It’d been three years since I divorced Ethan Carter.
Took me that long to crawl out of the hell he shoved me into.
I finally said yes to Liam’s proposal. My childhood best friend. My safe place. I was even pregnant now.
But the first time I went in for a prenatal checkup, guess who I fucking ran into?
Ethan. Wrapped in gauze like a goddamn mummy. The moment he saw me, his whole face twisted.
“Zoe,” he snapped, “I’ve been in the hospital three days and you haven’t shown up once. What kind of wife does that?”
His assistant—some wannabe power-suited Barbie—frantically mouthed at me, “He has amnesia.”
I blinked. “What?”
Took me a solid ten seconds to process it.
He forgot.
He forgot the part where he destroyed me for his precious Lauren White. The divorce, the public humiliation, the forced silence.
He forgot how she “accidentally” pushed me down the stairs and cost me my baby.
He forgot the slut rumors she planted online—saying I was sleeping with three different guys at some shitty dive bar, that I was carrying someone else’s bastard.
He forgot how my father had a heart attack from the stress. How my mom spiraled into dementia from the trauma.
He forgot all of it.
And now he had the fucking audacity to look betrayed?
Three years of buried trauma ripped open like raw flesh. I clenched my jaw. “Ethan, we’ve been—”
Divorced. For years. Get the fuck out of my face.
But before I could finish, his assistant lunged and gripped my wrist hard. “Mrs. Carter!”
Yeah. Mrs. Carter. That’s what they still called me. Like I hadn’t burned that name to ash.
She was shooting me a death glare, whispering through clenched teeth. “Mr. Carter just stabilized. You should’ve been here. Stop playing the victim.”
Her nails dug into my skin so deep I flinched.
“Fuck—”
The scan report slipped from my hand. Ethan snatched it before I could blink, reading the gestation dates with a blank face that quickly turned icy.
“Seriously?” he sneered. “Using a fake pregnancy to spite Lauren? That’s a new low, even for you.”
Was I pissed at Lauren back then? Hell yeah.
She dumped broke-ass Ethan when he had nothing, left him to rot. I stayed, held his hand, built him up. Then she crawled back the second he made it big, batting her lashes while he treated me like I was the jealous bitch.
She got to play the delicate muse. I got left behind with bruises no one could see.
He looked me over like I was trash. “Oversized clothes? What, trying to fake a bump with a pillow?”
He shoved his hand toward my belly.
I backed away. He yanked me right back.
“What, you afraid? Feeling guilty?”
A nurse walked by mid-scene and—of course—joined the circus.
She handed me a form with a scowl. “Mrs. Carter, I wrote down the discharge meds. Go home and take care of your husband.”
The fucking irony.
I shoved the paper into the assistant’s hand and turned to leave. That’s when I saw her.
Lauren White. In a pristine white dress. Holding a soup thermos like she walked out of a goddamn Hallmark movie.
Her face went pale when she saw me. Then the venom showed.
Ethan grabbed my arm again.
“She’s been taking care of me. You should be grateful.”
Lauren blinked up at him, all fake modesty. “Don’t make Zoe mad, babe.”
Then she looked at me. Soft voice, gentle eyes, weaponized sweetness.
Ethan turned back to me. “She’s hosting an art exhibit. Your dad’s a retired art professor, right? You know people. Hook her up. It’s the least you can do.”
That was it.
“Fuck no!”
Three years ago, that bitch cost me my child and tried to erase it by painting me as some party whore.
My dad got fired. The stress killed him. My mom lost herself.
I still remember my dad gripping my hand on his deathbed.
“Zoe… promise me one thing…”
Tears streamed down my face. I nodded.
“Don’t ever love him again,” he whispered. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
“Zoe!” Ethan’s shout brought me back.
“I’m offering you a goddamn olive branch!”
Lauren clung to his arm, all doe-eyed and innocent.
“It’s okay, babe, forget it…”
“Forget it?” My voice broke.
“My dad’s dead!”
Everything inside me cracked wide open.
Ethan froze for a second. Maybe he remembered. But then…
“Keep lying,” he growled.
“Fake pregnancy, now killing off your dad? You’re fucking disgusting!”
He crushed the report into a ball and hurled it at my face.
Black spots. Blinding pain.
I almost fell.
