No More Unloved Wife: The Mafia Queen Returns

It was a long, reversed dream.

It was also the life of a girl named "Anne."

In truth, that name "Anne" was something I came up with on a whim after reading it in a book.

When I first regained consciousness, I was in the small hospital of Karism Town. Other than the doctors and nurses, there wasn't a single person around. I couldn't remember who I was, where I came from, or what had happened to me.

According to the doctor's account, I had been found unconscious by the roadside, covered in blood and wounds. There was a gash on my head, and a kind farmer nearby had rescued me and brought me to the hospital.

Perhaps because of the injury to my head, my memory was completely gone. There wasn't a single piece of my past I could recall.

When I was discharged, I had nothing. No possessions. Not even a name.

The town police arranged a place for me to stay for a month, and I took a temporary job cleaning the local library.

On my first day of work, my eyes caught sight of a book that had just been returned.

"Anne Beneath the Sea."

It told the story of a girl named Anne who, like me, had lost her memories. She had no family, no identity, only an endless imagination of a world deep beneath the ocean.

From that moment, I decided to call myself Anne.

But unlike the Anne in the book, I had no eternal dream of a radiant underwater kingdom. I had to live in the reality of being utterly alone, a girl who even had to steal her name from a fictional character.

My days passed slowly, until that fateful afternoon.

The sky was dark and heavy, rain poured down in sheets, and the streets were deserted. No one would go out in such miserable weather.

I had rented a small house far from the center of town. Crowds made me feel lost and uneasy, while solitude at the edge of the world made me feel safe. So when the Raymond family's car crashed off the cliffside road, I was the only one who saw it happen.

It was a luxury vehicle, the kind I had never seen before, speeding too fast, crashing straight into the rocky wall. Miraculously, the reinforced structure seemed to have protected those inside, but the car had flipped, trapping them.

The storm was fierce, but that same rain might have been what kept the car from exploding. Still, if no one rescued them, they wouldn't survive. Out here, in this isolated place, no one else would find them until the storm was over.

I threw on a raincoat and ran toward the wreck.

The car lay upside down, motionless. Smoke was curling from the hood.

My heart clenched. I grabbed a stone and smashed through the window.

Inside were three people, a middle-aged couple and a young man behind the wheel. I pulled the couple out first, one by one. Then, as I tried to drag the man from the driver's seat, a sharp stench of gasoline hit my nose.

Fuel had leaked into the cabin.

"Damn it!"

I used every ounce of my strength to haul his heavy body out of the car, clutching him tightly as I ran. But I was too late.

A deafening boom split the air.

The blast threw me backward, and the world went dark.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the same familiar hospital. But this time, someone was waiting beside my bed.

"My dear girl, you're awake!"

A gentle woman with sea-blue eyes was looking down at me.

I recognized her. She was the middle-aged woman I had saved from the wreck.

Just by her bearing, I could tell this was a woman of status, the kind who belonged to the upper echelons of society. The wife of a politician, perhaps, or of some powerful businessman.

"I'm Rodina Raymond," she said warmly. "You saved our lives. You saved our entire family."

During the weeks I remained unconscious, Rodina had stayed by my side, personally tending to me. Her kindness moved me deeply.

Later, I met her son, Edric. My first impression of him wasn't bad, he just seemed distant, detached. According to Rodina, the accident had left him traumatized. His emotions hadn't fully recovered.

It seemed the Raymonds had investigated me thoroughly.

When they discovered I was a nameless girl with no past, living quietly on the fringes of society, Rodina made me an unexpected offer.

"You saved our family," she said. "Let us give you one in return. Come live with us, Anne. Let me adopt you as my daughter."

Her words filled me with a faint hope I hadn't felt in so long.

But soon after, the Raymonds arranged for me to meet Edric again.

He was still numb, responding slowly to questions. When his parents asked how he would feel about marrying me, he hesitated only a moment before nodding.

I was stunned.

Rodina smiled and said gently, "Adopting you might be difficult in high society, dear. But if you become Edric's lawful wife, things will be much simpler. It's better than being merely a foster child, don't you think?"

"Anne, will you agree to this?"

At that moment, the warmth in her eyes made me believe her sincerity. I accepted without knowing how much pain that decision would later bring.

That marriage left me with nothing but a shadowed name and a shattered heart.

"Miss Anne... Miss Anne!"

A doctor's anxious voice pulled me from my thoughts.

"You're finally awake. You've been in a coma for two weeks since the accident."

Two weeks.

I blinked, realizing how much time had passed.

With the doctor's help, I sat up. He asked for my family information, my hometown but I said nothing.

"Miss Anne," he continued, "in your examination, we discovered that you're pregnant. The baby is healthy."

Pregnant?

I froze. I had left everything behind, yet now I was carrying a Raymond child?

No. That wasn't right.

A laugh escaped me, so low and incredulous.

"Miss Anne?" The doctor looked alarmed, unsure what to make of my laughter.

"Not Anne," I said softly. "Anne is dead."

I brushed my hair back, my palm resting gently on my abdomen. I could feel the faintest warmth of life beneath my skin.

"This child belongs to Salvaria."

Edric Raymond, that unfaithful billionaire could never be the father of my child.

Because I was never Anne.

Anne was only a brief illusion in the life of Mary Salvaria.

"Anne is dead," I whispered. "I am Mary Salvaria."

I smiled faintly and looked up at the doctor.

"Could I borrow your phone? I need to make a call."

Later, I rummaged through the bag that had once belonged to "Anne," pulled out her phone, ignored the missed calls on the screen, removed the SIM card, and tossed both the card and the phone into the trash.

The story of Anne ended there.

That life, that borrowed name, was over.