My Amnesiac Husband Is Too Obedien

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When my husband, Denis Piercean S-Tier shifter and the most lethal man in the Coalitionwoke up from his coma with severe amnesia, there was absolutely no room left for me in his new world.

While he was lying in the VIP trauma ward, he refused all visitors. Yet, the absolute second he was discharged, he sent me a message. There was no How have you been? or I miss you. Just a cold, sterile digital document: a divorce agreement.

"Ms. Sullivan," the text in the chat bubble read, sharp and freezing as cracked ice. "Our past marriage is clearly the byproduct of my compromised mental state at the time. Lets process the paperwork as soon as possible."

Staring at the glowing screen, a laugh actually bubbled up in my throat. Sure, having an apex predator shifter for a partner meant you were fiercely protected, but who could actually survive his relentless, borderline-feral demands every single night? Honestly, the fact that his amnesia led him to initiate the breakup felt like a literal godsend.

A divorce agreement? Sign it. Sign it right now.

Once I was officially single again, I was going to find myself a gentle, soft-spoken partner. Never again would I tie myself to a terrifying beast with a terrifying amount of stamina.

"Understood."

Looking at the harsh text, I typed my reply without a single ounce of hesitation.

The man on the other end of the screen seemed to exhale a digital sigh of relief.

"Excellent, Ms. Sullivan."

"Thank you for your cooperation. All marital assets will be transferred entirely to your name. Should you encounter any logistical issues, you can contact my assistant at any time."

Me: "Sounds good."

"Thank you for agreeing to the divorce. Someone will be in touch shortly."

Me: "Great."

Closing the chat, I practically threw myself onto the plush mattress, humming happily. I pulled out the sleek black bank card linked to Deniss military salary and opened the banking app.

Tens, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands...

Behind the first five digits, there were four more zeros.

I couldn't suppress the giddy, ear-to-ear grin spreading across my face. "Heh. Hehehe."

I was rich.

No matter how I spun it, I had hit the absolute jackpot.

As the most elite S-Tier shifter in the entire Coalition, Denis had become the youngest General in the Armed Forces shortly after his graduation. His compensation package was astronomical.

In our three years of marriage, he had not only bought me a sprawling coastal estate, but he had also filled a massive walk-in closet with designer bags. And yet, there was still this much liquid cash left over.

I rolled around on the high-thread-count sheets, my mind racing with all the delicious ways I could spend this money.

First, Id sell the estate and the bags. Once I had the cash, Id move to some quiet, picturesque colony world, find myself a sweet, handsome rabbit shifter, or maybe a domesticated cat shifter, and live out the rest of my days in absolute, unbothered comfort.

Just thinking about it made my chest feel light.

I was right in the middle of scrolling through real estate listings on a gorgeous little ocean planet when my phone suddenly buzzed.

It was Benjie. His voice on the other end of the line sounded thoroughly defeated.

"...Ma'am."

"The General's brain is completely broken. You're not actually going to divorce him, are you?"

Benjie was Deniss executive assistant. He was also a deeply traditional shiftera Golden Retriever mix, to be exact.

He held the firm belief that high-level shifters belonged with other high-level shifters. Someone of Deniss unparalleled S-Tier pedigree, in Benjies eyes, should have been politically matched with a flawless, old-money shifter bloodline.

When Denis fell in love with me at first sight, Benjie had a meltdown.

When we actually got married, Benjie had a second meltdown.

And now that Denis and I were getting a divorce? For some reason, it sounded like Benjie was on the verge of his third.

I picked at a loose thread on my blanket and softly reminded him, "It's not that I want to divorce him, Benjie. It was Denis's idea."

Benjie sounded like he was physically shattering.

"But Ma'am, his brain is broken! He'she's got brain damage!"

"Before the wedding, I helped him pick out the flowers, the cars, the designer bags. During the wedding, I stood between you two and those stubborn, traditionalist elders to make sure your ceremony was flawless. After the wedding, I spent every single day talking to the General about life, the universe, and how to make you happy... I practically became the president of your fan club! And now you're telling me you're getting a divorce?!"

"What was the point of sacrificing my youth for you two?!" he wailed. "What was it all for?!"

Me: "..."

Even my conscience twinged a little at that. I rubbed my lower stomach, suddenly feeling a bit guilty, and stammered, "Well, I mean..."

