### Natalie’s POV

The doctor’s words hung in the sterile, air-conditioned room like a heavy, suffocating smog.

*"...your girlfriend."*

The silence that followed was agonizing. The sharp, rhythmic *beep... beep... beep* of the heart monitor felt like a countdown to my own execution. My blood ran cold, pulling away from my extremities until my fingertips tingled with numbness. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. Every nerve in my body was screaming at me to run, to fall to my knees and confess, to scream the ugly, agonizing truth into the pristine walls of this hospital room.

I looked at Gavin.

His striking dark eyes, previously filled with confusion, flicked from the doctor’s smiling face over to me. His brows pulled together, searching my face with a desperate, vulnerable intensity. He didn't remember. He truly didn't remember a single thing.

"Is... is that right, ma'am?" the doctor prompted warmly, turning back to face me. "You *are* his girlfriend, correct?"

A lump the size of a fist formed in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, my lungs burning for oxygen. This was a nightmare. I had crossed a line, and now the web of deceit was wrapping tightly around my neck, threatening to strangle me.

"Yes..." my voice was barely a squeak, trembling so hard it hardly sounded like my own. Tears flooded my eyes once more, spilling over my lashes and trailing down my pale cheeks. The sheer weight of my guilt was crushing my chest. I took a step closer to the side of his bed, unable to look him directly in the eye.

"I'm sorry..." I whispered, my voice breaking completely into a pathetic, sob-laced murmur. I dropped my head, my shoulders shaking violently. "I'm sorry... I am so, *so* sorry for everything..."

I wasn't just apologizing for the lie. I was apologizing for the shattered metal, the screeching tires, the sickening *thud* of his body hitting the hood of my car, and the crimson blood that had stained the cold street. I was apologizing for stealing his memory, for standing over his broken body like a fake savior when I was truly the villain who had brought him low.

I waited for the blow. I waited for him to sense the falsehood in my words, to push me away, or to remember the headlights rushing toward him.

Instead, a gentle warmth wrapped around my cold, trembling wrist.

I gasped softly and looked up. Gavin had reached out, his long, sculpted fingers lightly encircling my wrist. Despite the deep physical trauma his body had just endured, his grip was tender, astonishingly reassuring.

"There's no need to be sorry..." Gavin said softly.

His voice was a low, velvet rasp—a deep, melodious tone that sent a strange, electric shiver straight down my spine. Even with dark bruises smudging the skin beneath his eyes and a thick white bandage wrapped around his brow, his voice held an irresistible, commanding grace.

*He actually has such a beautiful voice,* a quiet, foolish voice whispered inside my head. It was a fleeting, selfish thought that immediately made me feel even more dirty with guilt.

"There is really nothing for you to be sorry about," Gavin continued, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my knees feel like water. "You were the one who saved me, weren't you? You brought me here. You stayed."

"I..." I swallowed hard, the lies sticking like needles in my throat. "It was... it was nothing, Gavin. Truly."

"It isn't nothing to me," he murmured, his thumb gently brushing against the pulse point on my wrist. I could feel my heart hammering frantically right beneath his skin. He looked so fragile, so utterly reliant on the single anchor he thought he had in this terrifying, memoryless void. "Please... just promise me one thing."

"Anything," the word slipped out of my mouth before my brain could stop it.

"Please... always stay by my side," Gavin whispered, his eyes searching mine with a raw, desperate vulnerability that shattered whatever remained of my composure. "Don't leave me alone in this."

The room seemed to shrink until there was only him and me. My conscience raged against my chest, screaming at me that I was trapping him in a delusion, that I was taking advantage of his head injury. But as I looked down at his pained, hopeful face, I realized I was already too deep in the quicksand. If I pulled away now, if I told him the truth while he was in this delicate state, the shock could ruin his recovery. Or worse... he would hate me forever.

"I... I will," I promised softly, my voice barely audible above the quiet hum of the room. "I won't leave you."

A faint, relieved smile touched the corners of his lips, relaxing the harsh lines of pain on his face.

The doctor cleared her throat with a soft, satisfied smile, breaking the heavy atmosphere. "Well, now that the patient is awake and stable, I will leave you two to rest. Nurse, let's prepare the updated chart."

With a polite nod, the medical staff turned and slipped out of the room, shutting the heavy wooden door behind them. The quiet settled over us like a thick blanket.

Suddenly, before I could gather my scattered thoughts, the door burst open with a loud, dramatic clatter.

"Gavin! My baby!"

A stunning, middle-aged woman swept into the room like a sudden storm. She was dressed impeccably in an elegant, tailored designer suit, her hair styled to perfection, radiating an aura of immense wealth, authority, and high society. Yet, beneath her regal exterior, her face was twisted with pure maternal agony.

