1 The headline blasted across every screen, a push notification that shattered my quiet world: A-LIST STAR’S LOST ID LEADS TO SECRET MARRIAGE. That’s how I found out Julian Wilder had forgotten he’d married me three years ago. The internet, in its infinite and terrifying power, launched a manhunt. Within hours, they had unearthed me, a single mother raising my little boy, Leo, in obscurity. Then, Julian himself tagged me in a public post: @VictoriaHollister I get the fan enthusiasm, truly. But maybe we could schedule a time to get this marriage annulled? Let me know. I replied: Fine. But we scheduled the appointment three times, and three times, Julian was a no-show. The first time, his assistant called. “An explosion scene on set ran late. Julian’s so sorry. We’ll have to reschedule.” The second time, his agent texted me. “Julian’s been hospitalized with a sudden high fever. We’ll be in touch.” The third time, it was my son, Leo, who showed me the news on his tablet. “Mommy, Daddy was in a car crash. He hit his head again.” … Before the fame, before the sold-out stadiums and screaming fans, we had been a secret. In the breathless innocence of our youth, he had dragged me to City Hall. His eyes had shone brighter than any star in the night sky. “This little book,” he’d said, his voice thick with a certainty that felt like it could bend the world to his will, “it ties us together. Not even God can tear us apart now.” He’d tipped my chin up, a roguish grin spreading across his face as if he’d just conquered the world. “And you’re mine in the next life, too.” But that very day, the car crash had stolen me from him. His family, who had always disapproved of us, seized the opportunity. They scrubbed every trace of my existence from his life, erasing me so completely it was as if I’d never been there at all. So when the news broke, I wasn’t surprised. This had his family’s fingerprints all over it. With Julian’s memory a blank slate, they could write whatever narrative they wanted, couldn’t they? They painted me as a deranged, obsessed fan who’d found his lost ID and gone on a psychotic spree at City Hall. It was a perfectly plausible, even entertaining, story. I stared at the blurry screenshot of the marriage certificate on the trending page. My driver’s license number was circled and magnified. The internet did the rest. A few hours later, the address of my small rental apartment and a haggard-looking photo of me with Leo were plastered all over social media. I’d found out I was pregnant after Julian lost his memory. Leo was two and a half now, and he looked just like me. No one would ever suspect he was Julian Wilder’s son. Not even Julian himself. @VictoriaHollister I get the fan enthusiasm, truly. But maybe we could schedule a time to get this marriage annulled? Let me know. The world was watching, waiting for the tearful, desperate pleas of a scorned woman. My DMs flooded with over 99+ messages of pure venom. They called me delusional. They called me a low-life, a nobody punching leagues above her weight. For the past three years, I’d watched him. I’d seen the breakout roles that catapulted him from a reckless boy in a foreign city to the untouchable "god" he was now. At his level, a wife and a child were liabilities, not assets. And after three years, he still hadn't remembered. I’d given up hope a long time ago. He would probably never remember me. Never remember the four sweet, tangled years we’d lived together. I stared at the screen for five minutes, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then I typed one word: Fine. My heart had died three years ago. It was long past time for a burial. 2 The truth is, Julian wasn’t the first Wilder brother I knew. I met his older brother, Sebastian, first. I was the real heiress, swapped at birth, and at seventeen I was finally brought back to my wealthy parents’ home. I was a country girl, a hick who knew nothing but how to study. I was oil to the water of the polished young men and women of high society. To make matters worse, there was an old family agreement that I was to marry Sebastian Wilder. Everyone mocked me for it, the girl from nowhere who was supposed to marry the most eligible bachelor in the city. But Sebastian, he sought me out in private. “I intend to honor our families’ agreement,” he’d told me, his voice a low, steady comfort. “Focus on your SATs. Get a good score, and you can come study in the States with me.” In that world of casual cruelty, I didn't have a single friend. His words were a lifeline. Even my own parents were ashamed of me, refusing to publicly acknowledge my identity. The "fake" heiress, the girl who had taken my place, used the opportunity to spread rumors at school. She told everyone I