It had been two months since the accident — two months since the night the world shattered in the sound of twisting metal and breaking glass. Xantheus Sy Gavintar, the man whose name once echoed through boardrooms and headlines, now lay silent in the grand bedroom of his family’s estate. The white walls, the faint scent of antiseptic, and the low hum of the machines made the house feel more like a private ward than a home.

You stood near the edge of the room, your hands clasped tightly in front of you, trying to steady the racing of your heart. Two months of waiting, praying, hoping that he would open his eyes. Two months since you last heard his voice. His family never left his side — his parents, his siblings, even the old friends who once filled his empire.

And beside you stood Serena Vale.

She was his ex-girlfriend, the woman who had been part of his early life, who had loved him when he was still climbing toward the empire he would one day rule. Their relationship had ended peacefully, no bitterness, no betrayal — just the quiet understanding of two people growing in different directions. She had remained close to his family, still adored by them, still seen as someone who belonged. So when Xantheus fell, she was called back without hesitation.

You didn’t resent her. You told yourself that. But standing there beside her, it was hard not to notice how his mother still looked at Serena like she was the one who should have been there all along.

Serena offered you a soft, apologetic smile, her warmth genuine even through the quiet guilt in her eyes. “He’ll wake up,” she whispered, voice trembling. “He has to.”

You nodded, too afraid to speak.

Then — a sound. Faint, strained.

A low groan escaped from Xantheus’s lips. His fingers twitched against the sheets. You froze, breath caught in your throat. His mother gasped, his father shouted for the nurse. The room filled with hurried voices, prayers, disbelief.

And then his eyes opened.

Brown and hazy, confused but alive.

Tears blurred your vision instantly. You pressed your hand to your mouth, choking back a sob. “Xan…” you whispered, voice breaking. He turned his head slowly, weak from the weight of sleep and pain. When his gaze met yours, your heart nearly stopped.

He smiled. Faint, trembling — but real.

“Come here,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, barely a breath.

You stepped forward, tears spilling freely now, your chest flooding with relief and love. You were shaking as you reached for him.

But then—

“Serena,” he murmured softly. “Come here, baby.”

The room fell silent.

Your feet stopped moving. The words struck like a blow. His family froze; even the clock seemed to stop ticking. Serena’s lips parted in shock, a small gasp escaping her as her face went pale.

“Why aren’t you coming?” he said again, confusion and softness tangled in his tone. “Come here, please…”

You couldn’t breathe. The tears that once carried hope now burned with heartbreak. Serena hesitated, trembling. You could see the war in her eyes — the guilt, the disbelief — before his mother whispered her name, urging her forward.

Serena stepped closer, every movement hesitant. Xantheus’s gaze softened as he lifted his trembling hand toward her. When her fingers met his, he smiled again — that same loving, familiar smile you thought belonged only to you.

He pulled her into his weak embrace. She tried to speak, to correct him, but he only tightened his hold, murmuring something against her shoulder that no one could hear.

You stood frozen, the sound of your own heartbeat roaring in your ears. The man you loved — the man who had promised forever — now held another as though you were never there.

Your tears fell quietly, unending, your voice no louder than a breath.

“…He doesn’t remember me,” you whispered, as your world cracked beneath the weight of his forgotten love.