Caspian faked amnesia just to break up with me. “Who are you?” he asked. I paused for a breath, then smiled. “I’m your brother’s fiancée.” Caspian froze. Later that night, Pierce, his older brother—the one who had been urging us to split—sent me a frantic series of texts: [YOU EVIL BITCH! When did you and I get together?] [Caspian is standing outside my apartment with a goddamn machete!] 1 When I arrived at the hospital, Caspian “Cas” Miller was lying in bed, a perfectly respectable, if slightly dramatic, gauze bandage wrapped around his head. He looked up at me with a confused, lost expression and asked: “Who are you?” I let the question hang for a moment, then laughed softly. I reached up and subtly pulled the collar of my silk blouse lower, exposing a faint, reddish mark on my neck. “I’m your brother’s fiancée.” The door was closed. Pierce, Cas’s elder brother, was standing just outside, waiting for me to deliver the final, clean breakup speech. I’d been with Pierce when the news of Cas’s minor car accident and subsequent hospitalization came in. Pierce had leaned back in his leather chair, a cynical smile playing on his lips, and flashed a certified check for five million dollars at me. “Sasha,” he’d said, his voice smooth and cold. “The future with Caspian is unpredictable. Yours, however, can clear a path to the top right now.” Cas and I had been together for two years, and in all that time, he’d been stubbornly silent about the Miller family's staggering wealth. It wasn't until I picked up a shift at a high-end resort that I ran into him. He was out with friends, checking out of a presidential suite that cost more than my annual rent. I stood silently at the reception desk, watching him. I wasn’t bitter. I wasn't even tired. Cas looked up, and we locked eyes. He flushed bright red, mortified. “I… I didn’t tell you before because I was afraid you’d feel too much pressure being with me.” I stared at him, pointing a disbelieving finger at myself. Me? Did I look like someone with that much pride? Kid, if you’d mentioned the generational wealth sooner, you wouldn't have had to chase me for over a year. Our relationship had been a private affair. But after that run-in with his friends, the news inevitably reached the ears of the Miller patriarch—his older brother, Pierce Miller. I met Pierce shortly after. The brothers shared seven-tenths of a face, but Pierce’s expression, when he looked down at me, carried a stifling, heavy aura that made me instinctively tremble. Pierce wanted me to break up with Cas. The previous night, he’d sent me a recording. In the video, he and Cas sat across from each other. Next to the visibly raw and youthful Cas, Pierce looked impossibly polished and mature. Pierce’s voice, slow and deliberate, sounded like a hammer tapping on a delicate glass heart. “You met Sasha in college, right? You chased her for ages. She was always volatile, a real piece of work. But the moment she found out who you were, she suddenly became sweetness and light.” His implication was crystal clear: I was a gold-digger, a phony, someone who groveled for cash. “She’s not like that!” Cas shot back immediately. His voice was unsteady, lacking any conviction. He was only desperate to defend me, but his words were hollow; he didn’t even believe them himself. Compared to an old fox like Pierce, Cas was a lightweight. Pierce simply smiled, seeing his trap set. “Is that so? Then let’s run a small test. You fake a car accident, pretend you have amnesia. You treat her like a stranger, cold and indifferent. Then we’ll see what her true reaction is.” The video ended there. This scene in the hospital confirmed everything. Cas had chosen to play along. 2 The expression on Cas’s face cycled through disbelief, horror, and confusion, like a computer trying to process an overload error. “Want an apple? Your fiancée will peel one for you.” Five million dollars was certainly tempting. But being used as a pawn in their sibling drama? That was a bridge too far. Hearing the word “fiancée” drove Cas’s face green with rage. He opened his mouth, ready to demand answers, but stopped himself at the last second. He still had to maintain the amnesia act. Breaking character now would be shooting himself in the foot. He tried to look composed, yet his eyes betrayed him, welling up with tears. His voice was thick with suppressed emotion. “My… my brother is single, I think.” I waved a dismissive hand. “You’ve lost your memory, sweetheart. It’s normal not to recall your brother’s relationship status.” Cas pressed his fingers hard against his temples, anxiously saying, “I think I’m starting to remember something.” I pulled his official, printed medical chart from the bedside table and forced him to look at the paperwork. “The doctor said there's no risk of memory recovery, Cas. Just focus on healing.” Cas gripped the paper, the veins on the back of his hand bulging. I placed the perfectly peeled apple on his tray. As I prepared to leave, I ruffled his hair affectionately. “If a memory can be forgotten, it probably wasn’t all that important to begin with. Time to move on.” “I’m going out now—with your brother. We have dinner reservations. No, wait, scratch that. We’re going to a romantic, intimate restaurant. You rest up. We’ll drop by when we’re done.” I gave him a cheerful wave and walked out. The moment the door clicked shut, the hospital room erupted in a sound like a boiling kettle coming to a tragic shriek. Pierce, standing outside, was oblivious to the conversation. He turned to me, his eyes softening slightly, a look of quiet satisfaction for my perceived compliance. On the way to the hospital, Pierce had been relentless in guiding me. “The fact that Caspian agreed to this charade proves he already doesn’t trust you. A crack in a relationship doesn't mend; it only widens. Trying to win him back is pointless.” “Better to take the five million now and disappear gracefully than to have a messy, hysterical breakup later.” Pierce always knew exactly