was the daughter of their housekeeper. My parents didn't deny it. The entire school believed I was a charity case, a poor girl on scholarship. They isolated me, shunned me, whispered behind my back. "I'm not the housekeeper's daughter," I tried to explain. "I'm the real Lockwood heiress. Isabelle is the fake one." A group of girls cornered me in the bathroom and slapped me, hard. "A housekeeper's daughter playing princess? Isabelle doesn't even bother to argue with a clown like you, but that doesn't mean no one will put you in your place." The leader grabbed my hair, trying to force me to my knees. "Take a good look at yourself. Do you really think you're worthy?" I went to my teacher, my face red and swollen. She looked at me with cold dismissal. "Why do they only bully you, and not others? You should start by looking for the problem within yourself. And stop pretending to be a Lockwood. That family is kind enough to pay for your education. You should be more grateful." In those days, I spent my nights drowning in a silent despair. And in between the waves of sadness, I memorized vocabulary for the SATs. I had to save myself. I had to escape. My score was good enough. Sebastian flew back personally to speak with my parents. He was taking me with him. They agreed. And so, it was by following Sebastian Wilder to a new country that I met Julian. 3 In the States, Sebastian rented a quiet, one-bedroom apartment for me near the school. Whenever he visited, his questions were always the same, a gentle, protective mantra: "Do you have enough money?" "Are you keeping up with your classes?" "Is anyone bothering you?" "You have to tell me if you're in any trouble." Sebastian was five years older than me. I was starting high school; he was finishing his university degree. He was like a perfect older brother, always maintaining a respectful distance, never crossing a line. One evening, as he stood on my small balcony watching the sunset paint the sky in hues of orange and purple, he laid everything out on the table. His voice was soft, but clear. "I brought you here to see a bigger world, Victoria. Not to chain you to some old promise. They called you a hick, so you should live a life so dazzling it blinds them. As for our family agreement... in my eyes, it's a responsibility I must handle with care, not a matter of the heart. Do you understand what I mean?" I understood. He didn't love me. He would never marry me. But I was still grateful. He was the one who had pulled me from the mud, given me a wider sky and the wings to fly in it. He was a gentleman, and my savior. I respected his decision. I just never expected his brother, Julian, to come crashing into my life. Julian was a hurricane, a force of nature that tore through the long, lonely quiet of my life abroad, leaving chaos and a strange, thrilling warmth in his wake. We lived together for four years. 4 It all started because I could cook. Like, really cook. The kind of soul-warming, classic comfort food that feels like a hug from the inside out. I remember it was a weekend, and a relentless rain was hammering against the windows. A knock echoed through the small apartment. I opened the door to a figure in a baseball cap, pulled low to shadow a face that was far too handsome to be left unconcealed. His arm was in a cast. When he looked up, his eyes were wild and restless, like a rain-soaked wolf, starved and impatient. "My brother said you're a hell of a cook," he announced, not asked. "I'm starving. I need a real meal. Something like... a perfect roast chicken. And that incredible four-cheese mac and cheese you make." "Who's your brother?" I asked. "Sebastian Wilder. My actual, blood-related brother." Before I could even process it, the drenched figure had squeezed past me, storming into my kitchen and flinging open cabinets and pot lids like a one-man raiding party. Finding nothing, he turned to me with a desperate, pleading look that made it clear he wasn't leaving until he was fed. I called Sebastian to verify. He sighed on the other end of the line, a note of weary amusement in his voice. "So that's where he went. He snuck out of the hospital. I'm on my way to get him now." By the time Sebastian arrived, dinner was ready. Julian didn't say a word, just grabbed a fork and devoured the food like a man starved for weeks. He shoved forkfuls of steaming food into his mouth, hissing through his teeth at the heat but never stopping. The entire plate of chicken vanished, and he scraped the casserole dish clean. Full and satisfied, he slapped his damp hat back on his head and obediently followed Sebastian out the door. But not before snatching my phone to add himself on a messaging app. That night, a message popped up with his first