She glided past me as if I were invisible, dropping her expensive leather handbag onto the floor and rushing straight to the side of the hospital bed.

"Oh, my sweet boy! What happened to you?!" she cried out, her manicured hands hovering frantically over his bruised face, touching his shoulders, checking his arms, tears instantly filling her sharply lined eyes. "When the security detail called and said you were in surgery, I thought my heart was going to stop! Who did this to you?!"

Gavin winced slightly at the sudden explosion of energy, but his expression softened with familiar affection.

"Mom... please, calm down," Gavin replied softly, his raspy voice trying to soothe her. "I'm okay now. The doctors fixed me up. I'm going to be fine."

"Fine?! You look like you barely survived a war!" his mother gasped, pressing a trembling hand to her chest as she tried to catch her breath. She turned to inspect the monitors, her eyes darting across every piece of medical equipment in the room. "I am going to hire the best specialists in the country! I am going to tear this city apart until I find the heartless monster who ran you over!"

I flinched violently at her words, stepping back into the shadows near the corner of the room. My skin burned hot, cold sweat pooling at the nape of my neck. *She's going to find out. A woman like her... she will destroy me.*

"Mom, stop worrying," Gavin said gently, leaning back against his pillows. A subtle, mischievous glint entered his dark eyes as he gestured toward where I was standing in the shadows. "Besides... if you're worrying about who is going to take care of me, you don't need to hire anyone."

His mother paused, frowning slightly. "What do you mean, son?"

"Your future daughter-in-law is already here," Gavin said smoothly, his eyes sliding over to me, holding my gaze captive. "She's going to be taking care of me."

"My... what?"

His mother slowly turned her head. For the very first time since she had stormed into the room, her sharp, piercing eyes landed directly on me. She scanned me from head to toe—taking in my messy hair, my plain, rumpled clothes, my tear-stained face, and the subtle, lingering scent of hospital disinfectant clinging to my clothes.

The atmosphere in the room turned ice-cold.

"Who... is *she*?" his mother asked, her tone instantly shifting from frantic grief to sharp, aristocratic suspicion. She stepped away from Gavin's bed, walking toward me with slow, deliberate, terrifying grace. "Gavin... who is this girl?"

## Chapter 3: Web of Lies

### Natalie’s POV

"Who is this girl?" she asked, stepping slowly toward me. Each click of her designer heels on the cold tile sounded like a judge hammering a gavel.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a caged bird. *God, I thought this would be simple.* I thought keeping up a little lie to save myself from ruin would be easy—a temporary fix until he remembered. I didn't realize how suffocating, how utterly agonizing it would be to pretend to be in love with a man who had no idea who I really was.

"She’s my fiancée, Mom," Gavin answered smoothly, his deep, gravelly voice cutting through the tension.

His mother stopped in her tracks, her sharp eyes widening before softening with a mixture of disbelief and sudden warmth. She scanned my plain clothes, my trembling hands, and my tear-stained face. "So... *you're* the one he’s been keeping hidden? The reason he hasn't brought anyone home to meet me?"

"N-No, ma'am... it's not like that," I stammered, shrinking under her intense gaze.

"And yet, here you are, staying by his side, taking care of him when he needs it most," she noted, taking my hands into her manicured ones. The gentle warmth of her palms felt like a burning iron against my guilty skin. "You don't have to call me 'ma'am,' my dear. You can call me Mom."

"O-Okay... Mom," I whispered, the word tasting like ash in my mouth.

"I'm going to find his doctor and make sure he gets the best post-op care possible," she said, squeezing my hands before walking toward the door. "I have a flight back home tonight, so I'm trusting you to look after my boy."

The heavy door clicked shut behind her, leaving us in a heavy, suffocating silence.

Gavin turned his head on the pillow, his dark, piercing eyes locking onto mine. A tiny, amused smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Why are you so nervous? You look utterly terrified."

"I-I am not nervous. Or shy... sir," I choked out, taking a step backward.

His eyebrows pulled together, a flicker of confusion crossing his sculpted face. "Why are you calling me 'sir'?"

"It's... nothing," I blurted out quickly, crossing my arms to hide my trembling hands. "I'm just tired. I'm not nervous at all."

He let out a low, amused chuckle. "If you say so."

"I... I need to excuse myself for a moment," I squeaked, practically bolting out of the room before he could press any further.

