The world came back to me in fragments—sterile white ceiling tiles, the steady beep of machines, and a throbbing pain that seemed to pulse through every fiber of my being.

I tried to move, but my body felt foreign, disconnected. Bandages wrapped around my head like a crown of gauze, and my left arm was suspended in a sling that pulled at muscles I couldn't quite feel.

Where was I?

The question floated through my mind like smoke, impossible to grasp. I knew I should know the answer, but it slipped away every time I reached for it.

"You're awake." A woman's voice, gentle but clinical. A nurse appeared in my peripheral vision, her scrubs a soft blue that somehow made my eyes water. "How are you feeling?"

"I..." My voice came out as a croak, raw and unfamiliar. "I don't... where am I?"

"You're at St. Mary's Hospital. You were in a car accident three days ago." She checked something on a clipboard, her expression professionally kind. "Do you remember anything about what happened?"

I searched the fog in my mind, grasping for memories that felt like trying to hold water in my hands. Nothing. Just an endless gray void where my past should be.

"No," I whispered. "I don't remember anything."

The nurse's expression shifted, concern creeping into her features. "That's not uncommon with head trauma. The doctor will want to speak with you. Let me get him."

As she left, I stared at the ceiling, trying to piece together who I was. The name tag on my wrist read 'Ivy Chen,' but it felt like reading about a stranger. Was that really me?

Then, like a lightning bolt splitting my skull, a voice crashed into my mind.

*Stop this pathetic charade.*

I gasped, my hands flying to my temples. The voice was male, rough with anger, and it seemed to come from inside my own head.

*I know you're awake, Ivy. Drop the act.*

"Who... who's there?" I whispered to the empty room, my heart racing.

*Don't play dumb with me. This whole memory loss thing is just another one of your desperate attempts for attention, isn't it?*

The voice was so vivid, so present, that I looked around wildly for its source. But the room was empty except for the steady hum of medical equipment.

*Answer me!*

The mental roar made me cry out, clutching my head as pain lanced through my skull. "I don't know who you are! Please, just... stop!"

Silence fell like a heavy curtain. Then, quieter but no less hostile: *You really don't remember.*

"Remember what? Who are you? How are you in my head?"

A pause that stretched like eternity. *My name is Ryker. And you're my... you were my...*

The voice cut off abruptly, leaving me alone with my confusion and the growing certainty that whoever this Ryker was, he was important. The way he'd said my name carried weight, history, pain.

"Ryker," I whispered, testing the name. It meant nothing to me, just syllables in the air.

The door opened, and a middle-aged man in a white coat entered, followed by the nurse. His kind eyes immediately assessed me with professional concern.

"Miss Chen, I'm Dr. Martinez. How are you feeling?"

"Confused," I admitted. "I can't remember anything. And there's someone... someone talking in my head."

Dr. Martinez and the nurse exchanged a look. "The voice in your head—is it familiar at all?"

"He said his name was Ryker. He seemed... angry with me. Like he knows me."

The doctor made notes on his chart. "Miss Chen, I need to ask you some questions. Do you remember anything about yourself? Your family? Where you work?"

I shook my head, each movement sending fresh waves of pain through my skull. "Nothing. It's all... empty."

"What about the concept of mates? Pack bonds? Does any of that mean anything to you?"

The words stirred something deep in my chest, like an echo of an echo, but I couldn't grasp it. "I... maybe? I don't know."

Dr. Martinez sat down beside my bed, his expression growing more serious. "Ivy, you've suffered significant head trauma. Retrograde amnesia isn't uncommon, but in your case, it seems quite extensive. The voice you're hearing—that's likely what we call a mate bond. A mental connection between werewolves."

"Werewolves?" The word should have sounded absurd, but instead, it felt... right. Like a key turning in a lock I didn't know existed.

"You are one, yes. And so is the man trying to communicate with you. The bond allows mates to speak mind-to-mind, share emotions, sometimes even physical sensations."

I stared at him, processing this impossible information that somehow felt completely natural. "So Ryker is my... mate?"

"According to your emergency contacts, yes. Ryker Mills. He's been here every day since the accident, though he left about an hour ago."

Ryker Mills. The name still meant nothing, but the mate bond Dr. Martinez described explained the voice in my head, the anger that felt personal and cutting.

"Doctor," the nurse said quietly, "should we tell her about the other matter?"

