Chapter 69 Forgotten Bride
BELLA
His lips were still red from where I bit him, and he had the audacity to stare at me like I owed him something. Did he really think I’d let him kiss me just because he claimed to be my husband? I crossed my arms tightly over my chest and turned away. Richest man in the city or not, he wasn’t my type.
Before I could stew in my frustration any longer, the door creaked open, and a woman walked in. She was younger than I expected, her face fresh and her posture formal, but the bow she gave me made my jaw tighten.
“Hello, ma’am,” she said with a respectful nod.
Ma’am? Ma’am? I blinked at her, my stomach knotting. She couldn’t be more than five years older than me, yet she spoke to me like I was her elder. But before I could respond, another realization struck me.
What was my name?
I gasped, a cold panic washing over me as my mind turned blank. Nothing. Not a single memory to hold onto. My chest tightened, my hands trembling. Who was I?
“Are you all right, ma’am?” the woman asked, her voice distant, muffled like I was underwater.
I shook my head, brushing her off as she said something about being discharged. Her words barely registered. My focus snapped to the man standing silently across the room, his eyes watching me far too intently.
“Sir,” I said, my voice unsteady. “Can you tell me my name?”
His expression softened. “You don’t remember?”
“No,” I said sharply, frustration lacing my words. “That’s why I’m asking.”
He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as though I were a wild animal ready to bolt. I stiffened, my nails digging into my palms. If he so much as tried to touch me, I’d…
Instead of reaching for me, he brushed a hand over my hair, his fingers surprisingly gentle. His touch sent an unfamiliar warmth cascading down my spine, but I shoved the feeling aside.
“Your name is Bella,” he murmured, his voice low, almost tender.
Bella. The name felt foreign yet familiar, like a half-forgotten tune. My lips moved silently as I tested it. Bella.
“I have another question,” I said, forcing my voice to steady. “If I’m your wife, what happened? Why does my head hurt so much?”
“You were hit by a car,” he said simply.
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. A car accident? My hand instinctively moved to my temple, where a faint ache pulsed beneath the skin. But before I could press for more details, the door opened again.
A man in a sleek black suit entered, his polished shoes silent against the tiled floor. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a movie sharp jawline, perfectly styled hair, and an air of authority. My breath hitched for a moment as he handed the old man a bag and left without a word.
“Here,” the man said, holding the bag out to me. “Change your clothes.”
“Why?” I asked, staring at him suspiciously.
“We’re going home,” he replied, his tone matter-of-fact.
Home. My stomach churned. Was I really married to him? The thought sent a wave of nausea rolling through me. I peeked inside the bag and found a beautiful blue gown folded neatly.
“You can’t expect me to change while you’re standing here,” I snapped, clutching the bag to my chest.
His lips curved into a smirk, and his gaze didn’t waver. “Why not? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Heat rushed to my face, and I glared at him, my grip tightening on the fabric. “Turn around, or I’m not changing.”
He chuckled, a low, infuriating sound, but after a beat, he turned his back to me.
“Fine,” he said over his shoulder. “But don’t take too long.”
I changed quickly, the soft fabric cool against my skin. When I was done, I cleared my throat.
“You can look now,” I said, spinning to show off the dress. “How do I look?”
He turned, his eyes raking over me, and for the first time, his smirk faltered.
“You look… beautiful,” he said, the words almost shy.
Something flickered in his gaze, but I refused to acknowledge it. This was the same man I’d bitten, the same man who claimed to be my husband. No matter how he looked at me, I wouldn’t be swayed.
The car ride was tense. I caught him staring at me in the rearview mirror, his dark eyes unreadable. I pretended not to notice, fixing my hair and staring out at the city streets.
“Why are you looking at me?” I finally snapped.
“I like this version of you,” he said simply. “It’s refreshing.”
I scoffed, shifting further away from him. His words didn’t sit right, like there was some hidden meaning I couldn’t decipher.
When the car pulled up in front of a sprawling mansion, my jaw dropped. It was stunning, the kind of place I’d only ever seen in magazines.
“This is your home,” he said, stepping out and holding the door for me.
I hesitated, my fists clenching. He couldn’t buy me with luxury, no matter how grand it was. The moment we stepped inside, I turned to him.
“I want a divorce,” I said, my voice firm.
He stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why?”
“Why?” I repeated, incredulous. “Because I don’t like you. Isn’t that reason enough?”
His gaze softened, but there was steel beneath his calm demeanor. “I can’t divorce you.”
“Why not?” I demanded, crossing my arms.
He stepped closer, his voice low and steady. “Because you’re carrying my child.”
The words hit me like a slap. My knees wobbled, and I grabbed the nearest surface for support.
“Your child?” I whispered.
“Yes,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re pregnant, Bella. And I won’t let you go.”
The room spun, my breath quickening. Pregnant? With his child? My hands instinctively moved to my stomach, but the thought only deepened the ache in my chest. How could this be possible when I couldn’t even remember my own name?