Chapter 1
Three years into my marriage with my sworn enemy, Andrew Lane, a new intern, Emily Goodwin, accidentally spilled water on the marriage certificate he had left on his desk.
Panicked, I rushed to the city hall to get a replacement.
But the clerk told me the certificate was fake.
I went back to the office to confront Andrew, only to catch him pinning Emily against the door, kissing her passionately.
"I've been fighting with her for five years, but I've secretly had a crush on you for ten," Andrew said to her. "I've kept our marriage certificate locked away in the safe for ages."
When Emily shoved me down the stairs and I ended up with blood streaming from my head, Andrew simply watched with a cold expression.
He wrapped Emily in his arms and whispered soothing words to her. "Don't watch this. You get lightheaded at the sight of blood."
Because I didn't get help in time, I ended up lost in a haze, my mind clouded and confused.
When I finally opened my eyes again, it was like my memories had frozen.
I was stuck in the year I hated Andrew most.
*****
Two days after my surgery, Andrew finally showed up.
I was sitting on the hospital bed, chatting and laughing with the nurse, but as soon as I saw him walk in, my smile vanished and my expression turned icy.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
Andrew's gaze lingered on my forehead for a moment.
He let out a cold laugh. "Emily's been worried sick about you for two days, and you're pretending to be sick here?"
Before I could process what he said, Andrew strode over.
He reached out and yanked my IV line hard.
The needle was suddenly pulled out, and I gasped in pain.
Blood splattered everywhere, and the nurse next to me screamed as she rushed over to stop the bleeding.
When I finally snapped, I slapped Andrew hard across the face.
"Why are you always so angry and bitter over everything?" I snapped. "Are you actually blind? Can't you see the bandage on the back of my head?"
When I first started at the company, that was the year Andrew and I were at each other's throats.
He'd mock me for being boring and uptight, and I'd snap back that he was worse than an animal.
Every single one of our encounters started with petty, offensive remarks toward each other.
Andrew's head snapped to the side from the slap, his face full of shock.
He was left speechless, but I wasn't done with him yet.
Once the bleeding on my hand stopped, I shot Andrew a cold, icy glare.
I was about to call for someone to throw him out.
But the nurse stopped me with a single sentence. "Mr. Lane, as Ms. Summers's family, you need to sign here."
Before Andrew could react, I snatched the form right out of the nurse's hands.
"Sign what? Since when is he my family?" I shot back.
Before I could finish, I froze when I saw the form.
Right there in the spouse section was Andrew's name, plain as day.
Seeing my reaction, Andrew rubbed his temples.
"I know you're pissed at Emily," he said. "But her mom's really sick, and all she wants before she leaves is to see Emily get married.
"Emily and I have known each other since we were kids, so I'm the obvious choice. When it's all over, I'll end things with her."
I stood there, frozen for a long time before I finally snapped out of it and pulled out my phone.
At the top of my contacts, the one labeled "Honey" was Andrew, with his usual profile picture.
And in the company group chat, Emily, the intern who had just sent a message, was using a profile picture that paired exactly with Andrew's.
Emily: [Getting married next month. You are all welcome to celebrate with us.]
The photo attached was deleted in a flash, but I managed to save it in time.
It was a wedding photo, and Andrew was looking at Emily with nothing but tenderness in his eyes.
The group chat was blowing up with shocked comments, but I couldn't care less.
There wasn't a single photo of Andrew and me together in my album.
The doctor said the blow left me with complications, so I lost my memories from the past five years.
Right now, I still couldn't wrap my head around the fact that I might actually be married to my arch nemesis.
And now, I was staring at his wedding photo with someone else.
Just then, a message popped up on my phone.
It was my friend from city hall.
"You asked me to check on Andrew for you. He actually registered his marriage a year ago," she told me. "His spouse is Emily Goodwin. That fake certificate you brought in didn't have an official stamp. It's not valid at all."
Reading those words drove a sharp, stabbing pain straight through my chest.
My mind was all over the place, and a dull ache throbbed in my head.
Suddenly, all those bottled-up emotions crashed over me, and I felt my nose start to burn.
I stayed quiet for so long that Andrew assumed I was okay with it.
He frowned, stepped closer, and reached out, wanting to touch me.
"You..." he started.
He looked at me, his expression confused and awkward, as if he wasn't sure how to explain himself.
After all those years of fighting, we never saw eye to eye. Every time we met, it was a showdown.
That was why the thought of actually liking him was absurd to me.
I let out a breath, and when I looked up again, my face was calm.
"Are you unaware that office romances are forbidden?" I said.
*****
Emily's call interrupted the last conversation Andrew and I shared.
Andrew was about to explain, but her sobs pulled him away.
He hurried out, calling over his shoulder, "Wait for me."
He never came back.
I checked myself out of the hospital and gathered my belongings on my own.
The young nurse couldn't take it anymore and helped me while complaining under her breath, "He claims he's your family, but when it really counts, he's nowhere to be found."
She was fuming, but I couldn't care less.
Luckily, I never bothered changing my password, so my phone worked just fine.
I found the address for my new place in my notes and grabbed a cab to get there.
As I gathered my things and headed downstairs, the diner owner called out to me. "Your usual?"
Without thinking, I nodded out of habit.
By the time I realized what I was doing, I was already holding two hand-pies.
It was the vegetable hand-pie. I never liked it.
As soon as I walked into the office, a coworker sidled up and teased, "Brought hand-pies for Mr. Lane again, huh?"
The hand-pies were snatched from my hands before I had a chance to respond.
Emily beamed, "Charlotte, this shop's vegetable hand-pies are my absolute favorite."
Her overly sweet, fake tone made me frown.
I snatched the hand-pies back and shoved them into a coworker's hands, arching an eyebrow.
"These are for you," I said to the coworker. "Don't let any hypocritical bitches get their hands on them."