Benjie caught the hesitation and his tone sparked with sudden hope. "Ma'am, you still love him deeply, don't you? You don't actually want to leave him, right? Don't worry, leave everything to me. I promise you, give me one month, and I'll have the General's memories fully restored!"

Me: "..."

One month.

Wasn't that a little too soon?

During the entire time Denis had been in his coma, the faint, bruised-looking marks on my skin had only just started to fade. Even now, my thighs ached a little when I walked too fast.

Benjie was still aggressively pitching his plan. "Just one month, and you two will be as sickeningly sweet as you used to be. Just hold on a little longer, Ma'am. Think about all the beautiful moments you shared. Do you really have the heart to just walk away from him like this?"

I kept my hand resting on my stomach.

Suddenly, a vivid memory flashed behind my eyes. Denis's large, calloused hands gripping my waist, pinning me down. The low, rumbling vibration of his chest as he laughed against my ear, his voice a dark, breathless whisper:

[Such a good girl for me.]

A full-body shiver wrecked through me. I sat bolt upright, my resolve instantly hardening.

"Forget it, Benjie."

"You can't force something that isn't meant to be. If Denis wants to divorce me, I'm sure it's a carefully considered decision. Please schedule the appointment as soon as possible. I'm going to go sign those papers!"

Benjie: "...?"

I didn't wait to hear whatever Benjie was going to say next. I hung up the phone.

Denis and I had met through the Federal Genetic Registry.

Rumor had it that Denis used to be violently opposed to the idea of marriage. But because his genetic markers were so flawlessly elite, the Registry hounded him relentlessly.

After being badgered for the hundredth time, the man finally snapped. He wrote down an impossibly specific, entirely ridiculous list of demands and threw it at the Registry directors, threatening to dismantle their entire building if they couldn't find someone who fit the exact criteria.

Terrified, the Registry fed his impossible parameters into the Holo-Net matrix.

And matched with me. In exactly one second.

On the day of our forced blind date, Denis looked like he was ready to murder someone.

But the moment his eyes landed on me...

Denis: "Hi, wife."

Me: "?"

And just like that, I was married.

At first, I thought I had won the lottery. But barely two days into the marriage, the regret set in.

...Because Denis was, quite frankly, terrifying. And incredibly wicked.

On the nights he came home from the base, even if I was crying and trying to crawl to the edge of the mattress, he would just effortlessly drag me back by the ankles. He would cage me in his massive arms, kissing away my tears while wickedly teasing me for being so soft. It never stopped until I literally passed out.

...

I bit my lower lip and started reviewing the divorce checklist.

Benjie sent me several crying-face emojis. Then, radio silence.

Honestly, I trusted Benjie's professional competence entirely. Even though he was a loyal little Golden Retriever shifter, when Denis had decided he wanted to marry me, Benjie had handled the resulting political nightmare perfectly, even while having a mental breakdown.

Now that Denis wanted to divorce me, I was sure Benjie would execute it flawlessly.

Sure enough, after a period of quiet, Benjie dutifully sent me the time and location.

Three days from now. 2:00 PM. The Civic Records Bureau.

Me: "Received."

Now that the dust had settled, my heart calmed down slightly. But thinking of Denisinjured and missing his memoriesa quiet pang of worry surfaced.

The details of Deniss injuries were highly classified. The Coalition had placed a strict embargo on the information, so I hadn't seen a single media report about it. While he was in the trauma ward, he had explicitly banned me from visiting.

So even now, as he was discharged, I had no idea what kind of damage he had sustained, or how severe it had been.

After hesitating for a long moment, I finally typed: "How is Denis... doing right now?"

Benjie replied instantly: "WAHHHHHHH!"

"MA'AM!!!"

"I knew it! I knew you still loved the General! (Loud Crying Emoji)"

I winced. Let's not talk about love. We were literally getting divorced; what was the point of romanticizing it now?

But Benjie wasn't deterred by my lack of enthusiasm. He enthusiastically bombarded me with text walls, including a recent photo of Denis.

In the picture, the mans expression was an icy mask, his sharply sculpted face noticeably pale.

Benjie: "Ma'am, the General was hurt really badly this time. Otherwise, his brain wouldn't have locked away his memories of you."

"His external wounds are mostly healed, but his core is still dangerously weak. The med-techs told him to rest for at least three months, but he refuses to listen. He's demanding to be cleared for active duty."

"When you see him, please try to talk some sense into him. (Puppy Wagging Tail Emoji)"

I tapped on the photograph, enlarging it.

