The Amnesia Gambit

I’d been married to the man I’d secretly crushed on since I was a teenager for two years, and he’d never once touched me. I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out why. Until the day I overheard him outside his office. "The only one I love is Dahlia. I only married her for the business merger." A cold, bitter laugh escaped me. It all made sense now. I immediately sent him the divorce papers. But he insisted on seeing me one last time. On his way to meet me, he got into a car accident. When he woke up, he had amnesia. His memory was stuck back in high school. He saw the wedding ring on my finger, his handsome face falling. "You're married?" he asked, his voice laced with disappointment. "..." Later, I stumbled upon his secret social media account and saw his latest post. "My wife wants to divorce me. How do I save our marriage?" Top comment: "Just have lots and lots of sex." Second comment: "Or you could fake amnesia, then have lots and lots of sex." 1 After my shower, I slipped into the "battle armor" my best friend had given me. "Trust me," she'd said, "no man can resist you in this." Taking a deep breath, I walked out of the bathroom and into Milo Brown’s bedroom. Ever since we got married two years ago, he'd moved into the guest room. He claimed he was too busy with work, that he was out entertaining clients until all hours and didn't want the smell of alcohol to bother me. I’d thought he was being a gentleman. Now I realized we’d just been sleeping in separate rooms for two years. He'd buy me little trinkets and gifts to make up for not spending time with me. But seeing his gorgeous face and that incredible body every day… how was I supposed to just sit still? Milo opened the door, and the hand rubbing a towel through his wet hair paused. He raised an eyebrow. Droplets of water traced paths down the sharp ravines of his abs, disappearing into the crisp white towel slung low on his hips. It clung to him perfectly, outlining everything. Why is that towel so well-behaved? I thought. Why won't it just fall off? I swallowed hard, a bold idea taking root. "Need something?" he asked. His words were always concise, his tone perpetually lukewarm. Remembering my mission, I cut to the chase. "I want to sleep with you." No matter what excuse he came up with, I was determined to sleep in his bed tonight. Besides, the battle armor was on. There was no way he could resist. Milo’s eyes roamed over my "outfit." He raised an eyebrow again, but his expression remained blank. "Okay." He was surprisingly agreeable tonight. I was a little shocked. I’d tried every trick in the book before, and he’d never budged. I lay down on his bed, my heart pounding as he moved closer. His warm breath ghosted across my ear. But the next second… "Go to sleep." He tucked the covers around me. The mattress dipped beside me as he lay down, his back to me. The guest room was peaceful. Serene. So this was just "sleeping." Not the "sleeping together" I had in mind. A wave of frustration washed over me. He always did this. Every time I came to him, he would just lie beside me and sleep. He never crossed the line. I couldn't help but question myself. Was I not attractive to him? Was my body not good enough? Was I ugly? I was throwing myself at him, and he was still completely unmoved. I couldn’t understand it. Eventually, I chalked it up to us having no emotional foundation. We’d been married two years ago for a business alliance, a merger between our families. We’d gotten married less than ten days after our first meeting. We knew nothing about each other. No emotional connection whatsoever. I knew that’s what he thought of me. But for me, this marriage was a dream come true. I’d had a massive crush on him since high school. That aloof, unapproachable aura, that cool demeanor, that devastatingly handsome face… the impression he made on my teenage heart had lasted for years. I’d met plenty of men since, but none of them gave me the same feeling. My plan had been to finish my degree abroad, come back, and apply for a job at his company. But the very first day I returned, my mother dragged me to a blind date. I never imagined the blind date would be him. I agreed on the spot. But I never could have predicted that this would be our married life. A bitter taste filled my mouth. The sadness and frustration swirled inside me. I looked at the man beside me, his breathing even and steady, and I couldn't take it anymore. I shoved him. "I'm right here next to you, and all you want to do is sleep?" I yelled. "Am I that unattractive to you? Do you hate me that much?" Jolted awake, he stared at me, his eyes bleary with sleep. When he finally processed my words, he just… said nothing. That same infuriating, detached look. I pressed on. "We've been married for two years, and you've never touched me! If you hate me so much, why did you agree to this marriage in the first place?" "It was just for the benefit of our companies, right?" "Ha, of course. Milo Brown only cares about his career. Why would he give a damn about what some insignificant person like me thinks?" His mouth opened, but no words came out. I laughed, a cold, empty sound. "There are plenty of men out there. Why should I waste my time on you?" He frowned, his voice raspy. "You're not insignificant." "And I didn't mean it like that." I stared at him, my face a blank mask. "Whatever." With that, I stormed out of his room. "At this time of night, shouldn't you two be tearing each other's clothes off? What are you doing here?" I slumped into my best friend Mia’s apartment, my shoulders drooping. I pouted. "What do you think?" "Failed again?" Mia pursed