Erased Memories, Broken Vows

My billionaire husband forces burning liquor down my throat.

He locks the heavy door, leaving me trapped with the investor who tried to ruin me years ago.

I drag my bruised body over the freezing balcony ledge and step into the empty air.

...

I wake up in a stark white hospital bed.

A gorgeous young heir wipes the dried blood from my forehead.

He sets up a clinical trial to erase every memory of my abuser.

I nod and let my toxic marriage vanish from my brain.

Months later, my ex-husband shatters my apartment door and drops to his knees.

I stare into his bloodshot eyes and ask him for his name.

Chapter 1

The ninety-ninth time Theodore's little sugar baby mailed me a box of used condoms, I was strapped into black lace, waiting for him in bed.

Theodore gave a helpless chuckle. He gripped the back of my neck, pushing my head down to pick up where we left off. "She's just acting out," he murmured against my skin. "I'll talk to her later."

My desire vanished instantly. I shoved him off my chest, rolled off the mattress, and dragged my clothes on. I walked out without a backward glance.

The next morning, an email pinged on my phone. The lead role I'd bled for? Gone. Recast with Peyton.

And the financial backer pulling the strings behind the scenes was my own husband, Theodore.

"This is beyond humiliating! Her own husband is literally letting the mistress ride roughshod over her!"

"Elara's PR team can't spin this red flag. She's definitely getting blacklisted after this."

While the internet gorged on the drama, a new post shattered the trending charts. A photo of Weston, my gorgeous younger co-star, burying his face in my neck. His expression was intoxicated. The caption was filth.

"Keep your eyes only on me, okay? @Elara"

Theodore stormed into my dressing room, his face a thundercloud.

I offered him a cool, empty smile. "The kid just likes to play around. It's strictly PR. Deal with it."

He slammed his phone onto my vanity. The cracked screen glowed with the blinding hashtag. His voice vibrated with suppressed rage. "Explain."

I looked up. A dull ache settled in my chest. The last time he visited my set was before we tied the knot.

"Who promised no intimate scenes after we got married?" he demanded. He jammed the hard plastic edge of his phone against my sternum. "You're really something, Elara."

I met his glare dead-on. "And what about your promise of loyalty?"

He let out a short, hollow laugh. His eyes held zero warmth. "Do I need to remind you how you booked those early roles?" He leaned in close. "I don't dig into your past. You don't question my freedom. It's perfectly fair."

A ringing filled my ears, and my mind went completely blank.

I never expected those toxic, baseless tabloids to be spat from his mouth as truth.

"Peyton lost sleep for three days stressing over that role," he pushed. "She doesn't have your experience, but she's genuine. She's dedicated. You were a rookie once. You should understand."

My nails bit deep into my palms. Sharp crescents of pain grounded me. I forced my fingers to uncurl. I should understand? I pulled all-nighters for a month dissecting this script. I bled over single lines of dialogue until dawn. And my husbandwho never asked, never cared, never lookedwas bleeding over someone else's three days of insomnia.

A wave of burning resentment overwhelmed me, and I let out a cold laugh. "Spreading her legs for a married man. Yeah, pure as snow."

The air in the room froze.

His face turned livid. "Shut your mouth! Don't you dare drag her name through the mud. She had no other choice to pay her mother's medical bills! Thank God she found me." He caught himself. He stepped forward to pull me into a hug, dropping his voice to a low, coaxing octave. "Be good. Drop the role. I'll cover the breach of contract fees."

I flinched back, dodging his touch.

His brows snapped together. "Don't forget whose agency you're signed to. I'm saving your face right now. Don't push your luck."

My fingertips trembled. He was leveraging his executive power over me.

Before I could spit the venom back at him, his phone buzzed. He turned his back, answered the call, and walked out.

I stood locked in the center of the dressing room. Ice flooded my veins.