Ethan stormed off with Lauren clinging to his side like the parasite she was.
His assistant lingered long enough to throw shade.
“You saw what you needed to see. If we need further cooperation, we’ll contact you.”
I stared her down. “I’m married. I don’t owe you or him shit.”
She scoffed, turning her nose up. “What’d you marry, a bottom-shelf divorcee? You think Mrs. Carter’s gonna let that slide? Good luck.”
Yeah, I remembered Mrs. Patricia Carter just fine.
She used to give me “lessons” on being a proper wife. Preached about being obedient and selfless like it was a damn religion. That woman saw any ounce of emotion as weakness—and made damn sure her son did too.
Ding.
Text from Liam.
“Lunch was great, babe. Flying back tomorrow night. Got you something special. Can’t wait to see you.”
He texted like this all day. Little moments. Tiny updates. All love.
Even his mom, Mrs. Helen Quinn, told him to cut back on work and stay home more with me. And he did. With pride.
Marrying Liam?
Not even in the same universe as marrying Ethan.
By the time I got home, the kitchen smelled amazing—Liam had planned out my meals before his trip.
I rested my hand on my growing belly. I wanted to surprise him tomorrow at the airport.
So I spent the afternoon baking his favorite dark chocolate truffles and picking out the perfect flowers.
Right as I was wrapping the box with the little “To My Sexy Husband” tag, guess who barged into the shop?
Ethan. With Lauren.
He saw the chocolates and flowers. His eyes narrowed.
“Finally trying to apologize?”
I was too stunned to speak.
He grabbed the chocolates. Tore open the bow.
Read the card. Smirked.
“Wow. Cute.”
Before I could take them back, he popped one in his mouth. Chewed. Frowned.
“Too sweet. Gross.”
Then—he chucked the box straight into the trash.
“I get it. You’re sorry. But knock off the drama next time. I don’t eat that sugary crap.”
The store owner tried to intervene, bless his heart.
“Sir, she picked those out with care. She clearly loves you—”
Ethan just grinned wider.
I paid, picked up the flowers, and backed away.
“They weren’t for you.”
He stepped closer.
“I’ll say this one last time—you’re still my wife. Stop playing these games.”
I was about to rip into him when Lauren slid up like a snake in satin.
“Ooh! These are gorgeous! You’re taking me to meet your mom tonight, right? Can I bring them?”
I stared. Ethan hesitated. Then—like clockwork—he caved to her sugar-sweet act.
He grabbed the bouquet, tore off my card, and handed Lauren a blank one.
“Write something nice.”
If he’d bothered to read the damn card, he’d have seen it was addressed to Liam.
The shop owner sighed and turned away. I stood frozen, furious, exhausted.
As I pushed the door open, Ethan called after me.
“Dinner with my mom tonight. Lauren’s coming. But tomorrow? I’ll go with you to your parents’ house.”
I didn’t even turn around.
All I could do was laugh.
The second the Carter Security Guards dragged me into the Carter estate, I saw Lauren fucking White sitting on the couch, all sweet and demure, slicing apples for Mrs. Patricia Carter like she was auditioning for Stepford Wife of the Year.
They looked like one big, happy family. Until I walked in and ruined the damn picture.
Ethan’s expression turned from soft to storm cloud in one breath.
“Where the hell were you last night?” he barked. “Blocked my number, went MIA—what, thought I was dead?”
I glared at his mom, who flinched. “You kidnapped me. You don’t think my actual husband’s gonna come looking?”
Ethan blinked, his face darkening like a thunderstorm.
Mrs. Patricia Carter stood, all fake concern and cold steel, grabbing my hand and digging her claws right into the soft flesh of my inner arm.
“Oh honey, I know you two had a fight, but that’s no reason to say crazy things.”
I tried to pull away, but she leaned in close, her voice just for me.
“Heard you’re knocked up,” she whispered, lips barely moving. “You so much as breathe a word about that divorce again, and I swear to God I’ll make you lose this baby too.”
The look in her eyes was pure fucking evil. My skin prickled, stomach clenched.
I fumbled for my phone to call Liam.
She lunged for it. I dodged like hell, but…
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Shit. He’s probably on his flight. No signal.
Mrs. Patricia exhaled, satisfied, gave a little nod to the guards, and they yanked my phone from my hands like it was nothing.
