I flew back to New York feeling like I'd been gutted. James picked me up at the airport, glanced at my face, and didn't ask any questions until we were back at the penthouse.

"That bad?"

"Worse." I poured myself a drink that I probably shouldn't have with my medication, then poured it down the sink. "She told me everything. James, I was a monster to her."

"You weren't a monster. You were just—"

"No." I cut him off. "Don't make excuses. I read the letter I wrote. I knew I loved her. I knew I was hurting her. And I did nothing."

James sat down, loosening his tie. "Now what?"

"I don't know. She told me to forget I'd found her. To use my second chance somewhere else."

"Perhaps you should listen to her."

I looked at him. "Would you do that? If you had hurt someone you loved and couldn't even remember doing it, would you just walk away?"

"That's not fair. You can't remember her. You can't remember loving her. You're chasing the ghost of a feeling."

He was right. I knew he was right. But something inside me couldn't let go.

For the next two weeks, I became obsessed. I hired people to tell me everything about those five lost years. I read emails, meeting notes, journal entries I had apparently written. I constructed a picture of who I had become, and I hated it.

The Damien Cross of the last five years was ruthless, cold, brilliant, and empty. He had sacrificed everything for success. He had pushed away everyone who cared about him. He had married a woman he loved and systematically destroyed her because he was too afraid of being vulnerable.

I found security footage from the penthouse. Hours of it. I saw myself arriving home late, ignoring Elara's attempts at conversation, eating the dinners she'd prepared while working on my laptop. I saw her face fall, how she slowly gave up trying, how the light faded in her eyes.

In a video, she had decorated the living room for our second anniversary. Candles, flowers, she was wearing a beautiful dress. I had walked in, barely glanced at her, told her I had a conference call, and gone to my office. The camera caught her standing there alone for twenty minutes before blowing out all the candles.

I vomited after watching that.

"You have to stop," James said, finding me in my office at three in the morning surrounded by files. "You're torturing yourself."

"I need to understand."

"Why? To make yourself feel worse? Damien, the doctors said that forcing these memories could harm your recovery."

"I don't care about my recovery. I destroyed someone who loved me. I need to know why."

James grabbed my shoulders. "Listen to me. You were drowning. After your father started pressuring you to take charge, you changed. You worked yourself to death trying to prove you were good enough. You stopped sleeping, stopped eating properly, stopped living. Elara was collateral damage."

"That's not an excuse."

"I'm not making excuses. I'm giving you context." He loosened up, taking a step back. "Do you want to know the truth? I think you pushed her away because you were terrified. Your parents had the worst marriage I've ever seen. Your father cheated constantly. Your mother stayed for the money and the name. You watched them destroy each other for years."

I remembered that. My parents' marriage was a battlefield disguised as a social alliance.

"You thought that if you didn't allow yourself to love Elara, you wouldn't be able to hurt her the way your father hurt your mother. Instead, you hurt her worse." James shook his head. "The irony is tragically messed up."

The phone rang. It was my mother. I'd been avoiding her calls since the accident.

"Answer it," James said. "She's been calling me too. She knows you have amnesia and she's worried you'll do something stupid."

I answered, "Mother."

"Damien, darling. How are you feeling?" Victoria Cross's voice was cloyingly sweet with a steely edge underneath.

"I've been better."

"James tells me you flew to Seattle. To see that girl." The way he said "that girl" made my jaw clench. "I hope you've come to your senses."

"Her name is Elara. She was my wife."

"That was the key word. The divorce is final. You're free. Why on earth would you want to dredge up that unfortunate chapter?"

"Because I need to understand what happened."

"What happened is that you married someone beneath you, you realized your mistake, and you corrected it. It's quite simple." Her tone turned sharp. "Damien, I'm hosting a dinner party next week. Senator Morrison's daughter will be there. A lovely girl, educated at Wellesley, from an excellent family. I think you two—"

"I'm not interested."

"Don't be ridiculous. You have to think about your future. About the family name. That Bennett girl was never right for you, and you know it."

Something inside me broke. "Did you make her feel that way? When she lived here, did you tell her she wasn't good enough?"

Silence. Then, "I may have mentioned certain social realities. Someone had to. You were too infatuated to see clearly."

"You made her miserable."

"I made her aware of her position. There's a difference." Victoria's voice turned cold. "That girl was using you for your money and your name. I was protecting you."

"He never asked me for anything. Not once. I verified it."

"Of course not. She was smarter than that. She played the long game. And look, she got a generous deal, didn't she?"

I thought of Elara in that alley in the rain, telling me about three years of pain. She hadn't mentioned money even once.

"You're wrong about her."

"I'm never wrong about people. That's how I've survived in this family for 35 years." He paused. "Damien, any romantic notions you have about that girl, let them go. You don't even remember her. Move on."

"What if I don't want to go on?"

"Then you're a fool." Her voice turned icy. "That marriage nearly destroyed you. You were distracted, unfocused, weak. After the divorce, you became the man you were meant to be. Do you really want to throw that away for a woman who's already moved on?"

"Has he done it? Move on?"

Victoria laughed, but it wasn't a friendly sound. "Why don't you ask her? Oh, wait, you did. And she told you to leave her alone. Get the hint, honey."

He hung up.

James watched me carefully. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking my mother is poison. And I'm thinking I need to find out if Elara has really moved on."

"As?"

My phone vibrated. An email from my private investigator. Subject: Eleanor Bennett - Full Report.

I opened it and my stomach dropped to my feet.

James leaned forward. "What is it?"

I couldn't speak. I just showed him the screen.

The first line read: The subject has been seen on multiple occasions with Marcus Chen, owner of the Chen Gallery. The relationship appears to be romantic. Photographs are attached.

"Damien—"

"She's with someone else." The words felt hollow in my throat. "She's already replaced me."