Romans & histoires Forget My Husband I'll Go Make Money Chapter 62

Fresh tears streamed down my cheeks as I reached for his hand. “Please… wake up and remember me soon.” “My poor son…” Laurel’s arms stayed around me, her voice full of helpless pity. I didn’t need anything else. I only needed Maxwell. At that thought, I bit down hard on my tongue until I tasted blood. Maxwell, you can’t forget me forever. You can’t go back to Monique. I’ll do anything. I’ll do everything to bring you back to me.

That was the tragedy. She understood me so much that she learned to expect less. The realization hollowed something inside me out completely. Because Elara had not stopped loving me first. She stopped hoping I would choose her. I sat heavily on the edge of the bed again. Staring blankly ahead. And suddenly I remembered something small. So small I almost lost it entirely. One rainy night during our second year of marriage. The power went out in the penthouse. I was irritated because I couldn’t finish work.

"what the fuck, do you need more money, how much money you want? Your father and your husband have enough money." "I do not want your or my father money.you guys are means nothing to me. Don't forget, you never accept me as your wife. So I have no right on you, so die with your money. I really don't care. my father sold me. I don't want to spend money of you guys." I muttered spoil brat. She said, "what did you say?" "oh nothing, you are looking great in my shirt"

I would have loved it so much to return back the money, but I just didn’t have a way to find the ten thousand dollars I would give to Sara in the next few hours, I didn’t have any other choice than to take it. I counted the one he had given me already and saw that I to take more. With my shaky hands, I picked more bundles and closed the box, heading to the bag where I kept the money. I shook my head as I headed out of the room, my whole situation felt pitiful to myself. Even though I was married away without my own consent, I still felt like everything could change after spending time with my husband, but all of that would never happen. I headed back to the dining room, the kids were already

His voice was calm, yet his words dripped with sarcasm. Tasha’s breath hitched. This must be her husband. The man who had never once visited her since her accident. “I’m not playing games. I’ve lost my memory,” she said softly, her voice heavy with sadness. He arched a brow, the mocking grin never leaving his lips. “Memory loss? Again?” The word *again* echoed in her mind. *Had this happened before?* “Deception, blackmail, accidents, and now this ‘memory loss’ drama—don’t you ever get tired of these stunts?” He pulled an envelope from his pocket and tossed it onto her bed. “If you think this will stop the divorce, let me make one thing clear.”

to me. How ridiculous... Here was my husband, who for an entire month failed to come and visit me even though I was in a coma and unable to leave the bed. And the reason he did present was because of the divorce? Wouldn’t he at least wait for me to get out of the hospital before he mentioned that fucking divorce AGAIN? I took a deep breath and calmed myself down. After hearing his words, I held his gaze and firmly responded, “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re referring to. I lost my memories.”

He picked up the microphone and announced, "Today was supposed to be my engagement ceremony. But the moment I stepped on stage, I realized the one I truly love is Zara. "I've missed so many chances with her before. This time, I don't want to miss her again. I want to spend the rest of my life with her!" No one in the room was willing to applaud their so-called love. Oliver looked at me, his voice detached. "I wasn't sure before. If you want compensation, I can give you 500,000 dollars. I just hope you never appear in my life again." His gaze toward me was filled with indifference and numbness—the result of our 20-year marriage.

"Daisy, you'll really do anything to get out of this marriage, won't you? Now you're pulling the amnesia card?" "I'm not lying! I really don't remember the last eight years!" "Enough," he snarled, grabbing my chin. "For the last six months, you've tried starving yourself and running away to force a divorce. Now it's amnesia?" "You think playing dumb is going to make me let you run off to that piece of trash from the slums?" His grip hurt, but the whole situation was just so ridiculous. What kind of idiot was my future self? Did I really ditch a Mafia Don to throw myself at some guy from the slums? And abandon my husband and child for him?

“The more you resist…” His voice drops lower. Darker. “…the harder I’ll enjoy breaking you again.” I turn my face away, shaking. But deep in my chest, that impossible heat still burns. A spark. An echo. A faceless memory. And as New York disappears behind the curtain of rain, I understand—with ice-cold terror spreading through my veins—that my life has just been ripped from my hands. Stolen by a man who claims to be my husband. A man I don’t remember.

She stopped everything she was doing and walked out, obviously, this was starting to look like too much drama. “Shit” my husband cursed, “the fuck do you mean shit Mateo, who the hell is she?” I inquired further. “She sounds familiar, but I can't remember her,” he said, he looked down as the words left his lips. A lie! “I know you have some of your memories back Mateo, im your wife the doctors tell me everything!” I yelled. “Maybe they shouldn't” he scoffed, “excuse me? We're in deep shit right now Mateo! We have no money! We need money, and we don't know who the fuck is doing this to us” I replied before pacing the room anxiously.