LOGINZia wakes up in a tent on a beach in Hanalei, Hawaii, convinced she is eighteen years old and on a family vacation. However, the reality is a nightmare: she is actually twenty-five, her parents and brother have been dead for years, and the handsome "stranger" sleeping beside her is actually Clayton, her husband of three years. Zia suffers from a recurring neurological condition—triggered by a past trauma—that causes her memory to "reset" to her eighteen-year-old self.
View MoreTo my wonderful readers,As I sit down to write this final note, my heart is overflowing. We have traveled a long road together—from the sun-drenched beaches of Kauai to the high-stakes corporate halls of Pennsylvania. We watched Zia Balough fight to remember who she was, and we watched Clayton Balough fight to protect the woman he loved. But today, I want to step away from the story for a moment and talk to you as the woman behind the keyboard.When I first started writing The Reset, I didn't just do it for the plot or the characters. I did it for the "at-home" mothers.I know exactly what it’s like. I know the feeling of a day that is measured in laundry loads, diaper changes, endless errands, and the constant, beautiful, but exhausting noise of a household. Sometimes, in the middle of the "mom-life" hustle, it is so easy to feel like your own identity has been "Reset." You aren't just Victoria or Zia—you are "Mom." And while that is the greatest title in the world, it can also be a
POV: Zia (Six Months Later)The air in Pennsylvania was finally starting to warm, the bite of winter replaced by the soft, green scent of spring. For six months, I had been "Zia Sylvia, CEO." I had sat in my father’s chair, signed thousands of documents, and looked into the eyes of every employee Sylvia had tried to break.We had restored the insurance. We had fixed the pay scales. We had turned Horizon Anchor Logistics back into a sanctuary."She’s ready, Z," Clayton said, leaning against the doorway of my father’s—my—office.He looked different now. His shoulder had healed, leaving only a small, silver scar that he wore like a badge of honor. He had traded his flannels for dress shirts during our time here, but he still had that restless look in his eyes—the look of a man who missed the salt air."Elena?" I asked, looking at the woman standing behind him.Elena, the woman Sylvia had fired for caring for her sick daughter, was now the Chief Operations Officer. Over the last six month
POV: ZiaThe press conference had been exhausting. I sat in the high-backed leather chair in Arthur’s library, the silence of the room ringing in my ears. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind that familiar, hollow ache.I had the company back. I had the money. I had the evidence to put Sylvia in a cell for the rest of her life.But as I looked at the empty chair across from me, I realized the one thing I couldn't buy back with a signature."You did well today, Zia," Arthur said, pouring two glasses of water. "Your father would have been—""I know," I cut him off softly. "He would have been proud. Everyone keeps saying that."I stood up and walked to the large bay windows that overlooked the front drive. "But it's quiet, Arthur. It's so quiet now."I watched a silver sedan turn into the long driveway. It was moving fast, kicking up gravel as it sped toward the front of the house. I tensed. Sylvia’s goons? No, the security team at the gate would have stopped them.The car screeched
POV: Sylvia (One Week Later)The silence in my penthouse was no longer peaceful. It felt heavy, like the air before a devastating storm. For seven days, Zia had been a ghost. She was behind the walls of the Vance estate, protected by a security detail that even Leo couldn't penetrate without starting a literal war."I need more men," I snapped, pacing the length of my office. My reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows looked haggard. There were dark circles under my eyes that no amount of concealer could hide. "If Arthur is helping her, he’s going to move on the trust fund. We need to grab her the second she steps off that property.""It costs money, Sylvia," Leo said, his voice unusually cautious. "The teams I’ve contacted... They want a retainer. Upfront. They know Arthur Vance is involved, and they know the stakes are high.""Fine. Whatever they want." I sat at my desk and pulled up the portal for Horizon Anchor Logistics. I just needed to transfer a few hundred thousand from th
POV: ClaytonI hated being away from her, even for ten minutes. I stood in the electronics aisle of a twenty-four-hour superstore in Allentown, my eyes darting between the security bubbles in the ceiling and the sliding glass doors. I felt like a shark out of water—I knew how to fight in the surf, b
POV: ClaytonMy knuckles were white against the steering wheel of the black SUV. Beside me, Lailah sat low in the passenger seat, her head tucked into the collar of Zia’s denim jacket. Every time I glanced at her in the rearview, for a split second, my heart would stutter. She looked enough like Zi
POV: ClaytonI didn't like the plan. I didn't like the crowded market, and I definitely didn't like the way Zia was looking at that ledger like it was the only thing keeping her soul attached to her body.We were walking toward the Filbert Street entrance. The air was thick with the smell of exhaust
POV: ZiaThe motel room felt like a cage. Every time the heater kicked on, the mechanical rattle sounded like a plane engine, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut to keep from screaming. Clayton was across the room, his back to me as he watched the parking lot through a sliver in the curtains. He was


















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