The moment I stepped out into the crisp evening air, I practically threw myself into the driver's seat of my car. I gasped for air, clutching my steering wheel as a tidal wave of sweet relief and dark thrill washed over me. I couldn't believe it. Against all odds, against every rational thought in my head... *I was his girlfriend.*

A wicked, desperate hope flared up in my chest. I liked him so much. I had pined for him from afar for so long, and now fate had dropped him right into my hands. He was so impossibly handsome, carrying his mother's regal grace and breathtaking features. I caught myself smiling like a fool—I would do *anything* to keep him from remembering. Anything to stay in this dream.

Determined to clear my head, I drove straight over to my childhood best friends' house. Golden and Silver were brother and sister, the only two people in the world who truly knew me.

"You did *what?!*" Silver shrieked, bouncing on the sofa the moment I finished laying out the entire chaotic story. "Natalie! This is your chance! God literally handed you your dream man on a silver platter!"

"Silver, stop it, she hit him with her car!" Golden snapped, standing near the window with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His storm-cloud eyes locked onto mine, filled with deep concern and something unreadable... something heavy. "Natalie, this is dangerous. You are building a house of cards on a foundation of lies. When he gets his memory back—"

"He *won't*," Silver interrupted sharply, throwing a pillow at her brother. "The doctor said it's temporary, but if Natalie plays her cards right, he'll fall in love with her for real! Don't listen to him, Nat. You shouldn't be afraid. Just keep acting like his loving fiancée."

I looked between the two of them—Silver’s ecstatic encouragement and Golden’s grim, quiet resentment. I could see the sharp disapproval burning in Golden’s eyes, but I pushed it to the back of my mind. I was already too deep in the fire.

"I have to go discharge him," I whispered, standing up. "Wish me luck."

"Don't do this, Nat," Golden said quietly as I reached the door, his voice laced with a subtle heartbreak.

I ignored him, waving a quick goodbye, and drove back to the hospital.

An hour later, the paperwork was signed. I packed Gavin’s designer clothes into a duffel bag while he called his private driver.

A sleek, midnight-black SUV pulled up to the hospital entrance. The driver stepped out, bowing respectfully as he held the rear door open. We slid into the plush leather seats, and the vehicle glided silently through the city streets toward his private estate.

When we pulled through the massive iron gates, my breath caught in my throat. Armed guards in sharp suits lined the sweeping driveway, instantly bowing their heads as the car rolled past. I caught a few of them shooting darting, curious glances at me through the tinted glass—*Who is this girl with the boss?*—but none of them dared to ask out loud.

The driver parked in front of a sprawling, architectural mansion. One of the guards swiftly opened the door, and I offered Gavin my arm, helping him brace his weight as we walked inside.

The grand foyer was jaw-dropping. Soaring ceilings, crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and art that belonged in a museum.

"Your house... it's so beautiful," I murmured under my breath, my eyes wide as I drank in the sheer luxury of his world.

Gavin stopped in his tracks. He turned his head slowly, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a sharp, unsettling focus.

"Have you... never been here before?" he asked softly.

## Chapter 4: The Fragile Castle

### Natalie’s POV

The cold marble under my boots suddenly felt like thin ice, ready to shatter beneath my feet and swallow me whole. The air in the cavernous, high-ceilinged foyer froze into a suffocating silence. Gavin’s dark, sharp eyes were locked onto mine, searching my face with a terrifying, analytical intensity.

*Think, Natalie. Think!*

My heart battered against my ribs so violently I was certain he could hear it. Sweat pricked at the back of my neck, but I forced my pale lips to curve upward, painting a gentle, bashful smile onto my face to cover the sheer panic clawing at my throat.

"I... of course I have been here before," I choked out, wrapping my arms tighter around myself as if to ward off the cold. I forced a quiet, breathy laugh. "I just... I just wanted to compliment your home again, Gavin. Every time I step inside, it takes my breath away. But tonight—especially tonight, seeing you here, safe—the inside just looks even more beautiful."

I held my breath, watching his expression intently. For a long, agonizing second, he didn't say a single word. He just stood there, his towering figure casting a long shadow over me, his sculpted face unreadable. Then, the tension in his broad shoulders eased slightly. He gave me a slow, quiet nod, accepting the lie without a fight.

"I see," he murmured, his voice a low, raspy velvet tone that sent a strange flutter through my chest.

He didn't need to speak another word. He turned and walked toward the primary living area, his movements still slightly guarded, bruised, and stiff from the surgical trauma he had endured only hours before. I hurried after him, hovering close enough to catch him if he stumbled, yet keeping just enough distance to hide the frantic shaking of my hands.

He lowered himself gracefully onto the massive, plush sofa in the center of the room. The moment he settled back, a team of impeccably dressed maids emerged silently from the shadowed hallways. They moved like clockwork, setting the grand mahogany dining table with heavy silverware, fine china, and steaming, aromatic dishes.