her lips. "Don't worry about it. There are so many men in the world. Who needs him and his lack of passion?" She wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pushed me onto the sofa, and returned from the kitchen with an armful of snacks. I bit into a potato chip with a satisfying crunch. A daring thought began to sprout in my mind. "What if… he has someone else? Is that why he won't touch me?" I said it with conviction. "That has to be it!" Mia handed me a soda. "Do you have anyone in mind?" I shook my head. I had no idea who he could possibly like. His reputation for being clean and self-disciplined was famous, splashed across every media outlet. Combined with his looks and physique, he'd been voted #1 on the "Financial World's Most Eligible" list last year. And going all the way back to high school, there were never any rumors about him and a girl. Mia and I looked at each other, frowning. Almost at the same time, we blurted it out. "Is he gay?" I blinked, stroking my chin in disbelief. Mia shook her head. "I don't think so. He doesn't give off that vibe, but…" She trailed off, clearing her throat. "But if it's not that, I can't think of any other reason." I wracked my brain. Loves cleanliness, borderline OCD. Compulsive. No ex-girlfriends or romantic scandals. And… won't touch me. It was hard not to suspect he was gay. Unable to figure it out, I posted online: My husband and I have been married for two years, and he's never touched me. He has no female friends, no romantic rumors, not even an ex-girlfriend. Help me figure out why. Top comment: Is he obsessed with cleanliness? Like, extremely so? Does he wear white socks? I replied: Yes, he's a clean freak. He has OCD. And all his socks are white. Top comment: Definitely gay. Second comment: No ex-girlfriend means he has an ex-boyfriend, duh~ I frowned. The internet's consensus matched my own. To test this theory, I decided to gather evidence. If he really was gay, I would divorce him! I was standing outside Milo’s office, my hand raised to knock. "Is it Dahlia you love, or your current wife?" A familiar voice drifted through the door. "The only one I love is Dahlia. I only married her for the money." In that instant, the sound of my heart shattering was deafening. I pulled my hand back from the door. My chest felt like it was being squeezed by an airtight net. I couldn't breathe. So, not gay. He wouldn't touch me simply because he didn't like me. The one he loved was a woman named Dahlia. I'd never even heard that name in our social circle, which meant Milo had protected her very, very well. I immediately found a lawyer, drafted a divorce agreement, and sent it to him with a message: "I've already signed. There's no reason for us to continue this." I expected him to sign it right away. Instead, I got a reply: "Can we meet and talk?" I could almost hear his voice, see his expression—that same cool, detached manner. "My time is valuable. You have ten minutes." I sighed, giving in one last time. But after two hours, he still hadn't shown up. Just as I was about to leave, I got a call from the hospital. "Excuse me, are you Mrs. Brown, Milo Brown’s wife?" "He's been in a car accident. He's awake now, but he doesn't remember anything." "You're married?" Those beautiful eyes flickered between my wedding ring and my face. I nodded. For some reason, a look of disappointment crossed his handsome face. "When?" "Two years ago." "So… I didn't do anything?" I raised an eyebrow, a lie forming on my lips. "You… you came to the reception." "That's it?" "Yeah. What else did you want to do?" He didn't answer, looking dejected. I inwardly smirked. Finally, I had the upper hand. After all, when we got married, there was a reception. He just happened to be the groom. "Come on, I'll take you home," I said, tilting my head. "You'll take me? Won't your husband get jealous?" he asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes I'd never seen before. I blinked, feeling a little guilty. "Nah, he works at the international headquarters. He never bothers with me." "Wow, what kind of guy is he?" he said, sounding indignant on my behalf. But there was a hint of glee in his expression. On the way, he peppered me with questions about me and my "husband." "Why did you marry him?" "Do you love him?" "You guys don't see each other often?" "..." He was usually so quiet. Amnesia had made him chatty. It wasn't until I brought him back to our house that he realized something was off. "This is your place?" "Why did you bring me here?" Before I could answer, he saw the enormous wedding portrait hanging in the center of the living room. He looked at me, confused. "Why is there a wedding photo of us?" I quickly invented a reason. "Because… because you're my… lover." "I'm keeping you." He pointed at himself in disbelief, then seemed to accept it. "Well, if it's you, I guess being the other man is understandable." I struggled to hold back a laugh. He suddenly got a serious look on his face, and I wasn't sure what he was about to say. Cold sweat trickled down my back. Then, he said with a playful smirk: "Your husband is pretty generous, letting me take wedding photos with you and hang them in your living room." I nodded, dying of laughter on the inside. When had the great Milo Brown ever been so talkative and so… ridiculous? The next second, he didn't disappoint. "So, am I sleeping with you tonight? Do you need my… services?" A text from Mia popped up: Did he sign? Do you need me to find you a better lawyer? I took a deep breath, looked into his earnest eyes, and, as if possessed, nodded. "Of course." I hadn't heard him say anything like that in the past two