It had been exactly one month since Aria and Julian signed the cold, ink-stained contract. Life in the mansion was silent—a constant reminder that their marriage was nothing more than a transaction. Julian remained a man of stone, his eyes never softening when they landed on her.
"I have a business gala tonight," Julian said that evening, his tone detached. "Be ready by seven. Remember your role, Aria. You are the devoted wife in public, and nothing more."
"I understand, Julian," Aria replied, swallowing the bitterness in her throat.
But they never made it to the gala.
The rain was a torrential downpour, blinding the world outside. Suddenly, a pair of headlights swerved into their lane. There was a deafening screech of tires, the smell of burning rubber, and then—shattering glass. Everything went black.
When Aria woke up in the hospital days later, her first thought was Julian. She rushed to his room and found him awake, his head wrapped in bandages.
"Julian?" she whispered.
He turned slowly. The cold, sharp gaze she feared was gone. Instead, his eyes were soft, filled with a deep, aching tenderness. He reached out and caught her hand.
"Aria..." he rasped. "You're safe. Thank God, you're safe."
Aria froze. "Julian, do you... remember our agreement?"
Julian looked confused. "Agreement? Aria, I only remember one thing—that you are my wife. I remember how much I love you. I was so scared I'd lose you."
Aria's heart stopped. He had forgotten the contract. He had forgotten the bitterness. To a man with no memory, she wasn't a business partner anymore. She was his entire world.