where to twist the knife. I handed him my debit card. “I don’t want to mess with a physical check. Have your people wire the money to this card.” Pierce nodded, handing the check and my card to his assistant to process. By the time I stepped out of the room, the assistant was done. A deposit alert had popped up on my phone a few minutes prior. As Pierce handed my card back to me, he was completely unaware of the furious face pressed against the small glass panel on the door behind him. Cas, staring through the glass, fixed his gaze on the card in Pierce’s hand. From his angle, he couldn’t see the design. Given my earlier words, he immediately assumed it was a hotel room key card. Cas’s face was dark, his forehead throbbing with visible veins. I took the card from Pierce, allowing my fingers to linger seductively over his hand. “Thank you,” I purred. I slipped the card into my bag and turned to leave. Pierce looked down at the spot where I had touched him, his fingers unconsciously flexing once. The moment I rounded the corner, Cas exploded out of the room. The supposedly gravely injured man attacked Pierce like a rabid dog, tackling him and beating him on the floor. “Pierce Miller, you sick bastard! You stole my fiancée!” Pierce: “Wait, what?” 3 The hospital corridor descended into chaos. Pierce was knocked out cold with a single, furious punch. Cas sat nearby, sobbing uncontrollably. I watched the dramatic scene unfold from a sheltered alcove for a long time before reluctantly walking away. I spent the rest of the day on a five-million-dollar shopping spree, returning home only after dark. As I stepped out of the elevator, I saw Pierce standing at my door like a vengeful ghost. He was covered in bruises and resentment. Gone was the cool, self-possessed corporate shark. “Sasha Holloway! You need to go back and explain things to Cas right now!” I opened the door to my apartment and innocently asked, “Explain what?” Pierce's brows furrowed. His expression was pure disgust. “You know damn well! Stop playing dumb with me! Caspian thinks I stole you! He thinks I made him fake amnesia so you could ditch him and walk into my life! He’s armed and blocking my driveway like a maniac!” I hummed a tune and ignored his tirade. I dumped my afternoon purchases onto the bed, covering the duvet with piles of expensive, barely-there clothes. I held up a sheer, white lace negligee against myself for inspection. “Would this look good on me?” I asked Pierce. His face turned an even deeper shade of green. He turned away, refusing to look at me, his teeth practically grinding. “Only a blind idiot like Caspian would find you attractive. I’d rather be celibate for the rest of my life than be with a toxic, malicious woman like you.” The moment the words left his mouth, a knock sounded at the door. “Sasha, are you home?” It was Cas. Pierce’s composure shattered. He stared at the door, panicked, and made to rush toward me. “Don’t open it!” he hissed. Cas already thought we were having an affair. If he found Pierce in my apartment late at night, especially after all the hospital drama, no explanation would save him. I rolled my eyes. “He called out my name, which means he knows I’m in here. If I don’t open the door, it’ll look even worse.” I grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the bedroom closet. “Why don’t you hide in here for a while?” Pierce looked utterly defeated. But after a moment of desperate thought, he realized he had no choice. He took a deep, resigning breath and reluctantly squeezed himself into the walk-in closet. I turned and opened the door for Cas. Cas, tall and large, stood slumped outside. His head was down, and the corners of his eyes were still slightly red. I reached out and lightly stroked his cheek. “What’s this? Were you crying?” The tears Cas had been fighting finally broke through. Hot, wet tears soaked into my hand. His sense of injury and injustice was like a floodgate opening. He was the one who agreed to fake the amnesia. He was the one who pretended not to know me this morning. Now, no matter how much injustice he felt, he had to swallow it. “My brother… he won’t let me back in the house. He kicked me out. I have nowhere to go.” Pierce, crammed in the closet after being hunted all afternoon, likely had a stroke. Cas grabbed my hand and buried his face in my palm, rubbing against me like a lost puppy. “Fiancée, can you let me crash here for the night? The sofa is fine. I promise I won’t be any trouble.” I nodded sympathetically. “Of course, sweetheart.” Pierce: “?!” Cas stepped inside, swapping his shoes, and immediately his eyes fell on the array of expensive, revealing lingerie scattered on the bed. His expression twisted into something momentarily feral. I followed his gaze, then offered a shy, suggestive smile. “Your brother bought them. Said he wanted to ‘celebrate’ tonight…” I stopped my sentence abruptly, as if realizing I’d said too much. I lowered my voice to a suggestive whisper. “Your brother is always buying these useless, racy things. He never listens.” Inside the closet, Pierce was silently staring at the ceiling, likely attempting to hang himself with a coat hanger. I quickly scooped up the pile of clothes, opened the closet door, and tossed them inside. The sheer white negligee landed squarely on Pierce’s face. Pierce was already mentally dead the moment I opened the door. He pressed his palms together, a picture of helpless, silent begging. Cas stood right by the closet door, separated from Pierce by a thin sheet of wood, and spoke to me. “Will my brother be coming back tonight?” I shook my head. “I have no idea. Why don’t you call him and ask?” Pierce’s eyes widened in terror. Cas took out his phone and dialed Pierce’s number. The next second, Pierce’s ringtone—a custom, jarring corporate chime—blared inside the closet. Cas’s eyes narrowed dangerously, fixed on the wardrobe. “Fiancée, I think my brother’s phone is ringing.”
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