demand: [Tomorrow. Lasagna.] After he was discharged from the hospital, he insisted on moving in with me. We were the same age but went to different schools. His was an hour's drive from my apartment, but for a good meal, Julian would brave any storm. He was domineering and infuriating, but he was also the one who, on nights when I was afraid of the dark, would deliberately make noise in the living room and mock me gently. "What's there to be scared of when you've got me here?" He was even the one who, when I got my period, would disguise himself like a ninja, with only his eyes showing, to go buy me pads from the store, only to come back and grumble, "That was so humiliating." Of course, most of the time, he was just a pain. When I wanted to read quietly, he'd be in the living room, controller in hand, waging epic digital wars with guttural yells. Whenever I finished cooking, there was always a shadow at my elbow, ready to snatch the best pieces, eating with a ferocious and yet deeply satisfying gusto. Across countless meals and changing seasons, a young man and a young woman sharing a small space… the lines were bound to blur. Until one day, Sebastian suddenly changed his mind. He brought up the family agreement again. "The engagement," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument, "is back on. Tomorrow, you're coming back with me. After the engagement party, you can return to finish your studies." 5 Julian’s agent contacted me soon after. She was a powerhouse, a sharp, no-nonsense woman who had single-handedly orchestrated his rise to stardom. "What time works for you?" she asked, her voice brisk over the phone. I closed my eyes, fighting to keep my own voice steady. "I'm free anytime. It depends on Julian's schedule." "Let's say next Wednesday, nine a.m., then. Meet at the entrance to City Hall. And… would you be comfortable with the press being there? This whole situation has been a major blow to Julian’s image. We’d like to livestream the entire proceeding, and we were hoping you could make a public apology for the harm you've caused. To clear his name." Clear his name. His innocence had been lost to me on a couch in a foreign country when we were eighteen. He'd been the eager one, a willing participant, his face flushed with a nervous excitement that matched my own. He’d cupped my face in his hands as we watched some cheesy romance film, the atmosphere growing thick and hot until he finally whispered, "Should we? Are you scared?" And I’d whispered back, "The only thing I'm scared of is you being a coward." Years later, his agent was asking me to give him his innocence back. I wanted to say, Sorry, no returns or exchanges. We have a two-and-a-half-year-old receipt for that transaction, and we explored every possible position. Silence stretched over the line. The agent’s voice sharpened, taking on a threatening edge. "Ms. Hollister, I've done my research on you. You were the daughter of the Lockwood family's housekeeper, taken in on their charity. You pretended to be their real daughter at that private school until you couldn't keep up the lie and dropped out in your sophomore year. You didn't even finish high school. We're being generous by not pressing charges. I suggest you take this opportunity to cooperate and offer a sincere apology." A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "I understand. Next Wednesday. I'll be at City Hall, in front of the cameras, and I will personally apologize to Julian Wilder for finding his ID and ruining his good name." "I'll see you then," she said, and hung up. Leo tugged at the leg of my pants. "Mommy, why are you crying?" I wiped at my eyes, surprised to find them wet. A real tear. I forced a smile and scooped him into my arms. "It's nothing, sweetie. The wind just blew something in my eye." 6 I thought I wouldn't see Julian until next Wednesday. But in the dead of night, as I was deep in a restless sleep, I heard a soft knocking at the door. I grabbed a baseball bat and crept to the entryway, peering at the digital peephole camera. A man stood outside, shrouded in a black hoodie and a black mask, with only his eyes visible. But I knew those eyes. I would know them if he were reduced to ash. Julian. How did he find me? And what was he doing here at three-thirty in the morning, skulking like a thief? After a long moment of hesitation, I opened the door. I feigned ignorance. "Hello? Can I help you?" He pulled his mask down for a fleeting second. "It's me. Julian Wilder." He quickly pulled it back up. "Just a couple of questions, then I'll go. My brother said we've never met. That you just... found my ID and scammed the system. But something about it just doesn't feel right." