Seeing Andrew and Ivy in each other's arms, I felt pain shot through me, rib by rib, until it bit down on my heart. I swayed, on the verge of passing out. Little by little, the pain leveled into a quiet numbness.

I gave up on Andrew for good. I turned away in disappointment, and even though I kept my shoulders squared, I knew I had already lost.

…

By evening, I had pulled myself together and gone home, only to find Ivy curled up in my bed. I stopped cold when I realized she was wearing my red dress.

She tilted a knowing smile and said, "Oh, please. Know your place. Clinging to Andrew won't get you anywhere. Be sensible. Walk away and keep what dignity you have left."

Then she wrinkled her nose at me. "You're insufferable. You even copied my style."

My face slackened for a beat. After a moment of silence, I blinked, and my vision cleared. Whatever confusion I had had was gone.

With Andrew bringing Ivy into our home, there was no point in keeping up the act.

I tore the love-token necklace from my neck, slipped off the heirloom bracelet and my wedding ring, and set them on the table. With that, I turned and left without a backward glance.

I had planned to pack a few more things, but there was no need anymore. Everything here carried Andrew's presence, and taking any of these things with me would only make my skin crawl whenever I saw them.

I called my best friend, Olivia Brewer, and said firmly, "Book me a flight."

After a beat, something in me loosened, and I added, "Starting today, I'm no longer Mrs. Connolly. I'm just me."

…

I stayed in a hotel for over a week, waiting out the divorce. I knew Andrew had received the divorce papers and had torn them up angrily.

He probably told himself I was only acting out, so he refused to divorce me. He knew I wasn't at home, but still didn't bother to look for me.

I knew he had been spending his days with Ivy and had no intention of dealing with me. Either way, I was past caring.

I didn't flare up even when the gossip sites reported that he and Ivy were joined at the hip, and the comments called them a perfect match. I stayed calm.

Andrew was extremely sharp. He neither confirmed nor denied anything, even with people everywhere speculating about them. With nothing to latch onto, the talk would blow over, and everything would settle again.

I sorted out my assets and cashed them out. I was getting ready to move abroad.

The day before I was set to leave, I spotted Ivy lurking at the hotel entrance and couldn't tell what she was up to. Curiosity got the better of me, so I followed her.

She led me to an abandoned warehouse, where she stopped, turned, and smiled at me. "You tailed me all the way. Here's your big surprise!"

A prickle of alarm ran through me, and I turned to go. An instant later, something thudded hard against the wall behind me.

I whipped around to find Ivy sprawled where she had fallen, blood running down her forehead. The sight sent a chill down my spine.

As confusion needled at me, footsteps pounded up behind. Andrew swept in with his bodyguards in tow, all of them wound tight.

I started to speak when he reached me and slapped me. The blow rang in my skull.

I caught myself against the wall and steadied, just in time to see him lunge for Ivy and scoop her into his arms, his face drawn tight with pain.

"Babe, are you okay?"

Ivy nodded weakly against his chest.

Andrew let out a breath, guilt thick in it. "It's my fault. I should've protected you. I let that bitch abduct you."

His voice settled into a vow. "Don't worry. You won't get hurt again. I'll protect you."

When he was done, he faced me, cold as stone. His eyes widened as if he were searching for recognition but finding none.

"How dare you abduct her? Take her and beat her senseless!"

At Andrew's order, the bodyguards advanced toward me. He didn't recognize me, and neither did anyone around him.

We had lived almost like a secret marriage for years, and he never once named me in public, so almost no one knew what I looked like. Naturally, the bodyguards took me for the villain.

Fists and boots rained down, each blow driving a white-hot blade of pain through my body. The agony swallowed everything else, and a bloodcurdling scream tore out of me, my voice ringing through the empty warehouse.

Even so, not one person spared me a shred of mercy. Blow after blow, I became nothing but a mangled, blood-smeared heap, until the agony burned itself down to numbness.

I had no idea how long it went on. The bodyguards didn't stop until I was barely breathing.

In that moment, Andrew stared at me like I was his mortal enemy, as if I had committed the unforgivable. He raised his boot and ground its heavy leather sole across my face.

He warned me, his voice as cold as steel. "This is what happens when you hurt Ivy. Don't you ever forget!"

Weak and helpless, I choked out, "Andrew, do you know who I am?"

Even if he couldn't place my face, he should've known my voice. But I was wrong. He hadn't even flinched at my screams a moment ago. He wasn't going to respond to my voice now.

Sure enough, his hard, indifferent reply ground the last of my hope to dust. "Your voice is familiar. Even so, that changes nothing. If you hurt anyone who belongs to me, that makes you my enemy!"

Andrew faced the bodyguards. "Toss her into the sea and let fate decide if she lives or dies."

Two bodyguards dragged me away and hurled me into the sea, leaving the waves to carry me off.

When the water closed over my head, I felt no fear of dying. I felt free. That was when I remembered this life had once been Andrew's gift.

When I was 15, I ran away after a fight with Mom and Dad and wandered the streets alone. I wasn't watching as I stepped off the curb, and a car was coming my way.

Andrew, who had been 16 back then, lunged, shoved me aside, and took the hit himself. The car sent him flying. Terrified, I begged passersby for help, but no one dared lay a hand on him, who was drenched in blood.

So, I hauled him onto my back and staggered to the hospital. He was so heavy, causing me to fall more than once, but I never let him go.

He told me, saying, "You have a good heart. I'll repay you when I grow up. I'll marry you."

Teenage me fell hard for that kind, brave boy, so I said, "I'm going to marry you when I grow up."

By some miracle, Andrew survived the crash. I clung to our promise and made it my reason to breathe.

When I was grown and stood before him again, swallowing my pride to beg for his love, he had already forgotten that vow and dismissed me as a clingy, shameless woman.

I was dying, and Andrew was the reason why. So be it. He sent me to my death with his own hands and cut every debt between us. Whether in heaven or in hell, we would never meet again.

…

Andrew hadn't seen me for a month. Assuming I was still upset about his prosopagnosia, he went to a psychologist.

After hearing him out and learning that the condition dated back to the crash, the psychologist started hypnotherapy.

During the session, the psychologist had him describe the girl's face, guiding him step by step until he relived every detail of the crash.

Andrew figured it would be easy. He was sure the image would be Ivy. But when he looked at the sketch the psychologist drew from his description, he froze.

"How could it be her?"

The psychologist glanced at the sketch and said with quiet certainty, "I drew exactly what you described."

On the page, a slightly chubby girl in a red dress stared back. The fabric was stained, but her big, bright eyes seemed to bring her whole face to life.

Andrew gripped the page so hard it crinkled, disbelief written across his face. "Are you sure you didn't get it wrong?"

Stung by the doubt, the psychologist rose and delivered a firm rebuke. "How dare you question my clinical judgment! If you don't believe me, see someone else."

Watching the psychologist storm out, the light in Andrew's eyes died. The sketch wasn't Ivy. She looked painfully familiar, but he couldn't place where he'd seen her.

Back home, despite himself, he asked the butler, Gary Doyle, if he had ever seen the girl in the drawing.

Gary took one look and was startled. "Mr. Connolly, that's Mrs. Connolly. Don't you recognize her?"