Chapter 1

I had been unconscious in the hospital for three whole days.

When I opened my eyes, my phone screen was still glowing, stuck on the pinned chat on SnapChat.

Three days ago, I had bombarded him with voice messages.

My final text had been completely hysterical:

[Julian, if you dare go to Mandy’s press conference today, I’ll crash my car into the guardrail!]

Ten minutes later, he had replied with three chilling words:

[Suit yourself.]

I pressed my fingers against my throbbing temples, my mind a complete blank.

Julian? Mandy?

Why on earth would I crash my car into a guardrail?

My memories were clearly stuck back when I was twenty years old.

That night, I had just finished an indie rock gig and was in our dorm mocking girls who lost their minds and wanted to die over some guy.

Yet the phone in my hand, and the year displayed on the screen, coldly reminded me that time had jumped six years into the future.

Desperate to figure out what had happened over these six years, I swiped open the screen to check my camera roll, but a breaking news notification popped up:

[Sterling Group Invests $50M in Rising Musician Mandy Evans; Mrs. Sterling Hospitalized After Car Crash Suspected of Jealous Fit]

In the article’s photo, Julian Sterling—the senior from college I used to harbor a crush on—stood tall beneath flashing cameras.

Looking sharp in a tailored suit, he was handing a microphone to a teary-eyed young woman.

The comment section was flooded with mockery:

"Is this Mrs. Sterling making a scene again? Hasn't she had enough after three years?"

"She practically begged and forced Julian to sign marriage papers back then. She didn't even get a real wedding! Now he's just looking after his late mentor’s daughter, and she’s throwing tantrums again."

"I heard she even tried pulling a car crash stunt this time. Julian didn’t even bother visiting her at the hospital. What a joke."

Within minutes, I scrolled through our chat logs and trending posts on Ins.

It was absurd.

Refusing to believe it, I opened the front camera.

The screen reflected my face.

Sunken eyes, sheer exhaustion. My once rebellious, edgy short hair had been replaced by tame, long black locks.

I jerked my head down to stare at my left hand.

From years of playing guitar, my fingertips used to be covered in thick calluses.

Now, my fingertips were smooth and soft, tipped with an expensive manicure.

And on my ring finger sat a diamond wedding band.

I reached over and unzipped the purse on the nightstand.

Inside was my ID card, confirming my age was twenty-six.

There were also half-empty bottles of antidepressants and sleeping pills.

Every single clue pointed to one undeniable truth:

I hadn’t traveled through time—I had amnesia.

Savannah, the girl who once swore she would never bend over backward for any man, had married Julian Sterling at twenty-three.

Over three years of loveless marriage, I had spiraled into clinical depression, popping pills just to get through the day, consumed by petty jealousy.

I had even reported Mandy for plagiarism, only for my own husband to publicly humiliate me, which finally led to me swallowing sleeping pills and driving straight into a guardrail.

This marriage had turned me into a miserable, bitter wreck.

I dropped the pill bottles back into the bag. After a long silence, a self-deprecating laugh escaped my lips.

People bustled past in the hallway outside.

The nurse changing my IV glanced at me with pity. "Miss Hayes, your concussion hasn’t fully healed yet. Is any family coming to help you with the admission paperwork today?"

Family?

My lawful husband had just blown fifty million dollars just to make his little muse smile.

"No need. I can discharge myself."

I shook my head, directly pulling the IV needle from the back of my hand.

Ignoring the nurse's protests, I walked straight out of the ER.

Even if my marriage was a disaster, and even if I had lost my memories—

It wasn’t too late. I refused to let myself live like this for another second.

I was going to end this marriage!

Stepping outside, I hailed a cab and gave the driver the villa address I had found on my phone.

Soon enough, we pulled up outside the estate. I pressed my thumb against the biometric lock, and the door clicked open.

So I really had been living here since getting married.

I headed upstairs to the master bedroom on the second floor. After digging through the drawers, I finally found our marriage certificate inside the nightstand.

In the photo on the certificate, I was smiling sweetly. I could easily imagine the radiant, naive hope I must have felt on our wedding day.

I let out a cold sneer. Overwhelmed by sudden disgust, I hurled it into the trash can.

Then I remembered I would actually need the certificate to finalize the divorce. Just as I bent down to retrieve it,

a cold voice cut through the air:

"What do you think you’re doing?"

I turned around.

Julian was standing by the doorway, his face icy and his dark eyes terrifyingly grim.