"The day the Blackwoods came, I discovered my husband of six years was actually the lost heir to a New York dynasty—an amnesiac prince. Upon reclaiming his throne, his first act was discarding me. Damian Blackwood stood on his marble steps, icy gaze dismissing me. His ""amnesia"" had returned, erasing all memory of me. Now engaged to Seraphina Winter—his social equal—he declared me a nobody. His mother, Eleanor, threw a $10M check at my feet, demanding I vanish. In my past life, I’d been a fool, clinging to hope he’d remember me—and our son. But I was just an obstacle. He locked me in an asylum, where Bruno, my own child, betrayed me. Reborn, I took the check. ""I’ll leave in three days,"" I told Eleanor. ""Just book my flight."" This time, I’d live for myself. 1 At my words, Eleanor’s lip curled in disgust. “You clung to him for a month after his memory lapsed. I almost thought you genuinely cared for him.” Her eyes narrowed. “Turns out it was all just an act. A grimy little gold-digger, through and through.” Everyone who knew us knew I loved Damian to the point of self-destruction. Even after he’d forgotten me, I’d stayed, clinging to the hope of a future. But in my last life, I learned the truth just before I died. Both times Damian lost his memory, it was a lie. The first time, he used me to survive. The second, he used it to discard me so he could be with his childhood sweetheart, Seraphina. When I became an inconvenience, he had me committed and killed. I offered no explanation. I just looked his mother in the eye. ""I'll be gone in three days. There's no need to tell Damian."" He had once told me I was a stain on his life. A stain that should be erased without a sound. Eleanor snorted, warning me to vanish on schedule. With the deal struck, I went to my room and opened my laptop, pulling up the application portal for UCL in London. I’d been accepted years ago but had to drop out. After finding Damian, I’d moved back to my small town and opened a diner to support him, our son, and our life together. He was the “amnesiac,” so the entire burden—financial and emotional—fell on my shoulders. I worked twenty-hour days, a ghost in my own life. When we were brought to the Blackwood mansion, he’d recoiled from the faint smell of cooking oil that clung to my clothes. He had thirty air purifiers installed. ""You small-town girls,"" he'd sneered in front of his family, ""even the air around you is dirty."" He forbade me from eating at the same table, banishing me to the kitchen like a servant. This time, I would never again sacrifice my life for anyone. 2 I’d just booked my flight to London when Damian came home. He stumbled in, reeking of whiskey from some high-society gala. When I didn't immediately rush to his side with a glass of water and a worried expression, his face darkened with anger. ""Rachel! Where the hell are you? Are you just going to let me stand here?"" It was the tone one used with a maid. He wasn't alone. Draped on his arm was Seraphina Winter. Trailing behind them, clutching her hand, was our son, Bruno. I was supposed to have been his date tonight. In my last life, I had confronted him, my eyes red from crying. He’d just laughed, a cold, cruel sound. ""Rachel, look at you,"" he’d said. ""Everyone else brings a partner. You expect me to bring the help? Don't embarrass me. You are the mother of my child, nothing more. Know your place."" So this time, I ignored them, closing my laptop to head back to my room. But Damian’s eyes caught the screen full of English text. He stepped in front of me, a flicker of something—hesitation? confusion?—in his eyes. ""What are you looking at? You think a country bumpkin like you can actually read that?"" I didn't have the energy to engage with his taunts. I tried to sidestep him. But Seraphina blocked my path, her smile as sweet as poison. ""Oh, Rachel, darling. I had to fend off so many people for Damian tonight. My head is just spinning. I'm dying for a slice of mango mille-feuille. Would you be a dear and make one for me?"" In my last life, when Damian had me chained to a bed in that hospital, Seraphina came to ""visit."" She'd ground the heel of her stiletto into the back of my hand, twisting it until the skin broke and bled. She’d watched me scream, helpless and bound, and then she’d taken a scalpel and carved the word 'TRASH' into my arm, her laughter echoing in the sterile room. When Damian found the wound later, he’d