The day after I got engaged to my boyfriend, his best friend locked me up.

He smiled as he unbuttoned his shirt, stepping closer with each passing moment.

"Mich, I'm your true destiny," he said, his voice low and menacing.

As I struggled to resist, I lost my footing and tumbled down the stairs.

When I woke up, all my memories were gone.

The handsome stranger standing before me noticed my confusion and kindly offered an explanation.

"You're my fiancée, but you cheated on me," he said.

When I woke up in the hospital, my mind was a blank slate.

All I felt was a throbbing headache, a sharp sting on my neck from what seemed like a knife wound, and the intimidating presence of a strikingly handsome man in front of me.

I asked him who I was—and who he was.

The cold aura around him seemed to soften, and I thought I glimpsed a faint smile in his eyes.

"Your name is Michelle Harper," he said calmly, "and I'm Zachary Miller, your fiancé."

"Fiancé?" I frowned, instinctively feeling a strange discomfort about this supposed relationship. And besides—

"Do you have any proof?"

He smirked without a trace of warmth in his eyes and handed me his iPhone with the photo album open.

Inside were countless pictures of us together, smiling and happy. There were even pre-wedding photos.

So, it seemed he really was my fiancé.

I handed the phone back. "So, we're about to get married?"

"Yes." He lifted his gaze briefly to meet mine, then dropped a bombshell. "But you cheated on me."

"..."

According to him, we'd been high school sweethearts, fell in love junior year, and stayed together through college and beyond. He had trusted and cared for me, but now, just before our wedding, I'd supposedly fallen for someone else and wanted to leave him.

The cut on my neck was apparently from a confrontation where I'd begged him to let me be with this other man.

It was hard to believe I could do something so heartless and immoral.

Yet here he was, my supposed fiancé, still willing to look after me despite everything. Even after I hurt him, he'd brought me to the hospital, put his pain aside, and planned to take me home to recover.

After all, I had no parents, and the grandmother who raised me had passed away long ago.

I really must be a terrible person.

---

Given what I had done to Zachary, he remained distant and cold toward me.

In my fog of amnesia and fear, I found myself anxiously watching his every move, terrified he might suddenly decide to abandon me.

Back at the penthouse, I followed him quietly into the bedroom.

The minimalistic black-and-white decor felt stifling, with an air of oppressive restraint.

The deep blue Egyptian cotton sheets on the king-size bed looked soft and inviting.

While I took in the surroundings, he emerged from the connected walk-in closet holding a silk camisole nightgown.

Still as cold as ever, he said, "This is yours. You'll be sleeping in the guest room from now on."

I numbly took the nightgown from him.

His words made me realize that we had probably shared a bed before. But now, because of my "cheating," he clearly had no intention of doing so anymore.

Alongside the guilt I felt, I was also secretly relieved; I couldn't imagine sharing a bed with a man I didn't recognize.

After settling me in, he left. For the next three days, I didn't see him once.

Of course, he probably didn't want to see me.

The weather had been gloomy lately, matching my mood perfectly.

Today was worse than usual—a relentless downpour, with thunder and lightning flashing all day.

In the afternoon, as I went downstairs to get some water, I overheard two young housekeepers chattering away. They were so engrossed in their conversation, they didn't notice me approaching.

"This weather's been creepy lately," one of them said.

"Totally. Do you think it could be Julie Tanner's ghost coming back?"

"Oh, don't say that!" The other laughed, but then added, "Still, if she did come back, Miss Harper would be the first one in trouble. After all, Julie died in the room where she's staying now."

A glass slipped from my hand, shattering on the floor. I grabbed the nearest housekeeper's arm, my face pale. "What did you just say?"

The housekeeper, flustered, pulled back, shaking her head. "N-nothing, Miss Harper. We were just gossiping. Don't take it seriously."

Before I could press her further, they both scurried off, leaving me chilled to the bone.

Was Zachary doing this on purpose? Did he deliberately put me in the room where someone had died?

After much coaxing, I finally got the truth from one of the housekeepers. Julie, a former employee, was always fooling around during working hours with the cook in that very room. She'd then grown bored and started seeing the driver instead. When the cook found out, he lost his temper and, in a fit of rage, strangled her right there.

Now, even passing by that room made my skin crawl. Entering it was out of the question.

Zachary had to have done this on purpose. It was his way of subtly getting back at me for betraying him.

But what could I do about it? What could I possibly do…

At midnight, the whole house was brightly lit, but I still sat on the sofa in the downstairs living room, fighting off my growing sense of dread as I waited for Zachary to come home.

The staff had long since gone for the day, leaving me completely alone.

As the clock neared midnight, my fear deepened until I could hardly stand it. Just as I was about to call Zachary to ask when he'd be back, I heard the rumble of an engine outside.

