Three years of marriage had taught her the quiet language of Adrian Calloway.
The way he loosened his tie at exactly 8:17 p.m., as if time obeyed him. The way he murmured her name when he thought she was asleep. The way his fingers searched for hers beneath the dinner table, grounding himself in her presence.
Their marriage had been arranged—two families, two signatures, one careful union. For months after the wedding, they were strangers in separate cities. His work kept him away; she stayed in the house that felt more like a museum than a home.
They were bound by vows, not affection.
Until one lonely evening when she accepted a friend request from a man named Ethan Blake.
Ethan was warm, attentive, curious. He asked about her favorite novels, about the faint scar on her wrist, about dreams she had buried. He listened. He remembered. He told her she was braver than she believed.
She fell in love slowly—without realizing.
Months later, Adrian stayed home longer than usual. He lingered near her. Asked about books. About scars. About dreams.
Then he confessed.
Ethan Blake had never existed.
It had been him.
“I didn’t know how to reach you,” he’d said quietly. “So I became someone who could.”
She hadn’t known whether to be angry or relieved. But the truth was simple—the man she fell in love with online was her husband all along.
So she chose him.
And he chose her back.
Their marriage bloomed after that. Coffee in the mornings. Waiting up at night. Laughter filling quiet hallways.
Until the accident.
Rain. A sharp turn. A collision.
At the hospital, the doctor spoke gently. “He hit his head. Retrograde amnesia.”
The world tilted.
When she entered the room, Adrian sat upright, a bandage around his forehead. He looked at her—and froze.
“Wow…” he breathed. “Am I in heaven? Who are you?”
Her heart broke and healed in the same second.
“I’m your wife,” she whispered.
“Wife?” He stared at her in disbelief. “You’re telling me I married someone that beautiful and I don’t even remember proposing?”
A laugh escaped her through tears.
The days that followed were tender and strange. He didn’t remember their wedding, their trips, or the night he revealed he’d been Ethan.
But he watched her like she was extraordinary.
Then she made the mistake.
“I fell in love once before,” she said softly one afternoon. “Online.”
Adrian stiffened. “Online?”
“It was complicated.”
His brows furrowed adorably. “You loved some random guy on the internet?”
She bit back a smile.
“Do you still think about him?” he asked carefully.
“Sometimes.”
He crossed his arms—awkwardly, mindful of the IV. “I don’t like him.”
She blinked.
“Who falls in love online?” he muttered. “He was probably pretending to be impressive.” His jaw tightened. “And if he said all the right things… how am I supposed to compete with that?”
She simply stared.
He misunderstood the silence.
“Don’t tell me you’re defending him,” he grumbled. “You’re my wife. You should be on my side.”
She burst into laughter—real, breathless laughter. Tears slid down her cheeks again, but this time they were warm.
Adrian’s sulk vanished instantly. “Hey, don’t cry,” he said softly, reaching for her hand. “I’m not mad. I just… don’t like the idea of anyone else having your heart before me.”
Her chest tightened.
“I don’t remember anything,” he continued gently. “But I know this—I’ll make you fall in love with me harder.”
Her breath caught.
“And if you already did once,” he added with a shy smile, “then I must’ve been pretty great.”
She laughed again, shaking her head in disbelief.
He didn’t know.
He didn’t remember.
But he was falling for her anyway—jealous of himself, protective over her heart, determined to win her without even knowing he already had.
As he laced his fingers through hers and refused to let go, she realized something soft and certain:
She didn’t have to try.
He would love her—
Every single time.