Chapter 2

Minutes later, Bailey, a supporting actress, walked over. Her voice dripped with pure envy. "Elara, the internet is full of trash! Theodore treats you so well. He just bought the whole crew those expensive pastries. He's flexing for you!"

She whipped out her phone, buzzing with excitement to show me. A news alert popped up on her screen. Her mouth snapped shut. I tilted my head to look.

"Trending: CEO Theodore spotted at NY Conservatory. Rising starlet slides into his Maybach!"

The smug smile instantly died on her face. She shot me a painful, awkward look.

I forced a tight smile, turned on my heel, and marched onto the set.

The air was thick with strange looks. Sizing me up, pitying me, gloating.

Lance, the director, hesitated before stepping into my space. "Theodore left word The breach of contract fee is ready to transfer whenever. You"

"I'm shooting," I cut him off. My voice rang out, sharp and clear.

He froze.

"He doesn't make my decisions." I held his gaze. "Let's roll."

Theodore thought he could weaponize his executive power to snap my spine. He didn't know. I hadn't auditioned for this project. Someone specific had pulled me in.

"Trending: Theodore rents out penthouse at the Ritz. Helicopter drops a rain of roses for his dinner date with rising starlet."

Amidst the sea of envious comments, one single reply made my scrolling thumb freeze.

"Does anyone else remember? Theodore literally founded an entire entertainment agency just for his wife back in the day"

My heart felt like it was gently pricked by a fine needle. Memories rushed back unexpectedly.

The first time I met Theodore was on a set he bankrolled. He parted the crowd and walked straight toward me. His eyes were clear, focused. "I love your work."

Later, as he got busier, he still managed to carve out a few minutes to visit my sets. Even if it meant just catching my eye across the room before leaving.

Then, my career flatlined. Auditions dried up.

He found me. His gaze never wavered. "I'm launching an agency for you. You'll be my only client."

So, at the peak of my fame, I married the man who built me back up. No hesitation.

But the honeymoon phase shattered fast. Less than three months after we exchanged vows, a brutal scandal dropped. Rumors claimed I slept my way to the top during my rookie years.

The internet ripped me to shreds. Toxic hate comments buried me alive. I loathed myself, standing right on the edge of a breakdown.

He nuked the trending tags. He dragged me into his chest, wrapping his arms tight around my shaking frame. "I believe you," he swore. His voice left no room for doubt.

Back then, I actually believed nothing would ever change. But slowly, the distance crept in. He started dodging my touch. Even a simple graze of our hands carried a stiff, hidden rejection.

Until that text pinged on my screen. A hotel room number. Sent to the wrong contact.

I went.

The door was cracked open. Two bodies, tangled and sweating, burned straight into my retinas.

I threw down the divorce papers the second he walked out.

He dropped to his knees. His eyes burned red. He blamed the alcohol, begging for just one more chance.

My resolve crumbled. I didn't know that giving in was the start of the real nightmare.

After that, his name plastered the tabloids on a weekly loop. At first, he bothered to lie. He offered excuses. Later, he just threw expensive jewelry at me and gave me the back of his head as he walked out the door.

This was the hundredth time. But this time, a brutal realization hit me.

He didn't even have my number memorized. How could he possibly text me by mistake? He never planned to hide it. He just didn't care anymore.

Just like every other time, he silently gave the green light for those trashy gossip accounts to tear my personal life to shreds.

Chapter 3

An hour after his dinner with Peyton, another trending hashtag about my private life blew up. "Billionaire Divorce? Wife's Sketchy Past Pushes CEO Away"

I swiped my screen. Numb. The first time this happened, my fingers shook. Now, just a hollow void.

I clicked the tag. Page Not Found. I refreshed the feed. Theodore's agency had just dropped an official PR statement.

"Theodore and his wife share a strong bond. Online rumors are entirely fabricated. Peyton is strictly a friend. Any further malicious defamation will be met with immediate legal action."

I stared at the harsh blue glare of my screen. He actually stepped up to defend me. Too late.

I finished typing my divorce announcement in my notes app. An incoming call from him hijacked the screen.