Looking at the familiar, sharp line of his brow, now shadowed by a sickly pallor, an unnamable ache settled in my chest.

I didn't know what right I had to advise him anymore. But I agreed to Benjie's request anyway.

...Even setting aside the fact that he was my husband, Denis was still a decorated hero of the Coalition. Both personally and objectively, I owed it to him to tell him to take care of himself.

The three days blurred by quickly.

Thinking that this might be the very last time we ever saw each other, I spent over an hour doing my makeup, pulling on a sharp, professional tailored skirt suit, wanting to treat this final transition with the gravity it deserved.

But right before I walked out the door, I caught my reflection in the hallway mirror.

A dark memory suddenly spiked in my brain.

A man pressing my chest against the cold glass of this exact mirror. His voice, hoarse and heavy with lust:

[Dressed up so beautifully for me, baby? Who are you trying to impress?]

[Oh... you just wanted to look pretty for your husband.]

[Such a good girl.]

I violently shuddered, shaking my head to clear the phantom sensation.

I immediately marched into the bathroom, scrubbed my face completely bare, and threw on a simple, unassuming white sundress. I checked the mirror again. Bare-faced, looking like I had literally just rolled out of bed and thrown on the first piece of fabric I could find. Thoroughly unbothered.

Perfect.

Satisfied, I grabbed the finalized divorce folders and walked out the door.

Because of my last-minute wardrobe crisis, I was running slightly late.

To give us time to review the paperwork before going inside, Benjie had booked a table for us at an upscale coffee shop right across the street from the Civic Records Bureau.

The moment I stepped through the cafe doors, a visceral chill ran down my spine.

Even suppressed, the ambient pressure of an S-Tier shifter was completely suffocating. It felt like being locked in the crosshairs of a terrifying, apex predator lurking in the dark. A primal, hair-raising dread.

The other patrons in the cafe were visibly tense. Some of the lower-level shifters were so overwhelmed that their traits were slipping outI saw a girl with long white rabbit ears flattened in sheer terror against her head, trembling in a corner booth.

Shifters of Deniss caliber almost never walked around casually in public. His aura was simply too crushing. Even when he wasn't doing anything, it bore down on weaker shifters like gravity. It was like putting a locked-up lion in a room full of toy poodles; the cage didn't stop the poodles' legs from giving out.

Add to that the fact that he hadn't fully healed... there was a distinct, metallic undercurrent of blood in his scent that made it even more terrifying.

I quickened my pace, hurrying toward the secluded corner.

Stopping by the table next to the window, I said softly, "Mr. Pierce."

Denis was sitting by the glass. He wore a simple, unbuttoned dress shirt, his dark military jacket tossed carelessly over the back of the plush sofa. He was leaning back lazily, looking incredibly bored as he tapped at his smart-watch interface.

At the sound of my voice, his icy eyes flicked up.

"Ms. Sullivan. Punctuality is a virtue you seem to lack"

The absolute second his eyes fully registered me, his entire body seemed to jolt.

He slowly, rigidly sat up straight.

"...WWife?"

I looked down, feeling a sudden rush of guilt, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

"I'm sorry," I murmured. "I ran a little late."

Denis's breathing actually hitched. His eyes completely lost their focus for a second.

"...IIt's fine."

"I was just early."

I slid into the booth across from him, pulled the meticulously drafted divorce agreement from my tote bag, and slid it across the sleek wooden table.

"HusbanI mean, Mr. Pierce."

"This is the agreement my lawyers drafted. Could you review it and let me know if there's anything you want amended?"

The moment the words left my mouth, I closed my eyes in pure agony. My toes curled inside my shoes, desperate to dig a hole straight through the floorboards.

...God, that was so humiliating. Husband?

The man had literal amnesia. He didn't want to see me, the first thing he asked for was a divorce, and I had just called him husband.

After a brutal internal war with my own embarrassment, I slowly realized the air between us had gone dead silent.

I cautiously opened my eyes and peeked across the table.

Denis suddenly looked incredibly busy. His lips were pressed in a tight line, his fingers flying across his smart-watch as if he were negotiating a national security crisis. But out of the corner of his eye, he kept throwing erratic, panicked glances at the divorce papers on the table.

Me: "...Mr. Pierce?"

It took him a half-beat to respond. He looked up, his pupils still slightly dilated. "...Ms. Sullivan."