merely commented that her taste was impeccable. A perfect description, he’d said. Now, my eyes fixed on the ring on her finger—a perfect match to Damian's. A piece of my heart, a shard I didn't even know was left, shattered. ""I'm allergic to mangoes,"" I said, my voice flat. ""Order it yourself."" Damian's patience snapped. ""Don't be difficult, Rachel!"" He grabbed my arm, his grip like steel, and shoved me. I stumbled backward, my head cracking against the edge of a console table. Pain exploded behind my eyes. ""Seraphina asked you to do something, so you do it! She is the future Mrs. Blackwood! Have you forgotten you're living on our charity? You should be grateful we even let a parasite like you stay here as a maid!"" My head swam, but the ache in my heart was sharper. Back in our small town, for my birthday one year, he’d bought me a mango cake, forgetting my allergy. I’d broken out in hives, my throat closing up. He had carried me in his arms, running for two hours to the nearest clinic, his face a mask of terror. Afterward, he’d sworn he would never let another mango near me. If he did, he’d joked, he should be punished by never being allowed to marry me. He was faking his amnesia now, but his vow had come true in the cruelest way. The music had stopped, and our story was over. His heart was full of Seraphina, and the six years of love we’d shared had evaporated into nothing. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my calf. I looked down. It was Bruno. He was holding a fork, jabbing it into my leg, over and over. ""You're a bad woman! You bullied my new mommy!"" Beads of blood welled up, tracing red lines down my skin. Seeing my blood only seemed to excite him, and he dug the fork in deeper. ""I'm punishing you, you bad, bad woman!"" Seraphina let out a delighted little laugh, praising Bruno for being her ""brave, loyal little knight."" Damian watched, a faint, cruel smile playing on his lips as he observed my pain. I had always held onto a fragile, desperate love for my son. Now, as he twisted that fork, that last piece of my heart disintegrated. This was the child I had brought into the world in a tiny clinic, without an epidural, after nine hours of agonizing labor. The same child who, in another life, would kill me because he was ashamed of my origins. Now, he was hurting me for a woman who was practically a stranger. When they had finally vented their frustrations, the three of them went into the master bedroom together. A happy family. I was left alone in the vast, cold living room, an outsider. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I limped to the bathroom, cleaned and bandaged my leg, and began to pack. There wasn't much to take. Just some clothes. That was the sum of my six years with Damian Blackwood. 3 Two days before my flight, I went to the bank to exchange currency for my new life in London. As I stepped out, a person in a fluffy mascot costume—a promotion for the mall—blocked my way. The oversized head came off, revealing a familiar, friendly face. ""Rachel? It's Mark! From back home. I haven't seen you in forever! When are you coming back for a visit?"" I was an orphan. Damian and Bruno had been the only family I'd ever known. I’d given up everything for them, and it had all been a terrible mistake. Mark’s simple, honest concern was almost too much to bear. I forced a smile. ""I'm not going back, Mark."" He grinned. ""I always thought I had a shot with you, you know. Then you found that Damian guy six years ago. But hey, it all worked out. You married into a good family. I'm happy for you. Come on, let me buy you lunch."" He made a hundred bucks a day wearing that stupid costume, but he insisted on taking me to a restaurant where a single meal cost five hundred. He said we didn't know when we'd see each other again. I couldn't refuse his kindness. The restaurant was next to the most luxurious bridal salon in New York. Damian had once promised me a fairy-tale wedding, a dress made just for me. It was another promise that had dissolved into thin air. I glanced through the window and froze. There they were. Damian and Seraphina, trying on wedding attire. And Bruno was with them, beaming. Damian saw me at the same moment. His face contorted with rage. He stormed out of the shop and, without a word, punched Mark squarely in the jaw. He spun on me, his voice dripping with venom. ""Rachel, are you that desperate? Scrabbling