Chapter 2

That night, under the sterile glow of my desk lamp, I booked a one-way ticket to Portland, Oregon. The flight was for January 1st. New Year's Day. The day Jocelyn had casually told her friends she planned to "recover" her memory and come home to me. The irony was a bitter pill. I was building a new life for myself, a life where I was the one in control.

The next few days were a blur of methodical erasure. I went through our shared brownstone like a ghost, purging every trace of her. Photos of us smiling in Paris, her favorite cashmere throw, the collection of vintage teacups I'd bought for her one by one. I packed them into boxes, not with anger, but with a detached, surgical precision. I piled them by the front door, ready for the donation truck.

I was hauling the last box out to the curb when a sleek, black Porsche pulled up. Jocelyn got out of the passenger seat, laughing at something the man in the driver's seat had said. He was tall, with perfectly styled blond hair and a smug grin. Carson Blakely. He walked around the car and draped an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, her body language easy and familiar. They walked towards the house, bold and unbothered, as if I wasn't even there. She must have been so certain of her control over me, so sure I would just stand by and watch.

My hands tightened on the cardboard box. For a moment, I just stood there.

Jocelyn's smile froze when she saw the mountain of boxes on the curb. She looked from the pile to my face, her expression hardening.

"What are you doing, Ethan?" Her voice was cold.

"Cleaning," I said, my own voice flat and unfamiliar to my ears. I lifted the box I was holding and placed it on top of the others.

Her eyes swept over the discarded items-a framed photo of our first anniversary, a painting she'd bought in Italy. Her face grew colder. "Why are you throwing away my things?"

I turned to look at her, really look at her, for the first time since she'd arrived. "You don't remember them, do you? Since you have amnesia."

The words hung in the air. A flicker of panic crossed her face before she masked it. She recovered quickly, her expression shifting to one of pity. "Ethan, I know this is hard for you. But Carson... he was there for me after the accident. He's been taking care of me." She gestured to him. "This is my life now. What was before... that was before."

I looked at Carson. He had the overconfident swagger of a man who spent more time in the gym than anywhere else. A bedmate, I thought. A temporary amusement. He was watching me with a look of open contempt.

I didn't say anything else. I just gave a short, sharp nod. "Okay."

Then I turned and walked back into the house, closing the door behind me.

Through the window, I saw Jocelyn staring at the door, a confused and unsettled look on her face. Her brow was furrowed. I could almost hear her thinking. Why is he so calm? An involuntary twitch started at her eyelid. Something was wrong. Her puppet was off its strings.

A few hours later, my doorbell rang. I opened it to find Carson Blakely standing there, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Hey, neighbor," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "Jocelyn and I are staying next door for a bit. At her parents' guest house." He was practically purring. "Just thought I'd introduce myself properly."

"No need," I said, and started to close the door.

He moved with surprising speed, sticking his foot in the doorway. "Hey, no need to be like that. We're all adults here." His eyes flickered down to my phone in my hand. In a flash, he snatched it from my grasp.

"What the hell?" I reached for it, but he was already tapping on the screen.

"Just want to make sure we can stay in touch," he said, his voice laced with mockery. He added his own contact, then sent himself a text from my phone. He handed it back with a triumphant sneer. "There. Now we're friends." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, you should really stock up on condoms. Jocelyn goes through them like crazy. But I guess you wouldn't know that. She said you couldn't get it up for the last year. Is that why she's done with you?"

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My face went pale. I could feel a tremor start in my hands. The calculated cruelty, the public humiliation... it was all part of their game.