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "I just had to come and ask you myself. Are you really just some deranged fan who found my ID and decided to marry me?" My gaze fell to his feet. He was wearing a pair of old sneakers, the laces frayed and worn. I’d seen them in countless paparazzi shots. The anti-fans always mocked him for it. "Can't he afford new shoes?" "Why do you like those shoes so much?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it. "Huh?" He looked down, a small, self-deprecating laugh escaping him. "Oh, these? They're just comfortable. What, you think there's some dramatic backstory? A gift from a long-lost love I can't bear to part with? It's not that deep. A shoe either fits or it doesn't. And these just... fit." The silence in the entryway felt heavy, suffocating. I was dangerously close to tears. He'd lost the memories, but his body still remembered the comfort of the shoes I bought for him. Suddenly, two fingers were under my chin, tilting my face up. "You still haven't answered my question," Julian murmured, his eyes boring into mine. "Are you just a fan?" Forced to meet his gaze, to look at that unfairly handsome face, a wave of grief washed over me. "Why are you asking? Did you... remember something?" He was too sharp, instantly seizing on the key word. "So, I am supposed to remember something?" His eyes narrowed, searching my face, desperate for a clue, a crack in my composure. I slapped his hand away. "No. I'm just a fan, like you said. You've asked your questions. You should go." I tried to shut the door, but he blocked it with his foot. "Do you have anything to eat? I'm kind of starving. I just drove five hours straight from the film set, and I have to drive five hours back. I'm worried my blood sugar will crash. It's not safe to drive like that." 7 Just like old times, he squeezed past me before I could say no. "I don't have anything," I said flatly. Julian was quiet for a moment, then a slow, knowing smile spread across his face, hidden mostly by the mask. "You're not a fan." "What?" "No real fan would ever turn down a request from their idol. You didn't ask for an autograph. You didn't whip out your phone for a selfie. A true 'deranged fan' wouldn't look at me with that... dead-inside expression. Yeah," he nodded to himself, "I was right to come here." As if on cue, his stomach let out a loud, pathetic gurgle. He looked at me, his eyes wide with a theatrical helplessness. "See? I'm really hungry. Can't you just whip something up?" I ended up making him a bowl of rich tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches on the side—the ultimate comfort meal. But just as Julian picked up his sandwich, before he could take a single bite, Sebastian arrived. Julian looked up, stunned. "Seb? What are you doing here?" "I should be asking you that," Sebastian's voice was tight with frustration. "Your assistant is going crazy. He called me in a panic when he couldn't find you anywhere." "Then how did you find me?" "Phone tracking. What are you doing here, Julian?" Julian pointed a thumb at me. "Just wanted to see her for myself. I don't know, man. I just feel like... I knew her before." Sebastian's gaze flickered to me for a cold, hard second before he answered, his tone firm and absolute. "You don't know her. Let's go. Home." Julian had no choice but to follow, grumbling as he went. "Don't know her, fine. Why are you so serious about it? She made me food, Seb. I haven't even had one bite. Can't I just eat first?" "Is there a shortage of food at home?" Sebastian shot back, his voice low and commanding. "I'll make you something myself when we get back." "But I'm hungry now," Julian whined. Then, in a flash, he snatched the other half of the grilled cheese from the plate and wrapped it in a napkin. "Waste not, want not. I'll eat this on the road." As he was leaving, he grabbed my phone again, tapping furiously. "There, I'm on your contacts now. Later, wifey. We'll text about the divorce details." I froze. My ears must be playing tricks on me. What did he just call me? Sebastian, standing beside me, was just as stunned. "What did you just call her?" Julian shrugged, a picture of nonchalant innocence. "Wifey. I mean, she's technically my wife on paper right now, isn't she? What's the problem?" Sebastian's voice was a low growl. "Not for long." Julian, ever the carefree charmer, just grinned at his brother. "But she is for now. And look, my wifey even made me grilled cheese. Why haven't you gotten a wife yet, bro?" The door closed, but I could still faintly hear their voices fading down the hall. First Sebastian's: "I want to. But she's married." Then a pause, followed by a chilling addendum. "But she'll be divorced soon."
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