LOGINThe world has changed in the year since Ashley died, or at least, since Ashley ceased to exist.In her place and new life Celine, a gentle woman with soft smiles and a blank past, a woman who believed she’d simply survived an accident that wiped her memories clean. A woman who had no idea she had once loved a man so deeply it nearly broke her. A woman who had no idea that same man watched over her like a ghost terrified of being seen. Her villa was small, and quiet — the opposite of the rich world she once ruled as Ashley Austen. Every morning, Celine opened the windows and let the breeze slip in. She brewed coffee she never remembered liking. She sat on the porch with a book she could never fully focus on. Something was always tugging at her chest. “Maybe I’m just lonely…” she whispered to herself one morning, rubbing her temple as a sudden pang hit her — the flash of a man’s voice calling her sweetheart, a hand reaching for hers, the sound of rain. But like always, the imag
The nights had grown quieter. Not peaceful— it's just quiet. Duke Austen stood on the wide balcony of his mansion, fingers curled over the railing as he stared out at the faraway villa across the hill. Celine... or Ashley. The woman he loved… and the woman who no longer knew his name. From this distance, she was just a silhouette moving through a gentle pool of light from her porch. But Duke could see her as clearly as if she stood inches away—the soft sway of her hair, the small smile she wore when a butterfly landed near the chrysanthemums, the way she tucked a strand behind her ear even though no one was watching. He had not felt peace in weeks. Tonight, he felt something worse. A slow, grinding ache—longing sharpened by guilt. “She looks happy,” a voice said behind him. Duke didn’t react. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Alexandra Harper walked onto the balcony. She leaned on the railing beside him, eyes following his gaze toward the distant villa. Her to
Duke Austen sat behind his desk, head bowed, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles were white. Outside the window, the city lights flickered like distant stars, indifferent to the wreckage inside him. He hadn’t slept in two days. His assistant had been dismissed hours ago. The office was silent except for the faint sound of the hospital wing located on the same floor—as if he had built his empire close enough to hear people fight for their lives but far enough to pretend he wasn’t responsible for any of it. Across from him sat Ashley’s older brother. Ashley's brother's face was carved in stone, jaw clenched, eyes raw with something between fury and heartbreak. The thick envelope on the table sat like a bomb between them. He stared at it. “You’re serious.” Duke didn’t lift his head. “Yes.” “You’re actually doing this.” his voice rose. “You’re paying me to hide her from her own life? From you?" Duke forced himself to look up. His eyes were red—glassy, exhausted, and hol
The moment Duke stepped out of the recovery wing, the weight of his lie wrapped around his throat like a tightening noose. Every step is brought back with what he had just done. He felt like he was walking away from the burning wreckage of his own soul. A nurse hurried after him. “Mr. Austen—sir, wait!” He stopped, barely turning. “What?” The nurse looked rattled. “She’s awake. She'd been asking a lot. We don't know what to say," Duke’s breath stuttered. The nurse continued softly, "There must be someone to accompany her. She's still not in a good condition." He stepped back instinctively, shaking his head. “I—I can’t. It’s better if I’m not there. I'll call someone to look for her. Just do your best for her fast recovery." Without another word, he turned and strode down the hallway until the voices behind him faded. He didn’t notice Alexandra leaning against the wall near the elevators, arms crossed, watching him like a hawk waiting to consume something already dying.
The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor buzzed faintly, a sterile hum that grated against Duke Austen’s nerves as he stood rigidly outside the trauma unit. His suit was still soaked from the storm. Blood smeared his sleeves—her blood. His hands trembled, not from the cold, but from the memory of her limp body in his arms. Ashley. The sliding doors finally opened. A doctor stepped out, removing his gloves with a practiced calm that Duke found unbearable. “Mr. Austen,” the doctor began gently, “we managed to stabilize her.”vDuke’s chest lifted with a painful, fleeting breath of relief. “But…” The doctor hesitated. “There is significant head trauma.” Duke felt the floor tilt beneath him. “What does that mean? Is she— Is she going to wake up?” “She is breathing on her own now,” the doctor said. “But when she does wake, there may be neurological complications. Memory disruption. Confusion. Trauma-induced amnesia is a possibility.” Duke stared blankly, as if the words were fil
Rain hammered the ground so violently, but Duke didn’t feel any of it. He was drenched, trembling, breathless—his entire focus locked on the overturned car holding the woman he had just destroyed with his own words. “Ashley!” he shouted again, voice breaking as he tried to wrench the door open. The metal groaned but didn’t budge. “Stay with me—baby, please—just—just look at me again!” Her head slumped against the shattered window, blood trailing in a thin red line down her cheek. Duke’s heart nearly stopped. “No. No, no, no—Ashley!” He slammed his fist against the jammed door. “Wake up! I’m right here—dammit, open your eyes!” He tried again, grabbing the metal, pulling with everything he had. His hands slipped—either from the rain, or because they were shaking too hard. He didn’t know anymore. “Help!” he screamed into the night, voice cracking. “Somebody—HELP!” No one answered him. Just the storm. Just the sound of the woman he loved struggling to breathe. He leaned down to the





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