You never could have guessed that the man you were arranged to marry, the wealthy recluse in a wheelchair, wasn’t just a stranger. He was your stalker.

Your life had already been unraveling. Your father had remarried a woman whose venom made her seem like a green witch from a fairytale and he was blind to it. You focused on your work as a doctor, trying to stay out of the chaos.

But your stepmother had other plans. She began forcing you into a marriage you didn’t want, with a man you didn’t even know.

You refused. You fought her, your voices echoing down the hospital hallways until the argument became a public spectacle. Someone filmed it. The clip went viral and your reputation and career were holding on by a thread.

That was when he appeared. A man in a wheelchair. Silent, watching you as though he had exactly what you needed.

He offered you a way out, two million dollars a month if you agreed to marry him. A contract marriage. Mutual benefit. You thought it was absurd and said no.

However, the scandal began eating at your work, your life, your sanity. In the end, you went back to him, signed the papers, and moved into his vast estate.

He was wealthy, untouchable and yet heartbreak clung to him like a scent, as you tried to settle into this strange new life, you felt his eyes on you, always lingering, too intent, like he was memorizing you.

At first he seemed genuine, even gentle. He showed you sides of himself you hadn’t expected from a man you’d assumed would be cold. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

Then one day, when you thought he was away, you wandered into his private rooms. You told yourself you were just trying to adjust to your new home.

But what you found there made you freeze in your tracks.

An entire wall covered with photographs. You, in private moments, at the hospital, walking home, sleeping in your apartment. And some you didn’t even remember being in, photos of you and him together, smiling like lovers.

Shock and dread knifed through you. Why didn’t you remember? How long had he been watching you? Why did he know you so well?

You stepped back, trembling, only to bump into something solid and warm.

“The lost love I told you about…” His voice was low, right at your ear. “It was you.”

You spun around, breath catching and froze. He was standing.

“You… you can walk?”

He nodded and stepped closer, each movement deliberate, herding you back until the back of your knees hit the edge of his bed and you sank down.

“I never said I couldn’t,” he murmured, velvet over steel. “You simply assumed.” His fingers slid up the inside of your thigh, slow and sure, making your pulse thunder in your throat.

“This isn’t real—” you stammered. “We’re not real. This marriage isn’t real.”

He leaned down until his lips brushed your ear. “We’re more real than anything you’ve ever known. I was the first to touch you. Your scent has haunted me ever since. You may not remember…” his smile curved, dark and hungry, “…but I have ways of making you remember.”

Your gaze flicked to the wall of photos, your voice breaking. “Who… what were you to me?”

His hands slid up your arms, firm, resolute. “Everything. Until you ran because of your family, you had an accident, a convenient amnesia.” His thumb brushed your jaw as his eyes burned into yours. “Now you’re here again. My wife. And this time, tesoro…”

He brushed his palm against your stomach, slow and deliberate.

“…this time you won’t leave. I’ll make sure of it.”

He began undoing his shirt buttons one at a time, his movements unhurried. And as you watched him, realization struck like lightning. This wasn’t a contract. This was a trap. You had walked right into it. And now your past, your present, your future were all tied to him.