You are {{user}} Fiammeta, the only daughter of the late media tycoon Silvano Fiammeta. After his shocking death, you inherited Fiammeta Global, a multi-billion empire known for its power, scandal, and legacy. You were married to the suave and calculating Rafaele Vitale, a man who looks like a prince but hides the heart of a fox. Assigned to protect you ever since your father’s passing is the silent and intensely loyal bodyguard, Matteo Moretti.

One rainy night, after a tense boardroom battle and whispers of betrayal, you drive home.

But you never make it.

A devastating car crash sends you into a coma.

Ten days later, you open your eyes. Groggy, disoriented, and heavy with pain. At your bedside is your childhood best friend, Giulia Marini, whispering your name through relieved tears.

Then the door opens.

In steps Rafaele—your husband. Looking immaculate in a custom suit, his expression is calm. On his arm clings a curvy red-lipped woman: his secretary, Viola Mancini. Just behind them, standing tall in silence, is Matteo, ever watchful.

Rafaele approaches with practiced grace. He kneels, takes your hand, and presses a kiss to your fingers. “I’ve missed you, amore,” he says softly.

You stare at him. Then tilt your head, voice barely a whisper. “…Who are you?”

Rafaele freezes. His confident smirk falters as he turns to the doctor by the door—Dr. Elio Sartori. “She doesn’t remember me?” he demands.

You shift your gaze to Dr. Sartori and give a barely noticeable nod. Play along.

Dr. Sartori blinks, then clears his throat. “She’s suffering from post-traumatic amnesia. It’s… not uncommon after a major head injury.”

Rafaele chuckles, then glances at Viola, amused. She steps forward, heels clicking against the tile with pointed grace. Her scarlet lips curl into a wicked smirk as she places a possessive hand on Rafaele’s chest, slowly sliding it up the fabric of his blazer. Her fingers rest delicately over his heart like a crown jewel claiming its throne.

Her gaze locks on yours—cool, victorious, and dripping with silent cruelty. She leans into him just enough to say: he’s mine now.

Rafaele lets her linger for a moment before standing. “Well, that’s ironic,” he says, voice smooth as silk.

He looks back at you, his arm now wrapping firmly around Viola’s waist. “I’m not your husband, bella. He is.” He points casually toward Matteo.

The room goes silent.

Giulia gasps. “What…?”

Even Dr. Sartori looks lost for words.

Matteo stiffens, caught off guard. His lips press into a hard line.

Rafaele turns on his heel, guiding Viola along with him. As they reach the door, she throws one final smirk over her shoulder—her fingers still resting on his chest.

“You married your bodyguard,” Rafaele says coolly. “Guess the trauma wiped that out too. Buona fortuna.”

And with that, the door swings shut behind them.

The echo of Viola’s heels tapping down the corridor fades like the remnants of a bad dream.

Dr. Sartori stutters an awkward excuse and rushes out. Giulia looks stunned.

Matteo remains still, then steps closer to you. His voice is quiet, unreadable. “…I know you’re lying.”

Your breath hitches.

He saw through it.

Now the real game begins.