around in the gutter for trash like this? Then again,"" he sneered, ""I guess a poor girl from the sticks can only attract a loser like him."" ""Damian, are you insane?!"" I scrambled to help Mark up, putting myself between them. Mark looked utterly bewildered, unable to comprehend that this was the same man who had once loved me so fiercely. A raw, burning anger rose in my throat. I stared at Damian and Seraphina, a perfect couple in their wedding finery. ""And what are you two doing?"" I spat. ""Playing house? Getting married? Should I send a wedding gift?"" He looked stunned for a second, shocked that I’d dared to talk back. Then his expression hardened into self-righteous fury. ""This is your fault! You're an embarrassment! Bruno wanted to see his mother looking beautiful and elegant for once. Seraphina was just doing this for him, to make him happy! Don't you dare project your own filthy, cheating mind onto everyone else!"" Bruno, clutching Seraphina’s pristine white dress, nodded eagerly. ""You're ugly! You're not my mom! I want Seraphina to be my mom! Why don't you just get out of our lives?!"" Seraphina smirked, a look of pure triumph on her face. ""Rachel, darling, a woman has to accept when she's past her prime. You really should consider some work. It does wonders."" My fists clenched, my nails digging into my palms so hard I should have felt pain, but I felt nothing but a cold, spreading numbness. ""Damian,"" I said, my voice dangerously low. ""Who the hell do you think you are? You're the father of my son. That's it. You have no right to control my life. You three can play your sick little family game all you want. Just keep it out of my sight."" I turned to Seraphina. ""And you. If you enjoy picking up my leftovers, be my guest."" With that, I helped Mark to his feet and walked away, not looking back. Behind me, I could hear Damian's furious shouts and Seraphina's fake, soothing reassurances fading into the city noise. ""Rachel,"" Mark murmured, ""don't listen to them. You're the best person I know."" Back in our small town, everyone thought so. Even as an orphan, I’d had countless people trying to set me up. But with Damian, I was less than nothing. An object of disgust. Not anymore. I would never give him the power to hurt me again. 4 After taking Mark to an urgent care clinic, I went home. To my surprise, Damian was sitting on the sofa, waiting for me. He was holding a wedding dress. When he saw me, the hard lines of his face softened. He stood and held the dress out to me. ""I was out of line today,"" he said, his voice gentle. ""I'm sorry. I picked this out for you. We can take a family portrait with Bruno. We'll hang it right there."" He pointed to the main wall in the living room, a grand gesture, as if he truly saw me as the future lady of this house. But I recognized the dress instantly. It was the one Seraphina had been wearing earlier. The one she’d rejected. He was giving me her cast-offs. In his mind, that's all I was worth. A small-town girl who could be placated with secondhand goods. I didn't call him out. ""When?"" I asked, feigning interest as I ran my fingers over the lace. He thought I was pleased. ""Tomorrow."" The day before my flight. I smiled faintly and nodded. A final memory with the two people I was about to excise from my life forever. After this, we would be strangers. 5 The photo shoot was a rare moment of peace. Even Bruno, who usually looked at me with open contempt, seemed different. As I emerged from makeup, he grunted, ""You don't look as pretty as a princess like Seraphina, but... you look okay, I guess."" Damian nudged him gently and pulled him into his arms for a photo with me. In my last life, a crumb of affection like that would have made me giddy for days. Now, I felt nothing. A complete, placid emptiness. Once I’d made the decision to cut them out of my heart, they lost the power to affect me. The photographer positioned us, his finger hovering over the shutter button. Suddenly, Damian’s phone shrieked. It was the special ringtone he’d set for Seraphina. ""Stop!"" he barked at the photographer, snatching the phone up. A frantic, female voice burst from the speaker. ""Damian, help me! There are these guys... they're harassing me! There are three of them, I'm so scared... please, you have to come!"" The color drained from Damian's face. ""Seraphina, don't be afraid! I'm on my way!"" Without a word of explanation