"Come to The Waldorf," Theodore commanded. "I have what you want."

Whatever. Some things had to be severed face-to-face anyway.

Theodore clamped his hand around my wrist the second I arrived. "Why are you pulling away? Peyton knew you were pissed about losing the role. She had set up a meeting with a new executive producer for you."

My head snapped toward Peyton.

A faint smile touched the corner of her lips. She linked her arm through mine, pressing close. "It's true, Elara! I heard you were upset Theodore gave me your part. Richard happens to have a similar project in development. I cashed in so many favors to connect you two."

A pure coincidence?

The man she dragged here was Richard. The exact same investor who tried to force me onto the casting couch years ago.

I refused to trade my body for screen time. He cornered me in a private VIP room. He ripped my collar down my shoulder

"Peyton smoothed everything over for you." Theodore's voice snapped me out of my daze. "Have dinner with Richard tonight. The contract is yours. Consider your past grievances settled."

That heavy, suffocating stare crawled up my spine. Cold scales dragging across my bare skin. I felt cold all over, and my throat tightened.

I dug my nails into Theodore's bicep. "Leave." A jagged exhale. "Get me out of here. Please."

He finally caught the tremor in my frame. He grabbed my elbows, steadying me. "What's wrong? All the color just drained from your face."

"Elara was fine a second ago!" Peyton blinked, a flawless mask of shock. "Richard's town car is right downstairs. Let him give you a ride"

Those unbearable memories crashed into my mind. Pitch-black VIP room. Tearing silk. Filthy, suffocating hands.

"Get away from me!" I shoved Peyton back. My voice grew hoarse from screaming.

"Enough!" Theodore yanked me back. His eyes turned ice-cold. "You're ruining this on purpose! I spoil you way too much. Where would you even be without me? You are sitting down for this dinner. Do not disrespect Peyton's effort!"

He ripped his hand away from mine. He turned. He tore the door open.

Despair poured over me like ice water.

The door clicked. It pushed open an inch. Peyton slipped half her face into the gap. She dropped her voice to a lethal whisper. "I worked so incredibly hard to invite your old friend tonight. You two catch up properly now."

I locked onto her gloating, venomous eyes. She orchestrated the whole thing.

Chapter 4

"Theodore! Elara is throwing a tantrum. She's fighting to leave." Peyton's voice rang through the door.

A second later, Theodore's voice bled through the wood. It was freezing cold. "She has no tolerance. Force a few drinks down her throat. She'll behave."

"No!"

They slammed me face-first against the heavy mahogany table. That familiar, revolting hand clamped around my jaw. He forced the burning, straight hard liquor down my throat. Raw desperation mixed with the burn.

Amidst the sharp pain and dizziness, everything faded to black.

I woke up in a strange, hotel-grade bed. My muscles screamed. Dark bruises covered my skin. It wasn't a nightmare.

My phone screen flashed silently on the nightstand. One pulse. Then another.

Just like that night years ago. The night I had held a jagged glass shard to my own jugular just to escape him. Blood had soaked straight through my dress. I scrubbed my skin under scalding water that night until the top layers peeled away. The filth never washed out of my bones.

I almost ended it right then. But I had to survive. What did I ever do wrong?

My punishment for rejecting him was a total industry blacklist. Theodore dragged me out of that pitch-black abyss. He handed me scripts. He handed me the spotlight.

And now, Theodore was the one shoving me right back into hell.

A harsh ringtone pierced the silence. A countdown. A demand.

My eardrums went dead. My bare feet hit the cold floor. I drifted to the edge of the balcony.

The wind whipped hard against my face. A million fractured images raced through my mind. The entire internet tearing me to shreds. Theodore's increasingly cold eyes

Exhaustion crushed my lungs. I closed my eyes. I took one step forward. I let gravity pull me down.

The wind roared in my ears. Finally. Total release.

The timeline exploded.

