u/Acrobatic_Clerk_1981

Chapter 1

Three years into the marriage, Claire Bennett had tried to kill herself one hundred and eight times.

When she finally woke up again, she was flat on a hospital bed with nothing but a blank white ceiling above her and a mind wiped clean, like someone had hit reset and left her there to figure out the rest.

A middle-aged couple sat by the bed. The second her eyes opened, both of them frowned like she’d offended them just by breathing.

“How long are you gonna keep doing this?” the woman snapped. “Adrian was into Madeline from the start,” she went on, impatience dripping from every word. “If he hadn’t gotten drunk and walked into the wrong room, he never would’ve married you. He doesn’t love you. Of course he doesn’t come home. And you? You’ve been pulling this suicide crap over and over just to try to force him to care. Tell me—out of all those times, did he ever show up? Did he even look at you once?”

The man let out a long, tired sigh, like she was some inconvenience he’d been forced to deal with. “If you weren’t our biological daughter, we wouldn’t even bother showing up. Honestly, you don’t even come close to Madeline.”

Claire stared at them, blinking slowly, because she had no idea who they were, no idea who she was.

She couldn’t remember her own name, her own life, her own childhood. She had to piece herself together from their accusations, grabbing at scraps until a broken picture formed.

She’d been the Bennett family’s real daughter—born into money, supposedly treasured—until she’d been kidnapped as a kid and lost for years. When she’d finally been found and brought home, there was already another girl in her place: Madeline Bennett, the adopted daughter everyone had gotten used to loving.

And somehow, the parents who should’ve been overjoyed to have their child back had looked right past her, eyes full of warmth only for the girl they’d chosen. The spot that should’ve been Claire’s had been occupied so completely there wasn’t even room left for her shadow.

Later, she’d fallen in love with Adrian Kingsley, the CEO of Kingsley Holdings, and the cruel joke of it was that his heart belonged to Madeline too.

Then there had been that banquet—too much alcohol, the wrong suite, a mistake that turned into a night she never asked for but couldn’t take back.

After that, Adrian had had no choice but to marry her, and he’d made sure she paid for it with every ounce of coldness he could spare.

Her parents didn’t love her. Her husband didn’t love her. She’d been drowning for years, trapped in a life that wouldn’t loosen its grip, and she’d done the only desperate thing she’d known how to do—hurt herself again and again just to make someone, anyone, look her way.

“Enough.” Patricia stood, already done with her. “We have to go cook for Madeline.”

Richard rose with her. “Think about what you’ve done. And stay put.”

The door clicked shut.

Something sharp twisted in Claire’s chest, so sudden her breath caught, as if her body remembered the pain even when her mind didn’t. She had no memories, yet the feeling of being thrown away like trash was so real.

Why would anyone love an adopted daughter more than their own flesh and blood?

And Adrian Kingsley…

He was the one who’d walked into the wrong room. He was the one who’d mistaken her for someone else.

If he’d married her, why couldn’t he at least treat her like a human being? Why had he spent three years freezing her out until she’d stumbled to the edge over and over?

And the old version of her, the one she couldn’t remember… how had she survived day after day with nobody wanting her, nobody choosing her, nobody even pretending to care?

She pushed herself upright, moving carefully, because her body was weak even if she didn’t remember why. Somehow she managed the discharge paperwork on her own.

But when she stepped outside the hospital, the cold air slapped her face and she just… stopped.

She didn’t know where to go.

She didn’t know her parents’ address. She didn’t know Adrian’s. She didn’t even know which place had ever been hers.

And the worst part was, she didn’t need her memories to understand neither home would welcome her anyway.

A commotion broke out near the entrance.

Claire looked up and saw a tall man striding through the crowd, carrying someone small in his arms.

He was dressed in a sharply tailored black suit, broad shoulders, clean lines, the kind of presence that made people move without being asked. In his arms, a pale young woman clung to him like she was made of glass. He held her carefully, protective to the point of possessive, and when he looked down at her, the tenderness in his eyes was almost violent.

“Move.”

He didn’t raise his voice, but the crowd split like he’d parted the sea.

“Oh my God… is that Adrian Kingsley?” someone whispered behind Claire.

“Who else would it be? This side of town doesn’t have men like that,” another voice breathed, giddy. “He’s so hot I’m gonna pass out.”

Claire went still.

So that was her husband.

And the girl in his arms—the one he was guarding like she was priceless—was probably her adopted sister, Madeline.

As he passed Claire, his steps hesitated for the barest fraction of a second. His dark eyes flicked over her, cold and sharp, like an ice blade dragged across skin.

Then he looked away as if she didn’t exist, and carried Madeline straight toward the ER.

Claire’s hands trembled at her sides.

She didn’t follow. She was still trying to decide what to do with herself—

Footsteps came fast behind her.

She turned, and Adrian was back.

He grabbed her wrist, grip tight enough to sting. “You’re Rh-negative?”

Before she could process the question, he yanked her toward the lab.

“Madeline’s in a car accident. She’s bleeding out and the blood bank’s short. You’re donating.”

“I—”

Claire barely got a sound out before Adrian’s hand slid to the back of her head.

He bent down and kissed her.

It was cold. Clinical. So quick it felt like a stamp instead of a kiss.

He pulled back and his voice dropped, flat as stone. “There. Now can you donate?”

Claire didn’t even have time to breathe before she was shoved into the blood draw room.

The door closed, and outside, the nurses didn’t bother lowering their voices.

“That’s the wife who tried to kill herself a hundred and eight times, right?” one of them said, disgusted. “I heard the first time was because she wanted Mr. Kingsley to kiss her. The second time she wanted a date. The third time she wanted to sleep with him. He rejected her every time. Seriously shameless.”

“And now he finally kisses her… just to get her blood for Madeline,” another snorted. “What a joke.”

“She’s probably thrilled and crushed at the same time,” someone else chimed in, cruelly entertained. “Happy she got the kiss, devastated it was for somebody else.”

Claire lay back in the chair. The needle slid into her vein, and it hurt, but the pain felt distant, muted, like it was happening to someone else behind a sheet of glass.

Through the window, she watched Adrian standing by Madeline’s bed, his long fingers enclosing her pale hand. He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the back of it, gentle enough to make her look cherished.

And the strange thing was… Claire didn’t feel thrilled.

She didn’t feel shattered either.

Whatever emotions were supposed to rip her apart weren’t there. The amnesia had washed them out, leaving only a quiet, numb clarity.

For the first time, she understood it in her bones: forgetting everything might have been the only mercy the universe ever offered her.

After she donated 400 mL, Claire walked out with her face drained of color, her vision swimming in and out as if the hallway lights were too bright.

She hesitated for a long moment before walking up to Adrian.

“Adrian,” she said carefully, voice thin, “can you tell me… our address? The one I’m supposed to go back to. And in return, I can give you a gift.”

Adrian’s brows drew together. “What kind of game are you playing now? You’ve tried to kill yourself so many times you forgot where you live?”

“No. I have amnesia—”

“The driver’s outside,” he cut in, already done with her. “He’ll take you back.”

“Thank you,” Claire said softly. “I’ll still get the gift ready.”

“I don’t want it.” His tone went ice-cold. “I’m not interested in anything you give me, and you don’t need to keep trying to win me over.”

Claire lowered her eyes, the corner of her mouth lifting in the faintest curve.

Is that so?

Because this time, you’re going to want it.

In the car, she opened her phone and scrolled through the contact list until she found a lawyer’s number. Her fingers didn’t shake when she typed.

"Hello. I want a divorce and a disownment letter from my parents. Please prepare the divorce papers and a disownment letter for me."

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