"Dinner is served, sir," the head housekeeper bowed deferentially, her voice soft and reverent.

Gavin stood up, offering me his arm. The gesture was so natural, so protective, that my throat tightened with a sudden wave of fresh, agonizing guilt. I placed my small, cold hand over his forearm, feeling the steady heat of his muscles beneath his designer shirt.

We walked to the dining room in silence. The meal was an exquisite blur—gourmet cuts of meat, rich sauces, crisp greens—yet to me, every single bite tasted like dry sand. My conscience was screaming at me. I was sitting at a table fit for royalty, eating food meant for a king's inner circle, all because I had lied to cover up the fact that I was the careless driver who had almost ended his life. I glanced at him over the rim of my crystal water glass. He looked so regal, so effortlessly captivating even in his wounded state. *God, I liked him so much.* But every kind gesture he offered me felt like a heated blade turning in my stomach.

After dinner, the quiet house seemed to settle into a soft, intimate calm. Gavin led me into the adjacent media lounge, where a massive screen bathed the room in soft, ambient light. He sat on the far end of the velvet couch, resting his head back against the leather cushions as he flicked through the television channels.

I sat down next to him, the soft cushions sinking under my weight. The proximity between us felt electric, charged with a heavy, magnetic pull that made my skin tingle. I looked at his sharp profile, the gentle curve of his jaw, the dark lashes framing his exhausted eyes. I couldn't hold it in anymore. The title his mother had used—the word *he* had used in front of her—was burning a hole through my mind.

"Babe?" I called out softly, my voice barely more than a whisper over the low rumble of the TV news broadcast.

"Yes, my love?" Gavin answered immediately, turning his head to face me.

The casual, effortless endearment—*my love*—struck me like a physical blow. It was so natural, so thick with unearned affection, that my heart skipped a frantic beat.

"Why... why did you tell your mother that I'm your fiancée?" I asked, pulling my knees up to my chest and looking at him through my eyelashes. "I'm just your girlfriend. You... you didn't have to tell her that."

Gavin didn't blink. He lowered the remote control onto the mahogany coffee table and turned his body toward me. A small, breathtakingly tender smile played at the edges of his lips, softening the harsh, intimidating lines of his face.

"I know," he replied softly, his voice dropping an octave, deep and resonant in the dim room. "But very soon, we're going to get married anyway, aren't we? So whether I call you my girlfriend or my fiancée right now... it's still the exact same thing."

My breath hitched in my throat. *Married.*

The word echoed in the vast expanse of my mind like a terrifying siren. He thought we had a future. He thought we had built a life together, a path leading toward a altar, when in reality, our entire history was constructed on a bloody asphalt street and a desperate, cowardly lie.

Before I could form another word, Gavin leaned forward. He reached out with effortless grace, his long, warm fingers casually sliding my phone out of my hands and setting it aside.

Then, he closed the distance between us.

The heat radiating from his body suddenly enveloped me. He leaned in close—so incredibly close that I could smell the faint, intoxicating mixture of his expensive sandalwood cologne and the sterile scent of hospital antiseptic. His dark eyes flicked down to my lips, heavy with a raw, undeniable longing. The world around us vanished. The TV hummed uselessly in the background, the grand mansion disappeared, and all that remained was the magnetic pull of his mouth hovering just millimeters away from mine. My heart hammered against my ribs like a wild beast, my lips parting in a desperate, breathy gasp as he closed his eyes and leaned in to kiss me—

*BANG!*

The heavy double doors of the lounge were thrown open with such violent force that they slammed hard against the wood-paneled walls, the sharp sound shattering the intimacy in the room like glass.

I flinched backward, my heart shooting right into my throat as Gavin instantly pulled back, his brow furrowing in deep annoyance as he turned his head toward the entrance.

Standing in the doorway was a woman.

She hadn't knocked. She hadn't asked permission. She stood there, panting lightly, draped in an immaculate designer trench coat with silk scarves, her high heels clicking loudly against the threshold. She was breathtakingly, devastatingly beautiful—flawless skin, sharp features, and eyes that held the terrifying authority of high society.

She took one look at the two of us sitting so close on the couch, her eyes narrowing as they landed squarely on me. Shock instantly curdled into pure, venomous rage on her face.

"Gavin?!" her voice pierced through the quiet room, sharp enough to cut metal.

She took three aggressive steps into the room, pointing a manicured, diamond-encrusted finger straight at my face. Her eyes burned with lethal contempt as she glared down at me, her voice dripping with pure disgust.

"Who on earth are you?!" she shrieked, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. "And what are you doing with my fiancé?!"