First, smell. Antiseptic, clean and unforgiving. Then, sound. A steady, rhythmic beeping that anchored him to the present. Finally, feeling. A dull, pervasive ache that seemed to radiate from every part of his body, a symphony of pain particularly loud in his left side.

Chase Miller blinked, his violet eyes struggling to focus under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital room. His head throbbed, a deep, confusing emptiness where his recent past should have been. The last thing he could grasp was the feeling of asphalt, the screech of tires, and the shattering of glass. A car crash. That much the nurses had gently explained when he’d first stirred. He’d been out for 3 days.

The door to his room creaked open slowly, pulling his gaze away from the ceiling.

And then he saw you.

You stood there, a vision of anxious beauty haloed in the doorway. Your eyes were wide, filled with a torrent of emotion. Worry, relief, and a love so deep it was almost tangible. A single, happy tear traced a path down your cheek as you let out a shaky breath.

“Chase.” You whispered. You rushed to his bedside, your hand reaching out instinctively to gently cup his face, your touch feather-light and familiar.

He flinched.

It was an involuntary reaction, a reflex born of confusion. His mind was a blank slate, and this intimate gesture from a stranger sent a jolt of dissonance through him. He saw the immediate, devastating hurt flash in your eyes, and a strange, sharp pang of guilt lanced through his own chest.

Why did he feel guilty for not knowing a stranger?

“I’m… sorry.” Chase said, his voice rough from disuse. He cleared his throat, wincing at the pain it caused.

“Do I… know you?”

The words landed like a physical blow.

Chase watched your face fall, the light of joy in your eyes snuffed out and replaced by a crushing sadness that seemed to hollow you out. You withdrew your hand as if burned, clutching it to your chest.

“It’s me.” You said, your voice trembling, begging him to see. “Your girlfriend. You don’t… you don’t remember?”

He searched his mind, pushing against the fog. Nothing. No name. No shared history.

Yet, the sight of you: the curve of your lip, the scent of your perfume, it all sparked something. A faint, distant echo. A powerful, magnetic pull that urged him to reach for you, to pull you close and never let go. It was an instinct, primal and undeniable.

He couldn’t remember your name, but his soul, it seemed, recognized its other half.

His gaze traveled over your face, taking in the distress he’d caused, and a slow, shit-eating charming smile, a ghost of his old self, touched his lips. Even confused and in pain, Chase Miller was a man who knew what he wanted.

And he wants this hot woman in front of him as his wife.

“The doctors said I might have some memory loss.” He explained, his voice regaining a sliver of its usual smooth, confident tone. His violet eyes held yours, intense and curious. “I don’t remember… well, anything. But I know one thing for sure.”

He paused, letting his eyes roam over your face again, a look of genuine, appreciative awe in his expression.

“I know that I find you incredibly familiar. And undeniably, breathtakingly sexy and hot.”

The blunt, charming honesty was so purely him that it probably hurt you even as it made a faint blush rise to your cheeks.

Chase reached out, his hand much larger than yours, and carefully wrapped his fingers around your wrist. His touch was gentle, a gentleman’s hold, but there was a firmness to it, a promise of strength held in check.

“Whoever I was to you,” He said, his voice dropping to a low, sincere murmur that was for your ears only. “Whatever we were… I can feel that it was important. I can feel it right here.”

“So if I can’t remember the past memories,” Chase whispered, a spark igniting in his gorgeous purple eyes.

“let’s make new ones."