Chapter 1

My sister took a bullet to the head and lost her memory. She forgot everyone—except that my husband, Nico Marchetti, was her ex-fiancé.

My mother dropped to her knees and begged me to give Nico to my sister. Nico said it too. "I'll just be her fiancé temporarily. Once she gets her memory back, I'll come home to you."

But a man who won't stand firm and choose me? I don't want him anymore.

***

"Valentina, there's something I need to tell you. For now, you should go stay somewhere else. Okay?"

Nico walked into the house, stripping off his suit jacket and handing it to me.

"Olivia's gunshot trauma is bad right now. She can't handle any stress. I need to bring her here so I can take care of her. You being here... it's not convenient."

Olivia is my sister. The one with no memory.

I took his jacket. My fingers clenched the fabric. That sickly-sweet gardenia scent hit the back of my throat. My stomach lurched—like Nico himself had just punched me. I had to bite down on my molars to keep the scream from tearing out of my mouth.

"And what if she never gets her memory back? You'll just spend your life with her? Nico, do you still love her? Can you answer me directly?"

If he still wanted her, why the hell did he marry me in the first place?

Nico stopped dead. He turned and looked at me. It was like he was only now noticing the state I was in. He stood there for a second, then sighed, irritated.

"Hey. Don't be like this. Olivia's your sister. I'm sure you want her to get better, too. Right?"

He reached up and ruffled my hair. Like he was soothing a restless cat.

"Alright. Go pack your things."

"I called the cleaners and the renovation crew. They'll be here soon to redo the house. Take what's important. Throw out the rest."

Nico's tone was soft, but there was zero room for argument.

He walked into the living room and pointed at the small Virgin Mary sconce on the wall.

"Take that light down. It's not Olivia's style."

"And it's old. It needs to go. I'll buy you a new one later."

That Virgin Mary sconce was the first birthday gift Nico ever gave me.

Five years of marriage. I treated it like a treasure. I wouldn't let a single speck of dust touch it.

Now Nico wanted it gone. Just like that.

Maybe the light wasn't the thing he wanted to throw away. Maybe it was me.

I dropped his jacket on the couch. Without a word, I took the sconce down, carried it outside, and dropped it in the trash.

By the time I got back inside, the renovation crew's foreman had already arrived.

Nico was giving him instructions. Dead serious.

"All furniture and decor—I need to see it before it's finalized. Slippers. The softest ones you can find. The absolute softest."

"Yes, sir."

"Bedding. All silk. Olivia's skin is delicate. She gets only the best."

"Yes, sir."

"And—"

Nico paused. His gaze shifted to the study. His voice dropped. "Never mind. I'll handle that myself."

I watched him walk into the study and start peeling my sticky notes off the wall. One by one.

I was Nico's wife. I was also the general manager of his family's business. I supported his work. I took care of his daily life. I used those notes to remind him to take his stomach medication, to handle his paperwork, to stop staying up all night.

I watched Nico find every single note I'd left. And rip them all down. Clean. Efficient.

I heard him say her name so naturally. *Olivia.*

Five years I shared his bed. And I meant less to him than Olivia sneezing. I almost couldn't hold back the tears.

Five years. I begged him to fix a leaking faucet, and he acted like I was talking to a wall. Now she sneezes, and he's gutting the entire goddamn house. Installing some imported Italian aroma system.

Then Nico turned and saw me.

He didn't register my pain at all. He just gave me another casual order.

"Good, you're back. Go through the study and find the rest of those sticky notes of yours. Throw them all out. Don't leave a single one."

"Get rid of all your scribbles. I don't want Olivia seeing any of them."

And then he walked out.

A few minutes later, some workers carried a gorgeous, plush sofa into the study. They were muttering to each other, impressed.

"The man of the house really dropped some cash. Paid us five times our rate. Told us to do the whole place exactly the way his wife would want it."

"Even the coasters and curtains—top dollar, the best stuff!"

"I heard he's putting in one of those Italian aroma systems. Said his wife loves the smell of gardenias."

Gardenias. The scent Olivia loves.

My body locked up. My heart felt like someone had it in their fist, squeezing slowly, until I couldn't breathe.

When Nico and I were setting up our marital home, he had exactly one line: "The family business is too busy. I can't spare the time." Everything—big, small—was dumped on me.

Nico had the time.

He just didn't love me.