Chapter 7

I woke to the sound of heated voices arguing outside my hospital room. Without warning, the door flew open. Ronan burst in, still wearing his wrinkled wedding suit, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. In his trembling hand was a paper charm meticulously pieced back together with tape. His eyes brimmed with emotion as they met mine. “Anya, my memory’s returned. I remember everything.”

“I’m so sorry,” his voice cracked. “This was all my fault. You’ve been through hell because of me. But I’m back now, and I swear I’ll never leave your side again.”

My gaze drifted from his face to the charm in his hand. That charm was from five years ago, when he lay supposedly dying after the accident. Despite my own injuries, I had dragged myself up the treacherous path to Paro Taktsang—Tiger’s Nest Monastery—clinging to steep cliff faces in Bhutan. For two grueling hours, I’d climbed endless stairs carved into the mountainside, desperate to reach the Buddhist master who could bless a charm that might save Ronan’s life. I’d collapsed on that mountain path, the precious charm clutched in my bloodied hands, nearly dying from exhaustion and my own wounds. Yet he had “died” anyway, and in that video, he’d torn the sacred charm to confetti, laughing at my devotion as if it were the punchline to a joke.

How touching that he’d taped it back together now. Paper can be mended. Trust, once shattered, cannot.

“Drop the act, Ronan.”

“I’ve known you weren’t amnesiac from the beginning.”

“I found out the day you faked your death five years ago.”

His expression froze, morphing from tender devotion to naked panic as he reached for my hand. Seeing my newly reattached finger, he pulled back abruptly. He raked his fingers through his hair, his voice breaking with desperation. “So that’s it? You married my uncle just to get back at me? This whole thing was some elaborate revenge plot?”

“I’m not you,” I said, meeting his gaze directly. “I genuinely fell in love with Calix.”

Ronan left looking like a man whose world had collapsed. I thought I’d made myself perfectly clear, but a week later, as I was being discharged, I found him waiting at the hospital entrance. He had clearly been there for hours. Spotting me, he rushed forward eagerly, but before he could even touch me, Calix shoved him back with enough force to send him sprawling. Scrambling to his feet, Ronan’s eyes blazed with fury. “You calculating bastard! You were the one who sent Anya that video five years ago. You orchestrated this whole thing!”

He turned to me, his voice breaking. “Anya, can’t you see it? Calix doesn’t love you—he’s been playing you from the start. He’s manipulated everything!”

My expression hardened as I walked toward him. As hope flickered in his eyes, I slapped him across the face with my good hand.

“Does it really matter who sent the video? Were you not the one who faked your death? Who pretended not to remember me? Who spent five years with my stepsister? Who cut off my finger?” My voice was steady but cold. “Ronan, let me be crystal clear—whatever we had died five years ago. I love Calix now, and he’s the only man I’ll ever love. From now on, address me as your aunt. Watch your words and don’t embarrass the family any further.”

With that, I turned away without another glance, taking Calix’s tense hand in mine and giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. The rigid set of his jaw instantly softened at my touch.

Chapter 8

I heard about Ronan two months after our encounter at the hospital. He was paralyzed from the waist down—wheelchair-bound for life. In a desperate bid to win me back, he’d attempted to get a love charm from the same holy site I’d once visited for him. He’d somehow managed to climb the perilous path to Tiger’s Nest Monastery—that ancient Buddhist temple perched impossibly on the Bhutanese cliffside. But on his way down, his legs gave out. He tumbled down the rocky mountainside, bouncing off stone steps and jagged outcroppings. In that remote wilderness, it took hours for anyone to find him. By then, the window for effective medical intervention had closed. They say throughout the medevac flight, his bloodied fingers never loosened their grip on that precious charm. He kept mumbling through cracked lips, “Anya’s waiting for me… we promised we’d be together forever…”

I barely registered the news. I had no mental space to spare for his drama. I was fully absorbed in our family portrait session. As Calix slipped his arm around my waist for the photo, he whispered with a hint of jealousy, “Feeling bad for him?”

I gave a soft laugh. “Not as bad as I feel for someone who secretly loved me for seven years without saying a word.”

His ears turned pink as he looked away, though his arm tightened protectively around me. Seeing this little moment between us, Karina wedged herself between our legs. “Hey! Don’t forget about me! I want cuddles too!”

Chapter 81

Calix’s serious expression melted as he swept her up, gathering both of us in his embrace. Driving home through downtown, I glimpsed Sylvia through the tinted window. She sat in a wheelchair, missing several limbs, huddled against a building while being berated by what looked like debt collectors. She was ranting incoherently, “I’m Mrs. Quinn! You pathetic losers aren’t fit to breathe the same air as me!” I quickly covered Karina’s ears. Beside me, Calix reached over and gently covered mine.

I studied his profile—that strong jaw now softened when he looked at me—and remembered the leather journal I’d accidentally discovered in his desk drawer.

“I’ve fallen for someone untouchable—my nephew’s fiancée.”

“Ronan is cheating. He’s planning to fake his death and claim amnesia so he can enjoy a few more years of freedom.”

“I know this is my chance.”