Dr. Martinez nodded gravely. "Ivy, there's something else. When you were brought in, we ran comprehensive tests. You're pregnant."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "Pregnant?"

"Yes. And based on the ultrasound..." He paused, studying my face carefully. "You're carrying twins."

The room spun around me. Pregnant. With twins. By a man whose voice in my head was filled with anger and disappointment. A man I couldn't remember.

"How far along?" I whispered.

"About eight weeks. The babies appear healthy despite the trauma."

My hands moved instinctively to my stomach, which showed no sign of the life growing within. Two babies. Two lives that depended on me, and I couldn't even remember who I was.

*Ivy?* Ryker's voice returned, softer now, uncertain. *The doctor just told me... is it true?*

I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by the cascade of revelations. "Yes," I whispered, not sure if I was answering the doctor or the voice in my head.

*Twins,* Ryker's mental voice was barely a whisper. *You're carrying twins.*

For the first time since I'd heard his voice, the anger was gone, replaced by something that sounded like wonder. And fear.

"I need to rest," I told Dr. Martinez, suddenly exhausted by the weight of this new reality.

As the medical staff left me alone, I stared down at my stomach, trying to process the magnitude of what I'd learned. I was a werewolf. I had a mate named Ryker who seemed to have complicated feelings about me. And I was pregnant with twins I couldn't remember conceiving.

The voice in my head had gone quiet, but I could sense him there, a presence hovering at the edges of my consciousness. Waiting.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember something—anything—about the life I'd apparently lived. But there was only darkness, and the growing certainty that whatever had happened between Ryker and me before the accident, it hadn't ended well.

The soft knock on my hospital room door came just as I was struggling to make sense of the pregnancy pamphlets Dr. Martinez had left behind. The words swam on the page—prenatal vitamins, folic acid, morning sickness—all foreign concepts for a woman who couldn't remember her own life.

"Come in," I called, grateful for any distraction from the medical jargon that felt like reading instructions for someone else's existence.

A petite woman with warm brown eyes and shoulder-length auburn hair peeked around the door. She wore scrubs decorated with tiny cartoon wolves, and her face lit up with a mixture of relief and concern when she saw me.

"Ivy! Thank goddess you're awake." She rushed to my bedside, her eyes immediately filling with tears. "I've been so worried. When I heard about the accident..."

I studied her face, searching for any flicker of recognition. Nothing. Just another stranger who seemed to know me intimately.

"I'm sorry," I said softly. "I don't... the doctors said I have amnesia. I don't remember anything."

Her face crumpled. "Oh, honey. It's me. Mila. Your best friend since high school." She pulled a chair close to my bed, her voice gentle but determined. "I'm going to help you remember who you are."

Mila. The name stirred something faint, like an echo in an empty room, but I couldn't grasp it.

"Tell me about myself," I said. "Who was I before the accident?"

Mila's expression grew complicated, a mixture of love and pity that made my stomach clench. "You were... you were sweet, Ivy. Too sweet for your own good. Always putting others first, always believing the best in people even when they didn't deserve it."

She reached for my hand, her touch warm and familiar in a way that made my chest ache. "Especially when it came to Ryker."

At the mention of his name, that presence in my mind stirred, but remained silent.

"What happened between us?" I asked. "I can feel him in my head sometimes, but he seems... angry."

Mila's jaw tightened. "He should be ashamed, not angry." Her voice carried a protective edge I hadn't expected. "Ivy, you need to know the truth about what kind of man your mate really is."

She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself for what came next. "You found out you were pregnant eight weeks ago. You went to tell him at Eclipse—that's the pack's VIP club. But when you got there..."

Mila's voice trailed off, her eyes filled with the kind of pain that comes from witnessing a friend's heartbreak.

"What did I find?" I pressed, though part of me dreaded the answer.

"He was with Vanessa. His ex-girlfriend. She'd just come back from Paris, and there they were, all over each other like you meant nothing." Mila's hands clenched into fists. "You tried to tell him about the pregnancy, but he humiliated you in front of the entire pack. Called what you had 'temporary.' Said you were 'forgettable.'"

The words hit me like physical blows. Forgettable. Even without my memories, I could feel the devastation that word must have caused.

"He rejected you publicly, Ivy. Made you look pathetic in front of everyone. And you were carrying his twins." Mila's voice cracked. "You left that club heartbroken, and then..."

"The accident," I finished quietly.