I offered an awkward smile. "Um, are you busy with work right now? We can go process the paperwork quickly so you can get back to it."

"Or... are you unhappy with the terms? It's totally fine, we can just split the marital assets fifty-fifty."

Denis: "..."

All the color drained from Denis's already pale face. His large, scarred knuckles clenched, then released, then clenched again over his knees.

"I..." he grit his teeth. "Actually..."

I blinked, watching him with genuine concern. Something was wrong with him. He looked like he was about to pass out. I wasn't sure if his injuries were acting up.

Remembering Benjie's desperate plea, I softened my voice.

"Mr. Pierce, I know your work is important, but you really need to take care of your body."

"Otherwise, the people who care about you are going to worry."

A sudden, intense light flickered in Denis's eyes. "Really? There's someone... who worries about me?"

What a ridiculous question. Did Benjie not count as a person?

I nodded earnestly. "Yes, of course. So please, prioritize your health."

"Now, should we head over and get our certificates?"

Denis shot to his feet so fast the table rattled. His face was ashen.

"...I apologize, Ms. Sullivan. The Coalition just flagged an emergency. I have to leave."

I looked up in shock. "Wait, right now? We can just go inside, it will literally take ten minutes"

Denis choked out another panicked apology, spun on his heel, and practically sprinted out the door. He walked so fast it looked like the hounds of hell were snapping at his ankles.

Me: "..."

Well, what was I supposed to do now?

I had actually lined up a blind date with a cat shifter for this exact afternoon. For the sake of my beautiful, peaceful future, I planned to line up several potential gentle shifters, vet them all, and pick the sweetest one.

The plan was to get the divorce certificate, then seamlessly pivot to the date. Peak efficiency.

But now... I didn't have the divorce papers signed. Was it morally wrong to still go on the date?

Would that make me a bad person?

Ultimately, I still went to meet the cat shifter.

It wasn't because I was desperate. It was mostly because the guy had sent me a video message right before I left the house.

Soft, messy black hair, framing a pair of pristine, fluffy white cat ears that twitched nervously. His voice was soft, sweet, and incredibly endearing.

"These are my ears, miss."

"I don't know if they're the kind of ears you like... but I really hope they are. >_<"

My resolve instantly crumbled.

"Oh my god, you are the sweetest baby! I love them!"

[Location Pin Sent]

"Sweetie, I'm already here. Come meet me, coffee is on me~"

While waiting for him to arrive, a small voice in the back of my head whispered: Is it really appropriate to have a date in the exact same spot you were just sitting with your husband?

But Toby was already on his way. Changing the venue at the very last second on our first date would make me look like a chaotic, red-flag player.

While I was still debating, he walked in.

I had seen his shifter profilea long-haired Ragdollbut in person, he was even cuter than I imagined. He was a bit on the shorter side, but his face was perfectly cherubic, his eyes round and sparkling. Objectively, a textbook pretty-boy feline.

He walked over hesitantly, his fluffy ears flattening slightly as he sat down. His nose crinkled.

"Miss... who was sitting here before me? The scent is making me a little nauseous."

I coughed, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty. "Uh... my husbandI mean, my ex-husband. We were supposed to finalize our divorce today. But he got called away on an emergency, so you don't need to worry about him."

Toby nodded timidly, his big, watery eyes looking up at me with absolute adoration.

"I see... Well, I'm here to keep you company."

"If you're feeling sad about anything, you can tell me. I'll always be here to listen."

I was melting. I was absolutely melting.

After a few minutes of chatting, I managed to coax him into shifting his hands so I could play with his soft, pink toe beans.

We were having a great time until suddenly, the fur on Toby's arms puffed out. His nose flared.

"Wait. Miss, something's wrong. I feel... danger."

"It's really close. Like... someone is watching us."

I was entirely too invested in squishing the pink toe beans to look up.

"Danger? You mean my ex? He got called away by Military Command. There's zero chance he'd come back."

Toby's voice cracked, dropping an octave in sheer panic.

"...No, miss. Look. Is that... is that your ex-husband?"

I snapped my head up.

Right outside the cafe window, separated only by a sheet of glass, stood a towering, broad-shouldered man. I had no idea how long he had been standing there. His dark, suffocating gaze was locked entirely on me, like a beast of prey stalking from the shadows.

Through the glass, his lips moved, silently shaping the words:

[Wife.]

[Who is he?]