Amnesia Romance Novels Novels & Stories

After a car accident wipes my memory, my mind is stuck ten years in the past—right after I get down on one knee to propose to Angeline Stone. I tear through every app on my phone, desperate to find any proof that Angeline is actually my wife. But all I see in my contacts are numbers I don't recognize, and my WhatsApp chat list is empty. I have no choice but to call my buddy, Rick Tate, to ask him whether Angeline accepted my proposal. To my surprise, he explodes on me like a lit firecracker. "Did a donkey kick you in the head, Caleb? Did she accept your proposal? You're about to divorce her!" My first reaction after hanging up is—damn, I'm a legend. I actually managed to land an ice quee

Penelope asked and the woman bobbed her head again. “It started a long time ago when your great-great-grandfather was in love with a werewolf girl, Liam. They were not mates, but lovers. It was a time when werewolves and Lycans lived together in peace. Their love bloomed so greatly that everybody was jealous of how beautiful their love was and they all took them as their role models. They wanted to get married and live happily together but everything changed when the werewolf girl found her mate, as destined by the Moon Goddess."

"Don't bother. You're the Donna now. It's only natural that you live at the estate with the Don." At my words, Angela was clearly gloating, but she quickly masked it with a look of wounded innocence. "Valenna, I've already apologized. I even offered to leave. Can't you just let this go? Even if you don't care about me, are you really going to disregard nearly ten years with Don Corleone?" With that, she glanced at Vincent. His face had turned a sickly, ashen grey. I let out a cold laugh, looking at the two of them with total composure. "Save the melodrama. Unlike some people, I never faked amnesia just to bring another woman back to the estate. You made your bed, Vincent. Now lie in it."

“I’m sorry, Felicity... It’s my fault. I didn’t catch it in time. I should’ve stopped it sooner...” At that moment, the only thing holding me together, the solid ground beneath me, crumbled away, and I sank, drowning in the aftermath of it all. Darcy almost killed me, and she had killed my grandmother. And Felix, too, was to blame. He was as much of a killer as anyone else. I spoke through gritted teeth, my voice raw with anguish, “Felix, I hate you. I wish I’d never met you.”

Richard would add, with eyes shining at exactly the right degree to impress journalists when necessary. I never found it strange that none of those memories came with scent, texture, or any physical sensation attached. They were films projected on a wall, not something lived in the body. When I questioned that lack of visceral connection, Harvey was always there with the perfect explanation: “Amnesia is like that, darling. Some things come back, others don’t. What matters is what we’re building now.” “Now” meant Boston. The penthouse. The honeysuckle scent. Chopin. Good girl.

Back to the city that once made me laugh… and now, would give me a man named Nicholas de Castello. The man I thought I had walked away from. The man who used to kiss me like the world had stopped spinning… and then look at me like I was a mistake he’d written with his own hands. And now, he says… he doesn’t remember any of it. Amnesia. Because why not. Apparently my life hadn’t been dramatic enough without a Turkish soap opera plot twist. I stared at the ceiling above me. Dark and empty. Exactly like my brain every time I tried to make sense of all this.

For just a second, I caught a glimpse of pain flickering across his face before it vanished behind his usual icy facade. "The wedding's next month," he said. "Nora needs a bridesmaid." Nora Hunter. The girl who had shown up out of the blue three months ago, 20 and all sunshine with her blonde hair and blue eyes, clueless about the shadows in the world. Francis had welcomed her into the mansion, showered her with jewels, and paraded her around at every high-society event. Francis kept whispering sweet nothings to me, even as he was gearing up to marry someone else.

"But it worked, didn't it? She doesn't remember you at all and all she sees and wants is me. "You're lying." I muttered through gritted teeth "Am I?" He smiled, slow and cruel. "Amnesia's a fascinating thing, Roland. It so fascinating that the mind protects itself by forgetting whatever hurts too much to hold onto and I made sure everything that reminded her of you got buried right alongside it. This way, you stay forgotten forever.” "She'll remember me” I said, though my voice shook with something closer to desperation than conviction. "She has to remember the man she truly loves."

“I don’t want to talk about her.” “Are you sure? You don’t want to talk to me about any . . . feelings you may have about her? I know what it’s like to have your own mother hurt you.” “You do? You remember your mother?” Tom asked with bewilderment. “You don’t have amnesia anymore?” “No, darling, I still have amnesia but I remember things from time to time. It comes sporadically.” “What does sporadica . . . ly mean?” “It means occasionally. I had a memory of my mother . . . doing to me what your mother did to your father.”

"That, Adam's words prove to be a curse for me until now." Yara clenched her fists that were under the table. She remembers the words of Adam, her first love and first ex boyfriend in high school when they broke up. "I swear you won't be able to date forever. Anyway, you won't be able to get married until you can see me on the aisle."