"The accident." She nodded. "And now he has the audacity to act like the victim? To be angry with you?"

I stared down at my hands, trying to process this revelation. The man whose voice echoed in my mind had publicly humiliated me while I was pregnant with his children. The father of my babies had chosen another woman.

"Tell me about Vanessa," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

Mila's expression turned venomous. "Vanessa Sterling. Alpha's daughter from the neighboring Crescent Moon pack. Model, socialite, everything you're not." She paused, seeming to realize how harsh that sounded. "I mean, everything the old you thought you weren't."

"What do you mean?"

"You always saw yourself as plain, ordinary. Just an omega who got lucky enough to catch an Alpha's attention. But Ivy..." Mila leaned forward, her eyes intense. "You were never the problem. He was."

As if summoned by our conversation, I felt Ryker's presence strengthen in my mind. *Ivy, we need to talk.*

I ignored him, focusing on Mila instead. "Where is she now? Vanessa?"

"Still around, unfortunately. Acting like she's already Luna of the pack." Mila's lip curled with disgust. "Prancing around town like she owns the place."

Something cold and sharp crystallized in my chest. This woman—this Vanessa—had stolen my mate while I carried his children. Had watched him humiliate me and done nothing but gloat.

The old Ivy might have accepted that. Might have believed she deserved it.

But I wasn't the old Ivy. I was someone new, someone forged in the white-hot crucible of forgotten pain and present clarity.

"I want to see her," I said suddenly.

Mila blinked in surprise. "What?"

"I want to see this woman who thinks she can take what's mine." The words came out harder than I intended, carrying a strength I didn't know I possessed.

*Ivy, what are you planning?* Ryker's mental voice carried a note of concern.

I smiled, and even I could feel how different it was from whatever expression the old Ivy might have worn. This smile had teeth.

"I'm planning to introduce myself," I said aloud, knowing Ryker could hear me. "The real me."

Mila stared at me with something approaching awe. "Who are you right now?"

"I'm the woman I should have been all along." I pushed myself up straighter in the hospital bed, ignoring the protests from my healing body. "Mila, I need you to help me get out of here."

"The doctors said you need at least another week—"

"The doctors can say whatever they want." My voice carried an authority I'd never heard from myself before. "But I have twins to protect and a conversation to have with the woman who thinks she can chase other women's husbands."

Mila's grin was fierce and proud. "Now that sounds like a plan I can get behind."

*Ivy, don't do anything rash,* Ryker's voice pleaded in my mind.

I closed my eyes and spoke directly to that mental connection, my thoughts sharp as broken glass. "I want to see you, Ryker. Face to face. It's time we had a real conversation about our future."

The silence that followed was deafening.

When I opened my eyes, Mila was watching me with something like reverence. "I don't know who you are now, Ivy, but I like her a hell of a lot better than who you used to be."

So did I. And it was time everyone else met her too.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the gleaming marble lobby of Mills Industries. Forty-three floors of glass and steel stretched above me, but I only had eyes for the penthouse suite where Ryker conducted his business empire.

Mila had insisted on coming with me, but I'd refused. This conversation needed to happen between mates, without witnesses to what might be our final words.

My reflection in the elevator's polished walls showed a woman I barely recognized. The hospital gown had been replaced by a simple black dress Mila had brought—something the old Ivy apparently owned but never wore. It hugged curves I didn't remember having, and my hair fell in dark waves around my shoulders instead of the ponytail I'd apparently favored before.

The amnesia had taken my memories, but it had also stripped away whatever insecurities had made me small. I stood straighter now, moved with purpose, spoke with authority I'd never known I possessed.

*You're coming here,* Ryker's voice had been a constant presence in my mind since I'd left the hospital against medical advice. *Ivy, we need to discuss this rationally.*

*Rationally?* I'd responded, letting my mental voice carry all the ice I felt. *Like how you rationally humiliated me in front of the pack while I carried your children?*

His silence had been answer enough.

The elevator climbed steadily, each floor bringing me closer to a confrontation that felt inevitable. Through our mate bond, I could sense Ryker's growing agitation, his Alpha instincts warring with something that might have been guilt.

Floor forty-three arrived with another soft chime.

Ryker's secretary, a nervous-looking beta male, looked up from his desk as I approached. His eyes widened in recognition, then quickly darted away as if I were something dangerous.

