The Billionaire’s Forgotten Wife

The faint glow of the television cast shadows across the small living room, its flickering images reflecting in Juliette Rowe’s weary eyes. A warm breeze whispered in through the cracked window, carrying the scent of salt and lavender from the coastal town she’d escaped to. The world outside was quiet – safe - ordinary. But on the screen, chaos broke through like a knife to still water.

"Breaking News": "Billionaire CEO Damon Thorne involved in a high-speed crash on I-87. Sources confirm he is alive but in critical condition".

Juliette froze. Her breath caught in her throat. The room tilted slightly, as though her past had just walked in and sat down next to her on the sofa.

"Damon Thorne".

The name hit her like a slap, violent in its re-entry into her carefully rebuilt world. Her spine straightened as a familiar ache curled around her chest. Five years. Five long, silent, brutal years since he disappeared without a word.

The man she was supposed to marry.

The father of her child.

Now the screen showed a mangled luxury car, crushed like a tin Can, its sleek black frame twisted beyond recognition. The camera panned to St. Regis Private Hospital, cordoned off by security, reporters shouting questions as emergency lights flashed.

"He remains in a coma," the anchor reported, solemnly. "There is no official statement from the Thorne family at this time."

Juliette felt her hands begin to shake. Her pulse hammered in her ears. Her first instinct was to turn the TV off to erase his face, his name, his existence.

But before she could reach the remote, a small hand tugged gently at the hem of her sweater.

"Mommy..."

Juliette turned, blinking back the sting in her eyes.

Mason stood in his pajamas, barefoot and wide-eyed, his toy dinosaur clutched to his chest. He’d come downstairs without her noticing. Her heart softened instinctively.

"You’re supposed to be in bed, baby," she said gently, crouching to his level.

But Mason didn’t respond. He was staring at the TV. At Damon.

"Mommy... I know that man."

Juliette’s blood turned to ice.

She blinked, once - twice. "What did you just say?"

Mason stepped closer to the screen, his small brow furrowing in concentration.

"I’ve seen him before. In my dream," he said. "He was smiling. And he called me his little lion".

Juliette’s mouth went dry. She could barely swallow past the lump rising in her throat.

Little lion.

That was what Damon used to call her when they were still together. A private joke. She’d once stood up to his boardroom full of corporate wolves and left with her head held high. He’d kissed her afterward and whispered, "My little lioness."

He said their son would inherit her courage. And if it was a boy, he’d be their little lion.

No one else knew that.

Not even her closest friends.

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Mason had never seen Damon. Juliette had no photos of him. She’d made sure of that. For years she’d buried his name, his legacy, and the agony he left behind. How could Mason know?

She knelt slowly, trying to hide the tremble in her fingers.

"That man..." she said carefully, "Where did you see him?"

Mason shrugged. "In my dream. Last night. And before that too. Sometimes he hugs me tight and says he missed me".

Juliette pressed her hand to her mouth.

She couldn’t breathe.

This wasn’t possible. This wasn’t happening.

She reached for the remote, fumbled it, and finally turned off the television. The room fell into silence, the sudden absence of noise ringing louder than the broadcast.

"Sweetheart," she whispered, cupping Mason’s face. "You’re sure you’ve never seen that man anywhere? In pictures, on TV, in town?"

Mason shook his head. "No. Just in dreams."

A cold sweat clung to the back of Juliette’s neck. She scooped her son into her arms and held him close like she could protect him from the past clawing its way back.

But the past had already arrived.

And it had a name.

Damon Thorne.

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Later that night, when Mason was asleep and the coastal wind howled outside her window, Juliette sat at the edge of her bed, staring at an old envelope.

She hadn’t touched it in five years.

It contained only one thing: a letter Damon had written the night before their wedding. She’d never read it.

The pain had been too raw, the betrayal too fresh.

But now, with her son dreaming about a father he’d never met and the man who once held her heart lying unconscious in a hospital bed... Juliette unfolded the letter with trembling hands.

Juliette,

If you're reading this, something's gone wrong. I can't explain everything yet, but I need you to trust me. Whatever happens tomorrow, please believe me when I say I love you. I never wanted to hurt you. I had no choice.

Yours always,

- Damon

The ink had smudged where her tears hit the page.

Five years too late.

Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance. A storm was coming. One she thought she’d never have to weather again.

Juliette held the letter to her chest and whispered into the dark:

"Why now? Why you?"

The answer didn’t come.

But the question had already set everything in motion.

She would have to return to the city.

To Damon.

And to the memories he couldn’t remember — but she would never forget.

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The next morning, a knock came at the door.

Juliette opened it to find a man in a dark suit holding a sealed envelope.

"Miss Rowe?" he asked. "You’ve been summoned. Mr. Thorne requested your presence... before the accident."

Her heart stopped.

"He asked for me?"

"Yes," the man replied. "You’re listed as his emergency contact."

Juliette's world tilted again. Damon hadn’t just disappeared.

He'd left a trail.

And somehow, it led back to her.