This was unreal.

I remembered graduating Columbia like it was yesterday. Now suddenly—five years gone, married, and already getting dumped?

If this wasn't some cruel prank, then I was stuck in the worst nightmare ever.

"Wait, Aiden—"

I started to explain, but his phone buzzed. He checked the screen, frown deepening.

"Oliver's nanny," he muttered, then answered. "Martha? What? He's refusing to eat again?...Alright, bring him up."

He hung up, rubbing his temples. "Our son hasn't been eating right since you moved out."

Our son?

Before I could even process, the door opened. A middle-aged woman walked in with a little blond boy, maybe four or five, dressed in a crisp school uniform, eyes down.

"Oliver wouldn't eat downstairs," Martha said. "Insisted on seeing his dad."

The kid's face lit up the second he spotted Aiden. Then he noticed me—instantly ducked behind Martha, hiding.

My chest squeezed. This gorgeous little boy—my son? But the way he looked at me, I was basically a stranger.

"Hey," I tried, voice all shaky. "You hungry? Wanna eat with Mommy?"

Oliver blinked up, blue eyes confused. "Why are you being weird? You never eat with me."

Ouch. That stung.

Aiden scoffed. "Please. Last month you promised you'd hit Oliver's piano recital. Instead? You were posting Hamptons pics with your so-called artist buddy."

Hamptons? Artist? Instagram?

His phone buzzed again. He glanced at the screen, jaw tightening.

"Perfect timing," he muttered, hitting speaker. "Go ahead."

"Mr. Harrison, this is the manager at Luminé," a man said. "Your wife's tab from last month is still unpaid. The total's $23,000. Also..."

"Also what?"

"We need to confirm if she wants us to return the coat she left in the VIP lounge."

My face went hot. What coat? VIP lounge?

Aiden ended the call, then shoved his phone in my face, photos pulled up. "Want me to narrate the footage too?

"You passed out in the lobby at 3 a.m., drunk. Staff had to dump you on a couch. Meanwhile, Oliver was at home with a fever, crying for his mom."

"I didn't..." My voice cracked as Oliver's eyes shimmered with hurt. "Sweetheart, I swear, I don't remember..."

"Enough." Aiden yanked an envelope from his drawer and dropped it in front of me. "Divorce agreement. Your lawyer's signed off. I get full custody. You get visitation—like you'll actually bother."

He dropped the envelope on the table and scooped Oliver into his arms.

"Come on, buddy. Burgers."

"Is Mommy coming?" Oliver's voice soft.

"Mommy's busy," Aiden said, not even glancing at me, dripping sarcasm. "Always busy. Entertaining clients. Business dinners."

They headed for the door. I just stood there, frozen, watching the man and kid who were supposed to be mine—realizing I didn't even know their favorite food.

"Wait!" My voice cracked. "I'm not lying. I lost my memory. The last thing I remember is graduation night, 2017. Please... just believe me."

Aiden stopped at the door, eyes flicking back, face unreadable. "You know what's funny, Sophia? If you'd said that five years ago, I would've believed you."

The door shut.

Silence.

The divorce papers stared back at me from the table. My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the couch, hands shaking as I picked them up. The words blurred, cutting like knives. I let them slip from my fingers and buried my face in my palms, shoulders trembling.

What the hell had I missed?

I spent the whole day trying to stitch my memory back together—like a puzzle missing half the pieces.

One thing was clear: I was still Sophia. Aiden Harrison was still Aiden Harrison. We were married—the photo over the fireplace proved it. We had Oliver.

But the divorce papers on the coffee table screamed otherwise. Something had gone seriously wrong.

The question that wouldn't leave me alone: Did I actually cheat?

No way. Why would I throw away Aiden—still stupidly handsome, killing it at his firm, a dad who clearly adored Oliver—for anyone else?

And who the hell was this so-called artist buddy?

I paced the living room, frustrated at the gaping hole in my memory. This fancy Upper East Side apartment felt more like a museum of someone else's life—familiar, but off.

"Mommy?"