Instantly, I felt as though I could breathe again. I tossed aside the book I hadn't been reading and ran to the door.

I didn't care about anything else in that moment. I just needed someone there, someone to stay with me.

When the door opened, Zachary looked taken aback.

I must have looked ridiculous, standing there barefoot, with tangled hair and red-rimmed eyes. It wasn't until then that I realized how cold the hardwood floor was under my bare feet.

He frowned, exuding the sharp, no-nonsense air of someone who'd just left a high-stakes business meeting. "What's wrong?"

I forced back my tears and managed to speak, though my voice was choked. "Did you… did you do it on purpose? Putting me in that room where someone died?"

He raised an eyebrow, comprehension dawning on his face. But he seemed unfazed. "You actually believe that? I didn't think it was a big deal. Besides, you don't even remember it, so it shouldn't matter."

He paused and asked, "How did you find out?"

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I looked at him, realizing he might not have meant any harm after all. My earlier resentment towards him quietly faded away.

Seeing me silent, he sighed and gently wiped away my tears, his voice softening. "It's late. Go get some rest."

With that, he turned and walked away.

I stood there, wringing my hands, helplessly watching his retreating figure as the tears flowed even harder.

Outside, the storm raged on, with thunder and lightning splitting the sky. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with shadows and fear.

Of course, it was probably all in my head.

How was I supposed to get through the night on my own?

After a long internal debate, I finally mustered the courage to knock on Zachary’s door.

He opened it quickly, fresh from the shower, drying his hair with a towel as he gave me a distant look. “What is it?”

His cold attitude made it even harder to speak, but I forced the words out, red-eyed and trembling. “I… can I sleep with you tonight?”

His hand paused mid-motion, and he looked at me with a steady gaze. “You want to sleep with me?”

I nodded.

He stared at me for a long moment, as if weighing his thoughts, not saying a word. I stood my ground, determined. No matter what, I wasn’t going to sleep alone tonight.

Finally, he spoke. “Once you get your memory back, you’ll regret this.”

“I won’t!” I replied.

He was silent again.

I took a deep breath and confessed what I’d been rehearsing in my mind for days. “I know I hurt you. I don’t know why I did what I did, but I’ve decided—even if my memory comes back, I’ll never go back to that third party who came between us.”

The air felt thick with tension. Just when I thought he might turn me away, he finally spoke.

“Fine. Come in.”

Relieved, I looked at him with a hint of gratitude. I must have been blind to leave such a good man and ‘cheat’ with someone else.

The bed was large. I instinctively settled on the farthest side, away from where he usually slept.

Once the lights were off, the room fell into quiet darkness, broken only by the sounds of his breathing and the faint rustling as he shifted. Oddly, the sound was comforting.

But the next morning, as soon as I regained full awareness, I nearly screamed.

Zachary and I were wrapped tightly around each other. His leg was entwined with mine, his strong arm circled my waist, and my head was nestled against his chest.

Panicked, I tried to push his leg off mine, but the movement woke him up instead.

His deep, husky voice rumbled above me, “Don’t move.”

I froze. “W-what’s wrong?”

He rubbed my waist in a way that made his voice drop even lower. “I’ve got an erection. Give me a moment.”

I blushed fiercely, paralyzed with embarrassment. After a long pause, he finally let me go, and I bolted to the bathroom, desperate to escape.

When I came back, he’d returned to his usual composed self, wearing that same cool expression.

The next morning, I found myself in his arms again.

This time, I resigned myself to it. I just got up, acted as if it was nothing unusual, and went about my day. He remained his usual indifferent self and didn’t comment on it either.

Two weeks later, the weather finally cleared, and my injuries had mostly healed. The faint scar on my neck was the only reminder, and even that would fade with time.

After much pleading, Zachary finally agreed to let me go out for some fresh air.

He told me my injuries were the result of a scuffle with the other man—the one who’d convinced me to leave. When I’d hesitated to go abroad with him, he’d tried to drag me out of the country by force, leading to the accidental injuries. Then he’d fled, leaving me to face the consequences.

I wasn’t going out alone, though. A young maid and a male bodyguard dressed in casual clothes accompanied me, looking for all the world like three friends out shopping together.

While we were in the mall, I noticed a strange man. He was standing a short distance away, holding up a photo and asking people around him, “Excuse me, have you seen this girl? She’s my fiancée.”

It looked like he was searching for someone. Intrigued, I took a step toward him to get a better look.

Before I could get closer, the maid beside me grabbed my hand, her face suddenly pale and her eyes wide with panic.

“Are you okay?” I asked, noticing her unsettled expression.to get through the night on my own?