Then she wrapped her arm around me like some twisted version of affection and turned back to Ethan with her Sunday-church smile.
“She’s having another episode, sweetheart. Keeps telling people she got remarried.”
Lauren giggled. “Last week she said she was Cleopatra or something. Right, Zoe?”
Ethan’s eyes darkened. His brows furrowed.
“That’s enough,” he muttered. “Go lie down, I’ll check on you later.”
And just like that, two house staff started dragging me toward a guest room.
No. Hell no. Liam was probably already waiting for me at the airport.
I lost it.
“Ethan Carter!” I screamed. “We’ve been divorced for three fucking years! I’m pregnant—and it’s not yours, it’s my husband’s—”
CRASH.
He went white, then full crimson rage, and swept a crystal glass off the table with one hand.
“Shut your fucking mouth!”
SLAP.
Mrs. Patricia’s hand came out of nowhere, cracking across my cheek so hard I saw stars.
“You filthy bitch! You trying to kill my son?!”
She ran over to comfort Ethan like the victim here, stroking his back.
“Don’t listen to her, baby. She’s completely lost it. The doctors said no stress, remember?”
Then she turned and pointed at me like I was a fucking dog.
“What are you waiting for? Lock her the hell up!”
Lauren stood there, smug as hell, watching me get tied down like I belonged in a damn asylum.
My hands were bound, mouth gagged, locked in a damn bedroom like some insane criminal. I was shaking, nauseous, and my stomach started to twist and cramp.
Pain bloomed across my lower belly. Cold sweat soaked my back.
Minutes passed, maybe more. Then—
The door slammed open with a bang.
Ethan stood there, blocking the light like a fucking villain in a horror movie. His tie was undone, his face unreadable—but the air around him practically crackled with fury.
He didn’t say a word. Just marched over, yanked the cloth from my mouth, grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to the full-length mirror.
“Take a good fucking look at yourself, Mrs. Carter,” he said, voice low and seething.
“You want to throw tantrums? Fine. You want to freak out over Lauren? Be my guest. But today? You crossed a fucking line.”
His grip was bruising. I winced, trying to twist free.
“Now it hurts?” he sneered. “Didn’t think about consequences when you were spouting off like a lunatic?”
He turned me toward him, eyes locked on my belly like a bomb about to go off.
“So you’re pregnant, huh?” he said slowly, voice dipping into something colder than ice.
His hand hovered above my stomach.
“If that baby’s not mine… if it’s some other bastard’s…”
His palm pressed down hard.
“I’ll rip it the fuck out myself.”
“AHHH!”
The pain exploded. I screamed. Hot blood rushed down my thighs, panic seizing every inch of me.
I needed help. Now. Or my baby—Liam’s baby—wasn’t gonna make it.
RIIIIING.
The phone on the nightstand lit up. Caller ID said it all:
Husband.
I lunged, heart pounding, but Ethan froze.
I snatched the phone, hit answer, my whole body shaking.
“Babe?” Liam’s voice was warm, steady. “I just landed. It’s chilly tonight—wear something warm when you come get me…”
“Liam—” I choked out. “I’m—”
CLICK.
The call ended.
The silence that followed was a fucking scream in my ears.
I turned around.
Ethan stood there like he’d been hit by a truck.
His expression cracked—rage twisted into shock, then confusion, then something almost like horror.
“Zoe… you…”
I didn’t have time for this. Blood was still dripping between my legs.
“Untie me,” I snapped, holding up my wrists. “Now.”
He didn’t move. Just stared.
“Ethan, listen to me. If there’s even a shred of humanity left in you, you’ll let me go. I need a hospital. I’m losing my baby.”
His jaw clenched. Something flickered in his eyes.
Then—finally—he bent down, cut the ties, and scooped me up.
He staggered a little, maybe from the head trauma, maybe from guilt. But he kept moving, carrying me through the hall while Lauren and Mrs. Patricia stared like I was a fucking ghost.
He placed me in the front seat of his car, hands trembling.
No words. Just chaos and panic and blood.
I curled up, arms around my stomach, praying.
Please. Please let the baby be okay.
Then everything went black.
The moment I opened my eyes, I was hit with a weird mix of antiseptic and some kind of floral air freshener.
