"I'm Derek," I said gently. "Your husband, and father of your twins."

"I..." She looked around the hospital room, horror creeping into her eyes. "I don't remember anything."

The older doctor, one Dr. Adams I'd specifically requested, examined her thoroughly.

"Mrs. Morrison, you've suffered a head injury. Retrograde amnesia is common with this type of trauma. Your memories may return gradually, or they may not return at all."

"Not at all?"

"I'm afraid it's possible. The important thing is to keep you stress-free for the remainder of your pregnancy. Your babies' health depends on it."

I squeezed her hand. "We'll get through this together, darling. I'll help you remember our life."

She looked at me with those wide, trusting eyes. The same eyes that had looked at me three years ago when I'd told her I loved her. I'd meant it then, in my way. She was beautiful and the sex was good.

"My mother called," I told Vivian in the hospital room. "Patricia Morrison. She's flying in from visiting her sister. She'll be here next week. She's been so worried about you."

"I don't remember her either."

"That's okay. We'll help you remember everything." I kissed her forehead. "Rest now. I'll be right here."

Claire arrived twenty minutes later, playing her role flawlessly. "Oh, Vivian! I heard about the accident! Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry," Vivian hesitated. “Do I know you?"

"I'm Claire. Your best friend since after college."

Over the next week, we rebuilt Vivian's world exactly how we wanted it.

I told her about our fairy-tale romance. How I'd swept her off her feet. How we'd married despite her grandfather's objections. How we'd tried for years to have children before IVF finally worked.

I told her about the scandal with her stepbrother Nathan, how it had devastated us both, how her grandfather had fired her as CEO because of it… and she cried.

"We moved past it already, love. Not remembering, It's probably for the best. What he did to you... to our marriage... it's better forgotten."

Claire visited daily, bringing flowers and stories of their friendship. We cut off Vivian's access to the internet and television.

"You heard the doctor," I explained. "Too much stress from news and social media. We need to keep you calm."

Instead, we played games, did exercises, watched movies. Sometimes I rubbed her swollen feet while we watched old movies.

She was so grateful, sweet and so perfectly obedient.

Two weeks after the hospital, Claire moved into our house.

"Housing issues," I explained to Vivian when she asked why our "friend" needed to stay with us. "She lost her apartment. It's just temporary."

Claire immediately began redecorating the nursery Vivian had spent months preparing. She painted over Vivian's sunny color choices, threw out the handmade decorations, replaced everything with expensive designer items.

Vivian watched from the doorway, looking confused but not saying anything.

"Do you like it?" Claire asked, smiling.

"It's... I don't know."

"You said you wanted me to help," Claire lied smoothly. "You said your taste wasn't good enough."

"Did I say that?"

"You don't remember, but yes. You've always known I have a better style."

Vivian touched her belly, looking lost. "Okay. If I said that."

One evening, I found Vivian in the kitchen crying quietly while making dinner.

"What's wrong?" I asked, though I knew. We'd been slowly increasing her confusion, her isolation, her dependence.

"I don't remember who I am," she whispered. "Everyone tells me stories about my life, but they don't feel real. It's like I'm living someone else's existence."

I pulled her into my arms, feeling her pregnant belly press against me.

"You're Vivian Morrison," I said gently. "My wife. The mother of our children. The woman I love. That's all you need to be. My mom just got back. She'd be here tomorrow, okay? You guys have always been best buds.”

VIVIAN

I made a choice when I regained consciousness in that hospital room. I'd let them think they'd won.

I'd spent three years being the perfect wife to Derek Morrison. The perfect granddaughter to Harold Lancaster. The perfect friend to Claire Chen. Being perfect and getting destroyed for it.

So I decided to be something else: invisible.

I played the role of the confused amnesia patient flawlessly… while recording everything.

The small voice recorder hidden in my bra—I'd retrieved it from my old belongings. Who knew I'd need it someday—captured every conversation.

Every night, when Derek has snuck into Claire's room, I accessed his laptop with his passwords I'd memorized.

Grandfather made me start at the bottom of Lancaster Industries, working my way up through every department. I know how to be thorough.

In his laptop, I found so many files.

IVF records of Claire's harvested, stored and transferred eggs. Handwritten medical notes from our fertility doctor: "Payment received, will proceed with egg switch as discussed and be discreet."

Every night, I fought back tears whenever I opened his laptop. The conspiracies and discoveries were just too much. Even the prenuptial agreement I'd read and signed it hastily on our wedding day suddenly had a clause I never noticed:

"In the event of marriage dissolution, should Party A (Vivian Lancaster-Morrison) fail to fulfill reproductive obligations as mutually agreed upon, Party A will be financially responsible for all IVF-related costs including but not limited to medical procedures, facility fees, and potential damages not to exceed $5,000,000."

I never agreed to be a surrogate.

But if I'd signed this document, and they have medical records claiming I consented to Claire's eggs...

They've built a legal trap. If I try to leave, I'll owe them millions I don't have. My trust fund is controlled by Grandfather, and he's disowned me.

I'm stuck, and I can't even snap this as evidence or email it to someone. Derek has my phone.

Finally, hope shined on me.

“My mom just got back,” Derek said. “You two have always been best buds.”

That was true. She'd always been kind to me, sympathetic about my struggles with Derek's other family members accepting me. And most importantly, she despised Claire.

Patricia would see through this and help me.

The next day, Patricia arrived. She hugged me carefully, mindful of my belly.

"Vivian, sweetheart. Derek told me about the amnesia. How are you feeling?"

"Confused," I admitted. "Can we talk privately? Scared new mother to experienced mother?”

Derek and Claire exchanged glances.

"Aww, my scared little daughter," Patricia gave me another hug. "Let's go to the garden."

We sat on the bench Derek had bought me for our first anniversary.

I took a deep breath. "Patricia, I need to tell you something. I've been lying."

"Lying?"

"About the amnesia. I remember everything." The words tumbled out in a rush. "Derek and Claire have been having an affair. They switched the eggs and they're planning to take my babies. I've been recording their secret conversations and I have evidence. I just need help getting out, getting to a lawyer, stopping them before-" my voice broke and tears began falling as I fell my head.

"You stupid girl," she said quietly, patting my back.

My heart stopped. My head snapped up and Patricia's face had changed. Gone was the warmth, the sympathy. What remained was something dangerous.

"Do you think any of this would be possible without me?"

“What?”

"Did you really think my son came up with something this sophisticated on his own? I orchestrated everything. The surrogate plan was my idea." Her voice dropped with contempt now.

I couldn't breathe. It was too much to take in.

"But... you always adored me."

"I was acting. Just like you've been acting." Patricia's smile was cruel. "The difference is, I'm better at it."

"Why?"

"Because everything about you irritated me. Your kindness felt like mockery. Your wealth felt like condescension. The way you 'helped' Derek's family, like we were your charity project. The way you made it so obvious you were the rich heiress marrying down." She stood. "You deserved this. You deserved to be used the way you used us."

"I never used-"

"You used Derek as a rebellion against your grandfather. You used your wealth to make yourself feel superior. You used your position to make us feel small. Now we're using you to get what we deserve."

Patricia pulled out her phone. "Derek? Claire? Come to the garden. Vivian has something to tell you."

No. No no no.

"Please," I whispered. "Please don't-"

"Oh, and Vivian?" Patricia smiled. "I'll take that recording device now.”