"Ms. Chen," he stammered. "Alpha Mills is in a meeting, but I can—"

"He's expecting me," I said simply, not breaking stride as I walked past his desk toward the mahogany doors marked with Ryker's name.

I didn't knock.

Ryker stood behind his massive desk, phone pressed to his ear, but his eyes locked on mine the moment I entered. He was exactly as Mila had described—tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of commanding presence that made other wolves submit without question. Dark hair, steel-gray eyes, a jawline that could cut glass.

He should have been devastating to look at. Instead, all I felt was cold calculation.

"I'll call you back," he said into the phone, never breaking eye contact with me. The device clicked as he set it down, his movements careful and controlled.

"Ivy." His voice was rough, uncertain. "You shouldn't have left the hospital."

"Shouldn't I?" I closed the door behind me with deliberate precision, the soft click echoing in the spacious office. "Tell me, Ryker, what exactly should I be doing right now?"

He moved around the desk, his Alpha presence filling the room like a physical force. But where it might have made the old Ivy submit, it only sharpened my resolve.

"You're hurt. You need rest. The babies—"

"Don't." The word cracked like a whip. "Don't you dare mention my children as if you care about them."

Something flickered across his face—pain, maybe, or regret. "They're my children too."

"Are they?" I tilted my head, studying him like a particularly interesting specimen. "Because from what I've been told, you made your priorities quite clear the night I tried to tell you about them."

Ryker's jaw tightened. "You don't remember that night."

"No, I don't. But I remember what you told me in the hospital. About being forgettable. About being temporary." I took a step closer, and he actually retreated slightly. "Those words came from somewhere, didn't they?"

The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken truths. Through our bond, I could feel his internal struggle, the war between his Alpha pride and something that might have been shame.

"I was angry," he said finally.

"At me? For existing? For carrying your children?" My voice remained level, conversational. "Or were you angry because I interrupted your reunion with Vanessa?"

His eyes flashed. "This isn't about Vanessa."

"Isn't it?" I smiled, and even I could feel how sharp it was. "Tell me, Ryker, where is your precious Vanessa now? Is she waiting for you at home, playing house while your actual mate recovers from a car accident?"

"Ivy—"

"I want a divorce."

The words dropped into the silence like stones into still water. Ryker went completely still, his Alpha presence wavering for the first time since I'd entered.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me." I moved to the window, looking out at the Seattle skyline without really seeing it. "I want to sever our mate bond. Permanently."

"That's... that's not possible. The bond can't be broken, especially not with children involved."

I turned back to face him, and whatever he saw in my expression made him take another step back.

"Can't it? I seem to recall there are ancient rituals. Painful ones, but effective." I studied his face, watching the color drain from his features. "Unless, of course, you can give me a reason not to."

"The children—"

"Will be better off without a father who sees their mother as disposable."

Ryker's control finally cracked. "Damn it, Ivy! Why are you doing this?"

"Why?" I laughed, and the sound was nothing like whatever laugh the old Ivy might have had. "Because you need a breeding tool, Ryker. Someone to give you heirs and fade into the background while you play with your real love. And I'm not interested."

The words hit him like physical blows. I could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, the way his hands clenched at his sides.

"That's not... I never said..."

"You didn't have to say it. Your actions spoke loud enough."

Before he could respond, a soft knock interrupted us. The door opened without invitation, and a man stepped inside—tall, distinguished, with silver hair and the kind of presence that commanded immediate attention.

But it was his eyes that made my breath catch. They were the same unusual violet shade I saw in my own reflection.

"Forgive the interruption," the stranger said, his voice carrying a slight accent I couldn't place. His gaze moved between Ryker and me, then settled on my face with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

"Sterling," Ryker said, his voice tight with barely controlled aggression. "This is a private conversation."

But Sterling Ashford—because somehow I knew that's who he was—ignored Ryker entirely. He moved closer to me, his violet eyes searching my face with an expression of dawning wonder.

"Extraordinary," he murmured. "You look exactly like Grace... who disappeared twenty-three years ago."

The name hit me like a lightning bolt, sending sharp pain through my skull. Grace. Why did that name feel important? Why did it make my heart race and my hands shake?

"I don't know what you're talking about," I managed, but my voice sounded weak even to my own ears.

Sterling's smile was cold and calculating. "Don't you, my dear? Because I think you know exactly who Grace was. And more importantly..." His eyes glittered with something that might have been triumph. "I think you know exactly who you really are."