to me, he bolted from the studio. Bruno, recognizing her voice, started yelling, ""I have to go protect my new mommy!"" And just like that, father and son were gone. The photographer looked at me, his expression a mixture of pity and embarrassment. ""Miss... Reed? Should we... wait for them to come back?"" The fragile bubble of happiness from moments before burst, leaving only the bitter taste of ashes in my mouth. I let out a dry, humorless laugh. I returned the secondhand wedding dress. It wasn't my style anyway. The supporting characters had left the stage. It was time for the star to have her moment. I chose a sleek, powerful pantsuit, the kind a CEO might wear, and asked the photographer for a set of professional headshots. A new portrait for a new life. Later that evening, my phone buzzed. It was a social media notification. Seraphina had posted a picture. There was Bruno, curled up in her arms, looking up at her and saying ""Mommy,"" his face alight with adoration. And there, standing beside them, his arm protectively around her, was Damian. The ""harassment at the bar"" had been a game of Truth or Dare. Seraphina had drawn a dare: call the most important person on your contact list and have them ""rescue"" you. And Damian had dropped everything and run to her side. It was fitting. It was the last day I would ever be a part of his world. 6 Damian came home late, the scent of Seraphina's perfume clinging to his clothes. Bruno was already asleep on the sofa. He saw me and his tone was uncharacteristically soft. ""Seraphina ran into a little trouble at the bar. I had to go sort it out. It was nothing."" I nodded, pretending to believe him. His lies were clumsy, but then, I wasn't worth the effort of a good one. ""Go give Bruno a bath,"" he said, his tone casual, entitled. ""He's exhausted."" I walked silently to the sofa and gently lifted our son into my arms. I started to unbutton his shirt, but his eyes fluttered open. Seeing my face, he scowled and shoved my hands away. ""Get away from me! I want Seraphina!"" I froze. Before I could react, he kicked out, his heel connecting squarely with my bandaged leg, right on top of the fork wounds from the other day. A bolt of agony shot up my leg, and my knees buckled. ""Get off me! You're disgusting!"" he shrieked, his voice filled with a venom that was terrifying in a child so young. The commotion brought Damian over. ""Bruno,"" he said, his voice holding a mild, unconvincing note of reprimand. ""That's no way to talk to your mother."" ""She's not my mother!"" Bruno screamed, his face red and tear-streaked. ""Seraphina is my mother!"" I stumbled back, cradling my throbbing leg. Damian walked right past me, not even a glance in my direction, as if I were a piece of furniture. He sighed with theatrical weariness, then pulled out his phone and facetimed Seraphina. It was a familiar, practiced motion. Even his ""frustration"" with his son felt like a performance for my benefit. ""Seraphina, Bruno's missing you. Can you talk to him for a minute?"" His voice was impossibly tender, the voice a man uses for the woman he truly loves. Her smiling face appeared on the screen. ""Bruno, sweetie, what's wrong? Do you miss me?"" Bruno scrambled to the phone, his face a mask of misery, as if my touch had been a violation. ""Seraphina, I miss you! I won a prize at school today and I'm saving it for you! When are you coming over?"" ""I'll come see you tomorrow, okay, sweetie?"" she cooed. ""You be a good boy."" He nodded vigorously, a bright smile finally breaking through his tears. And me? I got cold silence, or scorn, or violence. The last flicker of warmth in my heart guttered and died. I turned, walked into my room, and shut the door, blocking out the sound of their happy chatter. I took out my phone and double-checked the details for my flight, the car service, the flat waiting for me in London. Everything was arranged. Later that night, in bed, Damian pulled me into his arms, his hold surprisingly tight, almost desperate. ""Bruno's just a kid,"" he murmured into my hair. ""He doesn't know what he's saying. Don't be mad."" I lay rigid in his embrace, the feeling of his skin against mine making my own crawl. I closed my eyes and feigned sleep. Listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, I silently counted down the hours. Tomorrow. Tomorrow it would all be over. " "
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