Faking Amnesia For A New Life

I lost my memory. Or rather, I faked it.

Conrad Gallagher, the boyfriend I had been secretly dating for five years, effortlessly erased our entire relationship.

"You're only fit to be a casual hookup."

Then, he announced his engagement to a woman approved by his parents.

To save myself from utter humiliation, I faked amnesia, conveniently forgetting no one but Conrad.

But when it was time for me to get married, Conrad regretted it. He kidnapped me right out of my wedding and spirited me away: "Don't marry him, okay?"

Chapter 1

Aurora's POV

Inside the ballroom of the Omni Parker House, I ran into him again.

Conrad.

I drew in a sharp breath, the champagne flute trembling slightly in my grip.

It had been two months since the accident, two months since I had last seen his face, and two months since I had made the conscious decision to scrub him from my memory entirely.

Now, catching sight of him in the bustling crowd, he was impossible to ignore.

Impeccably dressed as always, his dark suit was tailored to perfection. His undeniable charm acted like a gravitational pull, drawing people toward him. My heart pounded, slamming violently against my ribs.

Conrad’s gaze landed on me. His confident stride faltered for a fraction of a second before he changed direction, heading straight for me. Every step he took was heavy and deliberate, like fate itself closing in.

"Aurora," he said.

I turned my head slowly, meeting his gaze with a blank, uncomprehending stare. "Excuse me, do you know me?"

His eyes flicked from my face, dropping to the neckline of my dress, then sweeping all the way down to my legs. That familiar possessiveness gave me goosebumps.

In the past, whenever he thought no one was watching—whenever he felt I was his exclusive plaything—he would always look at me like that.

Conrad glanced around, his eyes darting quickly over the curious faces nearby.

He had always been hyper-aware of his public image, always needing to maintain control. He noticed the subtle stares and caught the faint whispers drifting from the edges of the conversation.

Without a word, he shrugged off his expensive wool overcoat and draped it over my bare shoulders.

His hand gripped my arm tightly, pulling me into his personal space.

"Aurora, drop the act. You haven't contacted me for two months. Are you really that mad?" He leaned in, his lips practically brushing my ear. "Are we going to my condo or your hotel today? You choose."

I struggled to pull away from his grasp, but his hand held me in an iron grip, refusing to budge.

I finally looked up at him. "Sir, please maintain a polite distance. I don't like being touched without permission."

He narrowed his eyes, a dangerous glint flashing in their depths.

His charming veneer cracked, revealing a flash of irritation.

"Aurora Buchanan," he began, his tone laced with a distinct warning. He only ever used my full name when anger was boiling just beneath his surface.

Before, whenever he used that tone, I would immediately shrink back, apologize, and try to smooth things over.

For five years, I had walked on eggshells, tailoring my reactions to his moods, desperately trying to keep him.

But that Aurora was gone.

I kept my face arranged in an innocent, bewildered expression. The performance was flawless. "Sir, do I know you? I'm terribly sorry, but my memory isn't what it used to be."

Conrad let out an impatient sigh, his voice thick with annoyance. He waved a hand dismissively, brushing off my words. "Stop it, Aurora. This isn't like you. You're being dramatic."

That familiar disdain and casual belittlement pricked at me like a needle.

A sharp sting of pain welled up in my chest.

Bitter memories flashed through my mind: the explosive arguments, him constantly calling me "overreactive" or "too emotional," and his claims that our five-year relationship was "just for convenience."

"Aurora? Is everything alright?" Elliot's calm, warm voice shattered the suffocating tension.

He appeared at my side, bringing with him a grounding, reassuring presence.

He stepped between us, his posture a silent shield. He rested a hand gently on the small of my back, a quiet promise of protection.

"Conrad," Elliot said, his tone even but edged with frost. "Are you aware that my fiancée, Aurora, was in a severe car accident a few months ago? Her memory has been spotty ever since. It's been a tough road to recovery."

"Fiancée?" Conrad repeated.

Elliot continued in the same steady voice: "She might not recognize a lot of people she knew before the crash, even some close acquaintances."

Conrad’s usually supremely confident eyes narrowed into slits. A flicker of genuine shock crossed his face, quickly followed by suspicion. "Amnesia?"

He wasn't asking about my well-being or my recovery.

He only wanted to know if he had been erased.

I hadn't forgotten him. I chose to forget him.

It was the only way I could escape the suffocating shame of being nothing more than a "plaything."

For five years, I had been his dirty little secret, only to be tossed aside and replaced by someone more "suitable." How else was I supposed to face my family and friends?

Amnesia was a blank slate, giving me the chance to rebuild everything.

The doctors had even mentioned the possibility of post-traumatic amnesia; it made my story all the more believable.

I knew he would look into it. Of course he would. Conrad always did.

I shifted slightly, stepping around Elliot, deliberately putting on a bewildered and visibly confused expression. "Sir," I said softly, "you mentioned earlier... were we close?"

"Because my parents never mentioned you."