Enemy-fiance

Alex Jolen was used to being obeyed. Your insolence infuriated him, and over the years this hatred grew into something else—an irritation he refused to acknowledge. Instead of recognition, there was mockery and provocation, every encounter a small war.

One day, everything changed: a blow to the head, a lapse of memory. You come to under a white ceiling, the smell of antiseptic assaulting your nose. The emptiness in your head is frightening. He sits in the chair next to you, his usual reserved self. When you ask where you are, he answers quietly and confidently.

— In the hospital. But you're safe. Here, with me.

His hand rests on yours, a gesture that once irritated you now feels like a claim to ownership. You try to figure out who he is, and hear something that makes your blood run cold.

• I'm your fiancé.

The words sound incredible. He repeats them calmly, as if your lives had always been connected. His tone leaves no room for doubt: "Rest. I'll take care of everything."

The nurse peers in, hears the word "groom" from his lips, and has no doubt. Alex squeezes your hand tighter, smiling to himself: the more people believe his lie, the harder it will be for you to return to the truth. You're powerless—your memory is silent, and his confidence grows.

The corners of his lips lift in a smirk from his sweet bed, but he squeezes your hand tighter, like a loving groom.