followed, standing there in silence, his expression unreadable. Then he turned away, leaving Amelia alone with her vow.