A fancy-ass crystal chandelier glowed overhead, and the buttery yellow wallpaper was printed with tiny daisies. This wasn’t some public hospital. This was that goddamn Carter family private clinic—a golden cage if I ever saw one.
Outside the window, thorny vines climbed up electric fencing, and blood-red roses bloomed like they owned the place.
Same place I was dragged to the first time I miscarried. Three years ago.
Ethan was sitting by the bed, looking like shit. Dark circles, unshaved, still in last night’s clothes.
“The baby… is okay,” he rasped.
I clutched the bedsheet. “Give me my phone.”
“Ethan, we’ve been divorced for three years. I need to call my husband. You holding me here is kidnapping.”
I started to sit up, but he shoved me back down, hand trembling where it pressed on my shoulder.
“I asked Emily. Yeah, we’re… divorced.”
His voice cracked as he tried to smile. It looked more like a grimace.
“And about your dad… I should’ve believed you. I’m sorry.”
The fuck he was. I felt ice crawling through my veins.
Where was this energy when the internet called me a whore? When I sat in the hospital hallway refreshing Twitter while my father died in the next room?
“Maybe losing my memory was a gift,” Ethan said, eyes glassy. “A second chance. I know how bad the miscarriage hit you before. But if you want to keep this baby, I’ll support you. I don’t care who the father is, as long as you…”
“Ethan,” I snapped, cutting him off. “I’m married to Liam Quinn. He’s my husband.”
In New York society, if anyone could rival the Carters, it was the Quinns. The two families mostly stayed out of each other’s way—like oil and gasoline.
“He loves me,” I said, meeting Ethan’s bloodshot gaze. “And if he finds out what you did, the Carter estate won’t survive the fallout.”
Ethan flinched at the word “love.”
He leaned over, fingers clamping around my throat, green eyes wild.
“Zoe Brooks, I’m the one who really loves you. You’re mine. Divorce? Not a fucking chance.”
I gasped. “You’re insane! Liam’s gonna find me!”
Ethan smirked. Cold. Unhinged.
“Let’s see who finds you first,” he whispered. “Him? Or me, before he conveniently disappears.”
Two days. That’s how long I’d been locked up in this psych ward disguised as a luxury hospital suite.
My phone? Gone. Nurses? Smiling spies. Every window replaced. Every escape attempt anticipated.
Even the note I threw outside in desperation? Ethan brought it back and laid it neatly on my bedside table. Like a trophy.
He wanted me to try. He loved the chase. The illusion of hope. It made him feel like he owned me.
He sat peeling apples next to me like this was some twisted domestic fantasy.
“Zoe,” he said sweetly, “I’m not mad this time. Scream all you want.”
I kept calm, if only for the life inside me. “Did you get all your memories back?”
His eyes flickered. “Not all.”
Bullshit. But I played along.
“Honestly, I look back and wonder what the hell I ever saw in you.”
His grip on the knife paused. Just for a second.
“Expectation leads to disappointment. You ever heard that?”
He paled. “Zoe…”
I laughed bitterly. “Don’t tell me you didn’t see through Lauren White’s little act. She destroyed everything. My name, my family, my baby. My dad died thinking his daughter was a goddamn disgrace.”
“Stop,” he said quickly, face whitening. The apple slipped from his hand.
He clung to my sleeve like a drowning man. “I’m sorry. Just one more chance. Please, Zoe. Please.”
I stared at him. Then I laughed.
That did it.
He grabbed the fruit knife and sliced a deep red line across his arm.
“Is that enough? Huh? You want more?”
Blood spilled everywhere. My stomach turned.
“Ethan, are you fucking crazy?! You think bleeding all over the floor makes up for what you did?!”
“You think I forgot?! You think I can live knowing I let you go?!”
I shook my head. “I found someone who makes me feel safe. You think I’d ever give that up for you?”
He staggered back. Wiped his face.
Voice raw. “Fine. Go. Before I change my mind.”
I blinked. “What?”
“GO!” he roared.
I didn’t wait for round two. I was off that bed and scrambling to the door.
But before I could reach the handle, a shadow blocked the light.
He grabbed my waist, yanked me back against him.
“Sorry, Zoe,” Ethan whispered against my ear. “I overestimated my self-control.”
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