"Trash stays trash. She's still sleeping her way to the top with a ring on her finger."

"Told you she was trash. Who cares if Theodore has a side piece? Way better than getting cuckolded!"

Theodore scrolled through the vicious trending tags. A faint smirk touched the corners of his lips. He dialed that overly familiar number.

A cold, automated female voice answered. "The subscriber you have dialed is currently unavailable"

His brows snapped together. He killed the call. His thumbs flew across the screen. "Come over here and thank Peyton face-to-face. I'll make this PR mess disappear."

Usually, she replied in seconds. The screen stayed dark. Dead silence.

He raised his thumb to dial again. Peyton slid perfectly against his side. "Those gossip pages just write pure garbage." She tilted her chin up. Her breath brushed his jaw. "I'll post a statement later to clear Elara's name." She stepped closer. "We haven't been alone in forever Stay with me tonight. Please?"

Theodore dropped the thought. He tossed his phone onto the leather sofa. Peyton's soft arms locked around his neck. Theodore dipped his head, pressing slow, lingering kisses against her warm cheek. "Clear her name?" he murmured. "It doesn't concern you. Stay out of it."

Hours dragged by. Deep into the night, Theodore shot another glance at his phone. Still zero notifications.

A sudden, irrational spike of irritation clawed at his chest. He pushed out of the bedroom. A blast of cold air hit his face.

Chapter 5

Theodore checked his watch. Elara's dinner with Richard had to be over by now. Her face had been completely bloodless when he walked out. If they had forced liquor down her throat, she would have thrown up.

He let out a harsh breath. He would indulge her just this once. He'd go pick her up.

He barely took two steps before a passing conversation froze the blood in his veins.

"Actresses have it the worst. Dragged through the mud back in the day, and now this"

"You mean Elara? The one who just jumped?" Logan, a passing waiter, lowered his voice. "Man, I remember her. The guy who almost forced himself on her back then? It was Richard. The exact same guy from tonight's VIP room."

"What did you just say?" Theodore lunged. He locked his fingers around Logan's bicep, dragging him close. "Who jumped? Who forced himself on her? Answer me!"

Logan flinched, his eyes wide with terror. "RRichard! The investor!" He stammered, the words spilling out in a panicked rush. "I was busing tables in the next room back then. I heard glass shattering. Screaming. I looked through the crack in the door. She had a jagged bottleneck pressed right against her own jugular. Blood was soaking straight through her dress She barely got out alive. I don't know how the tabloids spun it into her sleeping her way up. I even posted a thread about the truth on Reddit, but nobody believed me"

Darkness swallowed Theodore's vision. A loud ringing filled his ears.

"Where?" Theodore shook him. "Where did she jump?!"

Logan trembled under the murder in Theodore's eyes. He choked out an address.

Theodore shoved him aside. He sprinted for the exit. He barely reached the sliding glass doors before Peyton blocked his path.

"Theodore, where are you rushing off to?" She pouted, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. Her manicured fingers clamped like a vice grip around his wrist. "You're just going to abandon me?"

A phantom image of Elara plummeting through the open air violently crashed into his skull. His heart felt like it was seized, making it hard to breathe. Oxygen cut off completely.

He ripped his arm upward, hurling Peyton backward. "Get the hell off me!"

Peyton staggered, her heels sliding on the marble floor. She jerked her head up, but he was already tearing through the parking lot. The helpless victim mask melted off her face. A cold, resentful glint flashed in her eyes. She dug her phone out of her clutch and dialed a sterile number. "You executed it perfectly. I accept your terms. Come to my suite now."

The speedometer needle pinned past a hundred and twenty miles per hour. Cold, clammy sweat soaked Theodore's palms. Impossible. It's a lie.

She was standing right there. Breathing. Looking right at him when he walked out the door. It hadn't even been sixty minutes.

It had to be a stunt. A sick, twisted PR stunt to get his attention. To punish him.

