I Faked Amnesia to Test My Boyfriend,Then Found His Mistress in Our Home

The moment my eyes met Barnaby's, a flicker of amusement passed through his gaze. Then he raised his hand, lazy and unhurried, one finger pointed straight at me.

"That one. I want her."

That day, he took me away and became the only light in my dark world.

He wasn't just my boyfriend. He was my salvation. I'd poured every ounce of love I had into him, and I truly couldn't bear to let go.

While I was lost in those memories, a familiar voice pulled me back.

"Caroline, why are you sitting on the floor? It's cold down there. Come on, get up."

Only then did I realize that the moment I'd walked into the hospital room, my knees had buckled. I was crumpled on the ground.

I stared at Barnaby's lips, still swollen and red from kissing her, and spoke slowly, one word at a time.

"Barnaby, are you hiding something from me?"

"Am I really just your housekeeper?"

He froze. The flash of panic in his eyes made him look, for just a moment, utterly exposed.

"Hiding something? What do you mean?"

"Caroline, did you remember something?"

I wanted to scream yes. I wanted to demand an explanation for everything he'd done to me.

But for some reason, when he asked that question, I shook my head as if something else had taken control of my body.

"No. I just feel like something's off. All of it."

The relief that washed over Barnaby's face was impossible to miss.

"You just went through a serious injury. Feeling disoriented right now is completely normal. It'll pass."

"Come on, let's go home. We can talk on the way."

On the drive back, Barnaby was behind the wheel. Lena sat in the passenger seat.

I sat in the back, staring at their intertwined fingers, a vicious ache spreading through my chest.

Barnaby talked and talked. He said we were about the same age. He said after my parents died and I had nowhere to go, he'd taken me in.

He said I wasn't really a housekeeper in the traditional sense. That in his heart, I was like a sister to him, just not by blood.

He said so much.

But he never once mentioned the five years we'd spent in love.

I spoke quietly.

"So I live in your house, but I'm not a housekeeper, not a sister, and definitely not a girlfriend. Is that right?"

"Then why did you let me stay? Because you felt sorry for me?"

Barnaby choked on his words. Lena jumped in immediately from the passenger seat.

"You two have known each other for years. After your parents passed and you had nowhere to go, Barnaby let you stay as a housekeeper. That's all."

"We're all friends here. Looking out for each other is what friends do."

I lifted my gaze to Lena.

"Is that so? Then what exactly are you doing here, Miss Floyd? Are you coming home with us?"

"Are you two already living together?"

My tone was anything but polite. It dripped with open hostility.

In the rearview mirror, Barnaby's brows drew together.

"Lena is my girlfriend. What's the problem with her coming home with me?"

The protectiveness in his voice was unmistakable. It felt like ten thousand needles driving into the left side of my chest all at once.

The pain hit so fast and so hard it flooded through every limb, every nerve, until I couldn't force out another word.

I closed my eyes and stopped looking at the two of them in the front seat.

The moment I stepped through the front door, I almost laughed.

Five years together. Every corner of this home had been arranged by my own hands. The walls, the shelves, every surface was covered with photos of me and Barnaby.

I looked up at the two people standing in front of me, suddenly curious to see how they'd explain this.

"We're really just friends? These photos don't exactly scream 'platonic.'"

My tone in the car had already put Lena on edge. Now, hearing this question, she didn't bother hiding her irritation.