Oliver stood in the doorway, clutching his teddy.

"Daddy said your hand needs disinfecting." He walked in carefully, holding out a bottle of rubbing alcohol. "He told me to bring this to you."

I reached for it. "My hand hurts a little. Can you help me?"

He paused, then nodded, setting the bottle on the coffee table.

I scooped him up with my good hand and pulled him onto my lap. My nose, Aiden's blue eyes, his blond hair—he really was mine.

I kissed his cheek. He smelled like baby shampoo, and my heart just melted.

His face flushed. He stiffened, then suddenly hugged my neck.

"Mommy," he whispered, "you're being really nice today."

The words crushed me. What kind of mom had I been?

I was still holding him when footsteps echoed down the hall.

Aiden showed up in the doorway, fresh from the shower in a charcoal lounge set. Damp hair in his eyes, water sliding down his neck—yeah, I swallowed hard. He looked unfairly good.

Each step he took sent my heart racing, but then his voice iced everything over.

"Sophia, kinda late to start playing mom now, isn't it?"

"Daddy!" Oliver shot off my lap and into his arms.

Aiden scooped him up with ease, but his cold eyes stayed on me.

"I'm not pretending. I just—"

One look from him shut me up. Didn't matter what I said.

"Forget it." I stood. "I'll crash in the guest room."

As I walked away, Oliver peeked back at me from Aiden's shoulder. The way he clung to his dad cut deep.

So what if I had a husband and a kid? My husband wanted out, and my son only wanted him.

I stopped by the window, staring at the Manhattan skyline. The city still glittered like nothing had changed.

Except me.

The master bedroom held nothing but a king bed.

Minimalist, yeah, but it felt more like a hotel room—cold, empty. The only thing alive in there was a vase of white roses on the nightstand. Weird thing? I had this gut feeling they used to be my favorite.

In the bathroom, the sink was stripped bare. No cleanser, no makeup wipes, not even a towel.

It was like no woman lived here at all.

So I went looking for Aiden.

I knocked on the study door.

"Come in."

Aiden sat behind his desk, computer glow bouncing off his blue-light glasses. Even at this hour, he was still in a suit—tie just barely undone.

"My stuff?" I asked. "Bathroom's empty."

He looked up, face blank. "What stuff?"

"Toiletries. Skincare."

The silence stretched until he pushed back his chair, the scrape loud. At six-two, he filled the whole room.

"How long are you gonna play this amnesia game?" Calm voice, sharp edge.

I didn't answer. Explaining was pointless.

He headed for the door. "Follow me."

I trailed him, careful to keep space between us. He stopped at the guest bath, opened a hidden cabinet.

"You left it here."

The doors swung open and my face went hot.

Past a couple bottles of skincare, the rest was... humiliating. Vibrators in every shade, whips, cuffs, lube, and a stack of graphic books—Conquest of Desire, The Ultimate Guide to Pleasure, 365 Sex Positions, The Hidden Arts of Intimacy.

In the corner, a black leather nurse outfit dangled with a card: [Surprise Night.]

"Th-These..." My voice shook.

"You bought them." He leaned on the frame, face unreadable. "Said you wanted to 'try something different.'"

My hands shook as I picked up a bottle of strawberry lube. The label read: [His favorite?]

My brain short-circuited. I glanced at him and blurted, "So... are we using it tonight?"

Instant regret. The room froze. His pupils tightened, the ice mask cracking, breath rougher.

He moved fast, pinning me to the wall.

"What did you just say?" Low. Dangerous.

"No, that's not what I meant—"

"Don't start." He pressed in, boxing me against the cabinet. "You really think this junk's gonna change my mind?"

His face hovered inches from mine, anger radiating off him.

"These pathetic tricks"—his hands caged me in, breath searing—"only make me sick."

Yet for a split second, I saw it. Want.

Then he spun away, door slamming so hard the frame rattled.

I slid down the wall, eyes locked on the cabinet.

What kind of person had I turned into? Why would I ever buy that stuff?

And if I'd actually cheated... why gamble everything?