My arch-nemesis husband got amnesia and now he's my side piece.

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The fourth year of my marriage to the bane of my existence.

He gets into a car accident, and just like that, he has amnesia. His memory is stuck four years in the past, right before we got married.

His eyes land on the wedding band on my finger, and a smirk plays on his lips.

Whos the unfortunate soul who married you?

I glance at the gauze wrapped around his head and think, Pal, if I told you that soul was you, Im genuinely afraid youd hemorrhage on the spot.

Dont worry about it, I say, keeping my voice light. Its not you.

When did you get married?

Four years ago.

What did I do? he presses.

A saccharine smile spreads across my face. You gave me a huge wedding gift. Incredibly generous.

He looks down, his brow furrowing. Thats impossible. For some reason, a flicker of melancholy crosses his handsome features.

So, even with amnesia, hes still impossible to fool.

Given our history, theres no way he would have given me a generous gift. He would have been more likely to spike the catering with laxatives, turning my wedding into the most humiliating spectacle in New York society.

As he sits there, lost in his own confused thoughts, my hand moves faster than my brain. I reach out and pinch his cheek. Come on. Lets go home.

Home? His eyes suddenly brighten, as if hes just seen a glimmer of hope.

An idea, wicked and wonderful, begins to form in my mind.

Yes, I say, my tone turning serious. The Donovan family went bankrupt. Didnt you know? Youre my manservant now.

The fragile composure of Nathan Donovan, which had been threatening to crack, finally shatters completely.

I believe in thoroughness. I call our staff ahead of time to get them on board. I even clear it with his parents, framing it as a necessary deception to let Nathan rest and recover at home, free from the stress of his corporate responsibilities.

So, as were in the car, he clings to one last shred of hope and calls his father to verify my story.

The answer he receives is devastatingly simple.

Son, its true. Were ruined.

He lowers the phone, his eyes rimmed with red. The golden boy of Manhattan, the heir to a dynasty, now reduced to a penniless nobody.

After a long silence, he finally speaks, his voice low. So what exactly do I do at your house?

Oh, lots of things, I say, ticking them off on my fingers. Laundry, cooking, serving tea and youll be washing my feet.

He turns his head to stare out the window. The sharp, proud line of his jaw seems to soften in his despair, lending him a fragility that is almost poetic. Anyone seeing him now would sigh and say, That poor, beautiful man.

Inside, Im about to explode with glee, but I manage to keep a straight face.

You have to understand, the normal Nathan Donovan is an arrogant, untouchable ice king. His life has been a gilded path, a non-stop highlight reel of success and privilege. Hes the kind of man who seems to generate his own lightning.

I once joked that the only way Id ever see Nathan Donovan get misty-eyed for me would be at my funeral.

The comment got back to him, of course.

Hed just smiled that infuriatingly charming smile of his and said, Dont flatter yourself. Id only come to your funeral to set off fireworks.

And now, seeing him this fragile, this broken? Its a hit of pure, unadulterated bliss.

I spend the entire ride home fighting back a triumphant grin.

When we get home, I head straight to my study to deal with a mountain of paperwork.

Later, when I walk into my bedroom, I stop dead. Nathan is standing there, a basin of foot-washing water at his feet.

Hes just standing there, looking dazed. Then my eyes catch what hes holding, and a silent alarm goes off in my head.

Its his pajama shirt. If theres one thing you can say about him, its that hes loyal to a fault. Hes been wearing that same damn pajama shirt since college, four years into our marriage.

He turns to me, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. You said you were married. Why are my things in your room?

I smile and walk toward him, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him closer.

The tips of his ears turn a bright, tell-tale red. He averts his gaze, flustered. What what are you doing?

My fingertip traces a slow circle on his well-defined chest. My husband, I purr, is always abroad. And you know a woman gets lonely. I have certain needs.

His eyes go wide with shock. So Im your affair? Your other man?

Or is plaything more accurate? I suggest, tilting my head.

I open my mouth to say more, but I stop when I see his expression. He lowers his gaze, a shadow of despair coloring the corners of his eyes. His voice is barely a whisper. Plaything I can live with that.

For a second, watching him stand there so lost and pathetic, I feel a pang of guilt. Maybe Ive taken this too far. This is Nathan Donovan, a man whose pride is his entire identity. Waking up to find hes a bankrupt servant whos also a part-time gigolo could that be too much of a blow?

But in the next instant, all my guilt evaporates as he pulls me into a fierce embrace.

His mouth crashes down on mine, a kiss that is both brutal and utterly desperate, a conquest without mercy.

He may have lost his memory, but his skills in this department havent diminished one bit.

He was in the hospital for two weeks, which means Ive been celibate for two weeks. The moment his lips touch mine, its spontaneous combustion. We stumble, tangled together, onto the bed.

Hes more ferocious than usual, his intensity pushing me to the edge until Im begging for him to slow down.

In the pale moonlight filtering through the window, his eyes are dark pools of raw desire and possession.

He bites my earlobe, his voice a low growl. Do you like this?

Yes just gentler

Me or your husband. Whos better?

Answer me.

Ah He bites my neck, not hard, but enough to make me gasp, his movements becoming more urgent, demanding an answer.

My mind is a hazy fog. Its not that I dont want to answer, its that I honestly dont know how.

Why him? Why wasnt it me?

Thats the last thing I hear before I drift off to sleep, the question hanging in the air as someone pulls me into a tight, possessive hold. Turning and curling into his arms has become a kind of instinct. I nuzzle against his chin and murmur, Honey

The body holding me goes completely, utterly still.

The next morning, I wake up and instinctively reach for the person beside me. My hand finds only cold, empty sheets.

Im instantly awake, sitting bolt upright.