The crazy thought consumed him as he pressed the gas pedal harder. He tore into a blind curve. A massive semi-truck roared out of the darkness.

The deafening blast of the air horn ripped through the cabin. Theodore's pupils constricted. He violently wrenched the steering wheel to the right. Smash.

The front end obliterated the steel guardrail. Thick, chemical smoke flooded the engine block. The driver's side door kicked open. Theodore dragged himself out of the wreckage, blood pouring down the side of his face. Screams and car horns erupted around him, but total silence drowned his head.

His eyes locked onto a single target up ahead. Yellow police tape snapping in the wind.

Blood tracked over his brow bone, dripping straight into his left eye. It burned. He didn't blink. He dragged his shattered leg forward, limping frantically toward the flashing sirens.

Then, he saw it.

Next to a massive, dark pool of blood. A flash of crushed silver and shattered blue sapphires catching the streetlight. A custom necklace. The exact piece of jewelry he bought Elara to wash away his guilt, right after he crawled out of Peyton's bed.

The sounds of the world suddenly faded away. His heart plummeted. His legs gave out, causing him to sway and almost collapse.

Chapter 6

"That actress was the one who jumped, right? Total karma. Tried to sleep her way to the top and failed, then her billionaire husband dumped her. Probably couldn't handle the humiliation."

The words barely left the bystander's mouth before Theodore's hand slammed into her throat, pinning her. Murderous intent surged in his bloodshot eyes. "Say that again." His voice was a dangerous, low hiss. "One more word, and I'll send you straight to hell."

He shoved her to the concrete. She trembled, choking on empty air, paralyzed by terror. Theodore dropped his hand. He didn't have a single second to waste on trash.

He spun around and flagged a passing cab. His chest was hollowed out. He had to go to the morgue. He had to identify the body.

But as the cab pulled up near the club entrance, a jagged realization pierced his fog. Peyton was still inside. Fine. Put her in a car first.

The heavy velvet door to the VIP lounge was cracked open. His fingers grazed the brass handle. Then, a man's voice bled through the gap.

"Consider it done," Peyton's voice rang out, slick and effortless. "I'll bring it up to him. He never says no to me."

Richard's voice followed. A distinct, nervous tremor edged his words. "Are you absolutely sure the body is actually Elara's?"

"Of course it is. It's blasting all over the news. You think they'd fake a corpse?" Peyton sighed, bored, before a twisted curiosity slid into her tone. "The real question is what exactly did you do to her in there to force her off a building?"

Peyton was too high on her own victory to catch the sudden, violent panic that hijacked Richard's face.

Richard let out a forced, hollow laugh. "What do you think? Just the usual playbook. Stripped her down. Recorded some insurance material I finally finished what I started years ago. I really owe you for serving her up to me."

"Please." Peyton scoffed, a sickeningly sweet sound as she admired her manicure. "If you want to thank someone, thank Theodore. I couldn't have delivered Elara straight into your hands without his final approval."

Outside the door, Theodore took the full impact of the truth. His knuckles turned bone-white. His fingernails gouged deep into the thick wood frame.

Just days ago, Peyton had been curled against his chest. Fake tears spilling down her cheeks. "It's all my fault," she had whimpered. "I took Elara's role. I made her so angry that she used that young actor just to get back at you. I should just drop out of the cast! If you two file for divorce because of me, I could never live with myself."

And he had looked down at her, completely arrogant. "She won't divorce me."

He remembered the exact taste of his own impatient, absolute certainty. "She swallowed her pride ninety-nine times before. She's just throwing a tantrum for the cameras. A little sweet talk and she'll cave."

Peyton had let out a long, theatrical exhale. "Thank god. Actually, I know an executive producer with a very similar project in development. I should introduce them. I can hand that role over to Elara as an apology."

In that moment, he actually believed Peyton was so much more mature than his own wife.

Every single word was a lethal, calculated trap. Her sweet apology was nothing but a knife. She weaponized his own executive power to completely annihilate Elara!

No wonder