Chapter 8

I snatched my phone and hastily contacted a news outlet, feeding them the details. By nightfall, snaps of Damon Bishop and Hayden Jenkins were blowing up Twitter.

"Mrs. Bishop, we’ve acted on your lead."

Hanging up, I stared at the jagged lightning fracturing the night sky, pulling the blanket closer. Damon barged into the hospital past eleven, drenched and fuming.

I was out cold, oblivious to his entrance. Then, in one brutal motion, he hauled me up, jolting me awake, my bare feet slapping the chilly floor. His livid face was inches from mine.

"What the hell, Damon? What’s going on?"

He slammed his laptop down in front of me, the screen glowing with the viral images.

"Me? What about you? What the fuck have you done?"

"You’re not going to own up to it? Bad move. I’ve got the scoop. The news agency fingered you as the source."

His laptop now lay in pieces, its high-res screen shattered. His hand clamped around my neck, forcing me back onto the bed.

I struggled for air, the IV stand crashing down in the scuffle.

"Cough…"

"Mr. Bishop…" someone burst in, only to be cut off by his roar, "Out!"

No one dared interfere. Damon’s clout in this town was absolute—even here, in the hospital, his authority was unchallenged.

I gasped, terrified he might actually end me, when he suddenly released his grip. I crumpled onto the bed, hugging my knees, curling up. A violent cough wracked my body.

A vivid red blotch stained the pristine sheets. He frowned, skepticism narrowing his eyes.

"You…"

Covering my mouth, I blurted out, "I was pissed you left me for her. I wanted the world to see her for the homewrecking slut she is."

He froze. "So you’re admitting it."

I stayed mute.

He tore off his rain-soaked tie, his grin chilling. "What’s so special about her? She’s just average. What’s your deal with her?"

My words hit a nerve. "Want to talk about looks? Tough. We’ve got bigger fish to fry thanks to your stunt today."

I grabbed a tissue, wiping my mouth. "What damage? I can fix it."

"Fix it? Do you grasp the fallout? Do you have any idea how much the company’s stock will tank when the market opens tomorrow?"

I was at a loss for words.

"So, what’s your play?"

He let out a bitter laugh. "After tonight, I thought you were past this."

"Didn’t think you’d be plotting behind my back."

"I was just curious about her."

"Still playing dumb."

"You know, even with amnesia, scheming is in your DNA."

I bit my lip, speechless, feeling like an unseen hand was choking me. The room fell silent. He shed his soaked jacket, stepped to the door, and returned with a lighter.

But he never lit up. Instead, he sat for a moment, scrutinizing me. I met his gaze head-on.

"Maya, you know as well as I do that I’m in love with her."

My breath hitched. I’d braced for this, but the pain was still sharp.

He simply gestured, and a document was brought in, placed on the table.

"Before your memory went kaput, our marriage was already toast. We were talking divorce. Sign it. I’ll make sure you’re set for life."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I just sat there.

"Is this real? Are you being straight with me?"

I asked, but he didn’t respond right away; he just lingered.

"Alright, I guess you’re not lying. I’ll sign."

I walked over, picked up the pen, and scribbled my name.

The pen clattered down. My name now marked the line.

I handed the pen back. "It’s done."