years. Just a little teasing, and my heart was already fluttering like a trapped bird. Pathetic. I glanced at the bandage on his head and had a sudden pang of conscience. "No services tonight. We'll wait until you're better." "Then I'll try to get better quickly!" I choked on the orange juice I was drinking. This amnesiac version of him was surprisingly bold. That night, at Mia's. "He didn't sign. And he has amnesia. I'm telling him he's my kept man now." "Pffft-hahahaha! You go, girl! That's brilliant!" Mia burst out laughing, then gave me a suggestive look, biting her lip. "So, when he's all healed up, you two can get down to some… strenuous exercise~" A slow smile spread across my face. "I'm going to get back every bit of what I suffered these past two years. Especially since he has someone else in his heart!" Mia's expression turned serious. "He has someone else?" I nodded and told her what I'd overheard. Mia frowned, her words a little hesitant. "That name… Dahlia… it sounds really familiar." "But I can't remember where I've heard it." I patted her shoulder. "It's fine. Just tell me whenever you remember." "Once Milo is better, I'm definitely getting my revenge!" I didn't care if he hated me when his memory came back. If he had someone else, he never should have agreed to the marriage in the first place. And he'd agreed so quickly, it had even made me think he might be interested in me. Anyway, we weren't divorced yet. It was his duty as a husband to perform. I fumed silently, Milo's perfect body flashing in my mind. "Alright, alright, my new nail gels are here. Let me give you a new manicure." Mia comforted me. I nodded, pushing the thoughts away. She applied long nail extensions. I rarely got my nails done, so they felt a little strange. A mosquito bit me on the neck. It was a small bite, but incredibly itchy. I used the new nail to scratch it, and it was surprisingly effective. By the time the itching stopped, I had a large red patch on my neck. A few angry red lines were clearly visible. When I got home that night, Milo was shirtless in the kitchen, a whirlwind of activity. Those abs looked delicious… I mean, the food looked delicious. Hearing my footsteps, he turned with a bright, excited smile. "You're back!" But the moment his eyes landed on the red marks on my neck, his expression fell. He looked like a golden retriever who'd just been denied a treat. I'd had a long day with Mia and was exhausted. I took a bite of the food he'd made and gave him a thumbs-up. "Delicious!" "I'm tired. I'm going upstairs to bed. You can eat by yourself." The "golden retriever's" eyes grew even dimmer. If he had a tail, it would be drooping sadly. But I ignored him. I was genuinely tired. And my plan was just to enjoy him, not to give him my heart again. The whole "Dahlia" thing wasn't over yet. Later that night, a knock on the door. "It's not locked. Come in." The handle turned, and Milo slowly pushed the door open and walked in. "I'm in here," I called out lazily from the bathtub, enjoying a hot soak. Besides, it was my own house. No need to lock the bathroom door. So when Milo turned at the sound of my voice, his eyes met mine as I lay in the tub. Those beautiful eyes instantly lit up, his pupils dilating. The look he gave me was… hot. "Need something?" I mimicked his usual cool, detached tone. He blinked, his gaze dropping to my exposed collarbone and neck. "No, just… heard you were tired. Came to check on you." His voice was a little hoarse, dry. A faint smell of tobacco drifted towards me. I raised an eyebrow. "You smoked?" "Yeah." He only ever smoked when he was stressed with work. What was it today? I wagged my index finger at him. "Don't do that again. It's bad for you, especially with the injury on your head." He smiled, agreeing readily. "Okay~" The "tail" seemed to be wagging again. The water in the tub was getting cold, but Milo still didn't leave. I smirked, a wicked idea forming. "Not leaving? Are you planning to carry me out?" A blush spread across his ears. After a moment, he looked at me, his eyes burning. "Okay." Splash. He lifted me out of the tub and carried me to the bed. He worked out regularly, so he was strong. The veins that popped out on his arms as he carried me only added to his sex appeal. He immediately covered me with the duvet. "Don't catch a cold." I had to admit, the amnesia made him quite thoughtful. I patted the space next to me on the bed. "Come on, sleep with me." "Okay." The joy in his eyes was impossible to hide. He was very well-behaved when he lay down next to me, but it was different from our usual "sleeping." He placed my hand on his abs. "This is part of my 'service.' I'm injured, so I can't do much. You'll have to make do with this for now, okay?" I suppressed my excitement, feeling the hard muscles under my hand. "Okay." Amnesia wasn't a good thing for him, but for me, it was fantastic. Before, our "sleeping" sessions were filled with my resentment. But this time, I was calm. But in the middle of the night, I started running a fever. My body was burning up, and I felt weak. My head was foggy. "You have a fever?" He leaned over, placing his hand on my forehead. I frowned, pushing him away. "It's nothing. Go to sleep. I'll be fine in the morning." He got up and left the room. I was too tired to open my eyes and see where he went. A moment later, he returned. His thumb pressed against my lips, his voice a gentle coaxing. "Come on, be good. Take some medicine, and you'll feel better." "You can't wait until morning." I turned my head away, ignoring him. His body tensed, and he didn't press me further. …

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