Chapter 1
After I lost my memory, I sent messages to my top three contacts on WhatsApp.
Ethan Blake, my top contact, replied instantly: [Wanna have sex with me?]
Vincent Hayes, my second top contact, followed up: [I've finished revising your paper. I'm going for a promotion, so we should end things.]
Ryan Grant, the third top contact, wired over 15 thousand dollars: [Take the money and get lost.]
I stared at my phone, stunned into silence.
Damn, I was a player juggling three guys at once.
Before I could recover from the shock, a fourth message popped up.
It read: [Hey, Hannah Carter, I know you've got a boyfriend. Your bonus guy showed up, babe!]
My hand shook, and my phone nearly smacked me in the face.
These three pinned contacts had blunt, no-nonsense labels: Ethan, Prof. Hayes, and Rich Fool.
I stared at the screen, feeling like my brain had been wiped clean.
The doctor said I had retrograde amnesia, probably from getting smacked in the head.
I racked my brain, but I couldn't remember what kind of person I used to be.
But looking at these messages, I started to seriously doubt my character.
The Bonus Guy, the one without a label, was still going wild with emojis.
I didn't dare reply, so I dropped my phone onto the hospital bed.
A nurse came in to change my bandage, her expression complicated as she looked at me. "Miss Carter, no family has contacted you yet?"
I shook my head.
I'd gone through my contacts, but there was no "Dad" or "Mom" anywhere.
The only clues I had were those three guys at the top of my contacts.
I took a deep breath and picked up my phone again.
Rich Fool was definitely a hothead, not someone I wanted to cross.
Prof. Hayes was aiming for a promotion, so I'd better not mess up his future.
That left only Ethan.
Judging by his casual, infuriating tone, we must be the closest.
Bracing myself, I typed: [I've got amnesia. Can you come see me?]
The message was sent out but got no reply at all.
Two minutes passed, yet there was no movement in the chat box.
When I thought Ethan'd written me off as a scammer, my screen suddenly lit up.
It was a voice call.
I scrambled to pick up.
"Where are you?" Ethan's deep voice came through, husky from just waking up, laced with obvious impatience.
I gave him the hospital name and my room number.
He let out a cold laugh. "Hannah, you're taking things up a notch this time, huh?
"Faking amnesia, winding up in the hospital... What's this, another pity stunt?"
"I really got beaten up. I have a concussion," I blurted out, panicking.
"Fine," Ethan said, his tone flat. "Wait there. I'm coming over.
"I wanna see what kind of trick you're pulling this time."
He hung up.
I gripped my phone, my nerves all over the place.
Why was he so damn snarky?
Things between us weren't as smooth as I'd thought.
Half an hour later, the ward door was shoved wide open without a single knock or polite inquiry.
A tall guy walked in.
He was wearing a black windbreaker, cargo pants, and a baseball cap pulled low over his face.
He tossed his car keys onto the nightstand with a sharp clatter.
I flinched.
He took off his cap, revealing an extraordinarily handsome face with sharp, sculpted features and a razor-sharp jawline.
Yet his face was filled with blatant scorn.
He dragged a chair over and sat down by my bed, legs spread wide.
His eyes swept over my bandaged head. "Wow, you really got yourself messed up, huh?"
He reached out and jabbed the edge of my wound without a shred of mercy.
"Ow!" I jerked back, pain shooting through me. "What the hell are you doing?"
Ethan pulled his hand back, rubbing his fingers together like he was checking something out. "Looks like you really put everything on the line this time."
He leaned in, the pressure in the room suddenly suffocating. "Alright, spill it. Who are you doing this for now?
"Is it that penniless professor, or the nouveau riche?"
I was totally lost and couldn't keep up with him at all.
"I don't get what you're saying," I said. "I swear, I've got amnesia. I don't remember a thing."
Ethan stared at me, then suddenly smiled.
But that smile never reached his eyes, sending a chill down my spine.
"You don't remember?" he sneered. "Fine."
He stood up, planting his hands on either side of me, trapping me between him and the bed.
His masculine scent washed over me, tinged with a faint whiff of tobacco.
"Since you can't remember, I'll help you recall exactly what our relationship is," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
As he spoke, his hand traced a slow, deliberate path down my neck, sliding lower with every inch.