My heart only settles when I look downstairs and see him, a whirlwind of activity around the dining table.

Habit really is a terrifying thing.

When I sit down to eat, Nathan and the rest of the staff stand to the side, waiting.

I reach out and tug on his arm. Arent you going to eat? You must be starving after last night. The teasing words slip out effortlessly.

He sits down, a slightly awkward expression on his face. Halfway through his meal, he asks, his voice laced with a pained sort of hesitation, Your husband. Is it Adam Bell?

I nearly spit out a mouthful of milk.

I manage to swallow it down.

Seeing him look so dejected, so utterly lost, its clear that Adam Bell still holds a significant place in his fractured memory.

Adam Bell was, for all intents and purposes, my first love.

Back in college, he was a senior assigned to help with freshman orientation. He was the complete opposite of Nathan. Nathan was the boy my parents always used as a benchmark for my own achievements, the rival Id been pitted against since we were kids. Wed had a massive fight over who got to play the emperor during a game of make-believe, and from that day on, we were sworn enemies.

Unfortunately, our lives seemed to run on parallel tracks. We were always in each others orbit, competing over everything.

I took up piano; his parents bought him a new Steinway.

I started oil painting; he took up charcoal sketching.

I said I wanted to go to Columbia; he said he could get into Yale.

In the end, he scored thirty points higher than me on the SATs and ended up at the exact same university.

I called him a ghost I couldnt shake.

He said it was just my bad luck.

On campus, we finally went our separate ways. I was quickly swallowed by the anonymous crowds. One day, feeling adrift, I turned and saw him. Nathans height and striking features made him stand out like a lighthouse in a storm. I opened my mouth to call his name, but a girl with flushed cheeks beat me to it, shyly asking for his number.

He looked down at her, the afternoon sun catching in his eyes, turning them gold.

The word died in my throat. I turned away, never knowing if he gave her his number that day.

And that was when I met Adam.

He smiled at me, a gentle, warm smile. Hey, freshman. Whats your major?

He was nothing like Nathan.

I confessed my feelings for him after a club outing. We went to an amusement park, and I challenged him to an archery game at one of the stalls. They were giving away little stuffed animals as prizes.

I bet I can win more than you, I declared.

As night fell, the park lights softened everyones edges. The evening breeze rustled his hair. He just smiled. Youre definitely going to win in the end.

Whys that?

Because all of my prizes are going to you.

I froze. It had never occurred to me that someone would so easily concede, just because they knew I wanted to win.

That night, I told him how I felt. And he said yes.

Adam was a wonderful boyfriend. Hed bring me breakfast, and he never showed up for a date without a bouquet of my favorite flowers. Even when his pre-med schedule had him practically living in the lab, he always found time to surprise me.

If it werent for what happened later, perhaps Nathan and I would never have ended up together.

Thinking of it now, I cant help but glance at Nathans profile beside me.

My silence is a form of confirmation.

When I dont deny it, Nathan lets out a quiet, defeated Mm.

I see, he says.

Im so used to seeing him arrogant and defiant. This wounded, submissive version of him is making me soft.

Look, actually, you

I know, he cuts me off, his voice flat. Im just the other man. I have no right to ask so many questions. He turns his head ninety degrees to stare dramatically out the window, the picture of melancholic despair.

You have to hand it to Nathan; his ability to adapt is first-class.

Barely a week after his name was mentioned, Adam Bell returned from abroad.

He was leading a research team that was partnering with my company. When I saw him at the office, the last traces of his collegiate awkwardness were gone, replaced by a polished, mature elegance.

He takes a sip of his coffee, his voice as gentle as I remember it. Evelyn, Ive always felt I owed you an apology.

Back then, I was too young to understand his choice. When he told me he was leaving the country for a research fellowship, I insisted on going with him.

He had looked at me, his expression uncharacteristically serious. Evelyn, I dont want you to change your life for me.

Why cant I go with you, but Rachel can? You two are always in the lab together, and now youre leaving the country together. Have you fallen for her?!

Because this is her path, Evelyn, hed said patiently. This was always part of her plan. But its not yours. Dont make this kind of decision for my sake. I cant bear that weight.

The younger me was stubborn and absolute. Either let me come with you, or break up with me.

The rest is history. He went across the ocean with the girl who shared his ambitions.

For a long time, I hated him for it, convinced hed left because hed fallen out of love with me. But looking back, I understand. Its a heavy burden to carry someone elses entire life on your shoulders. Adams choice wasnt wrong.

I smile and shake my head. Dont apologize. I was being childish.

He looks at me, his eyes shining. Have you been happy all these years?

I nod.

His gaze drops to my wedding ring. I mean are you truly happy?

My mind flashes to a certain someone at home, who had been clinging to me, begging to come to the office, only to shrink back onto the bed like a scolded puppy when I refused. Youre right, hed said mournfully. Im the other man. I cant be seen in public.

A small smile touches my lips. Very happy.

A shadow of disappointment crosses Adams face before he speaks again. I heard the news, you know. That you were getting married, just two months after we broke up. I thought about coming back for you, but it was too late. Ive always felt like I was the one who pushed you into such a rash decision. Maybe

He pauses, looking up at me, his clear eyes holding a mixture of hope and resolve. Maybe its not too late to fix our mistake.

His words fluster me, and my hand jerks, knocking over my coffee cup. The scalding liquid sears my skin, and I gasp. The back of my hand is instantly red and swollen.

Adam shoots to his feet and grabs my hand.

Clang.

The sound of something metal hitting the floor comes from the doorway.

Peeking through the crack of the open door is a devastatingly handsome face.

Oh, hell. Its my amnesiac, unfortunate husband.