Fake Love Trap

Pain. That was the first thing I registered as consciousness slowly returned to me. A dull, throbbing ache that seemed to radiate from every inch of my body. The steady beep of a heart monitor somewhere to my left provided a rhythmic backdrop to my suffering.

I tried to open my eyes, but they felt impossibly heavy. The harsh fluorescent lighting filtered through my eyelashes, sending sharp needles of discomfort into my skull. Hospital. I was in a hospital.

Memories flooded back in disjointed fragments. Headlights. Screeching tires. The sickening crunch of metal. My car spinning out of control on the rain-slicked Seattle streets. Then... nothing.

How long had I been here? Hours? Days? The white sterility of the private room offered no clues. An IV drip was attached to my arm, and various monitors hummed softly around me. My body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder—bruised, battered, and utterly exhausted.

Voices drifted in from the hallway outside my door, which had been left slightly ajar. I kept my eyes closed, not yet ready to alert anyone to my consciousness. The pain medication coursing through my veins made everything feel slightly unreal, dreamlike.

"The doctor says she might have amnesia from the trauma." The voice was immediately recognizable—Brandon. My boyfriend of three years. The man I'd given everything to. "This is perfect timing, actually."

Perfect timing? For what? I remained perfectly still, my curiosity overriding the impulse to call out to him.

"I know, right?" A female voice responded—Ashley. My best friend since college. "We couldn't have planned it better ourselves. She won't remember anything."

A cold feeling spread through my chest that had nothing to do with the hospital's air conditioning.

"Blackwood's already agreed to take her," Brandon continued, his voice dropping slightly. "He thinks it's part of some business arrangement with my father. The idiot's been watching her for years—did you know that? Like some creepy stalker."

Ashley's tinkling laugh made my stomach turn. "And she'll have no idea about us. No memory of catching us together. It's like a clean slate."

"Once she's with Blackwood, we can move forward with everything else," Brandon said, his voice taking on that smug tone I'd always ignored before. "My father's already working on the merger paperwork. With Rachel out of the picture and supposedly suffering from amnesia, she won't be able to interfere."

The betrayal hit me like a physical blow. The two people I trusted most in the world—my boyfriend and my best friend—were not only having an affair behind my back but were now conspiring to... what? Pass me off to someone else? Use my accident as an opportunity?

And who was this Blackwood person?

The sound of approaching footsteps silenced their conversation. I kept my eyes firmly shut, my mind racing despite the fog of medication.

"Mr. Blackwood," Brandon's voice took on a falsely cordial tone. "Thank you for coming."

"Sterling." The newcomer's voice was deep, cold, and clipped. "I'm not here for pleasantries. Where is she?"

"In here," Ashley chirped. "Still unconscious. The doctors say she might not remember anything when she wakes up."

"Convenient," the man—Blackwood—responded, his tone making it clear he found nothing about this situation convenient at all.

The door to my room pushed open wider, and I sensed someone approaching my bedside. I remained perfectly still, my heart hammering against my ribs. A presence loomed over me, and I could feel eyes studying my face intently.

"I'll leave you two alone," Brandon said, the false sincerity in his voice making me want to vomit. "After all, according to her doctors, you're going to be her caretaker now."

The door clicked shut, and for several long moments, there was only silence and the steady beep of the heart monitor. I felt a strange tension in the air, like electricity before a storm.

Slowly, deliberately, I allowed my eyelids to flutter open. The man standing beside my bed came into focus—tall, imposingly built, with sharp features and piercing gray eyes that seemed to cut right through me. His dark hair was immaculately styled, and his tailored suit probably cost more than my monthly rent. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in those eyes... something that looked almost like recognition.

"Hello?" I whispered, my voice coming out small and confused. "Who... who are you?"

In that moment, as his eyes narrowed slightly at my question, I made my decision. Amnesia. That's what they wanted? That's what they'd get. And while they thought I was a blank slate, a pawn to be moved around in whatever game they were playing, I would discover exactly what they were planning.

This man—Blackwood—might be my unwitting ally in uncovering the full extent of their betrayal.

"Ethan," he replied after a long pause, his voice still cold but with something else underneath it. "Ethan Blackwood."