Escaping the Obsession: The Amnesiac Ex's Second Hunt

My billionaire husband lost his memory in a car wreck. He forgot the minor detail of how he had forced me into his life and trapped me in his twisted version of a relationship.

The second his family found out, they swooped in. They pushed through a divorce before the ink on his medical chart even dried.

In under twelve hours, I found myself standing on the pavement of a completely different city.

I gripped a freshly stamped divorce decree in one hand and a staggeringly fat check in the other. I just stared at the passing traffic, numb.

After surviving Alaric's gilded cage for so long, sudden freedom felt like a physical blow. My lungs didn't quite know how to process the unfiltered air. But I dug my heels in.

I built a quiet, aggressively normal life right there. Then came a random grocery run. One second, I was reaching for the produce.

The next, a heavy hand clamped down hard over my nose and mouth. The suffocating burn of chemicals flooded my throat. The world snapped to black. My eyelids fluttered open.

Damp, stale air filled my lungs. The pitchblack basement was sickeningly familiar.

A chill broke across my skin just as a low, icy voice brushed against the shell of my ear. "Be a good girl and stay mine. I can give you the world." Perfect.

It was an exact, lineforline replay of the nightmare I thought I had escaped.

Chapter 1 When I found out Alaric lost his memory, a full week had already passed since his car crash. The doctors spent hours in the OR pulling him back from the brink of death.

Victoria cornered me about it.

Her mascara was running, but her jaw was locked so tight I thought her teeth might shatter. "If he wasn't out looking for you, Alaric would never be in this state!" She claimed Alaric had been in the middle of a therapy session.

The second he realized I'd bolted, he hopped in his car and floored it. A lapse in focus, an oncoming semitruck.

If his imported sports car didn't cost more than most people make in a lifetime, buying the other driver a splitsecond to swerve, he wouldn't just be dealing with amnesia.

He'd be getting fitted for a body bag. It finally clicked. Oh. So that was it. No wonder he hadn't dragged me back kicking and screaming yet.

I honestly thought the GPS tracker he slipped in my bags had just shorted out. I'd spent the entire week freezing my ass off on that remote island for nothing.

I was the wife Alaric had bulldozed into submission. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what my appeal was.

I was just a regular corporate cog, and he was the CEO—my boss's boss. Racking my brain, our only real crossover was that time at the annual gala.

I'd grabbed a vintage Merlot by the neck and smashed it over his cousin's head for cornering a female intern. I spent the cab ride home updating my resume, convinced I was fired.

The next morning, HR handed me a transfer notice. They yanked me out of my failing branch office and dropped me right into the corporate headquarters everyone killed to get into.

They tripled my salary, so I strapped on my boots and worked like a dog. Alaric seemed to value my hustle.

He always greeted me with a relaxed smile, throwing promotions and raises my way like candy.

He fired the managers who gave me a hard time and even scared off my stagefive clinger of an exboyfriend.

He validated my work and served as a safety net for every single mistake I made. He even wore the cheap twentydollar cufflinks I bought him for Secret Santa, day in and day out.

I counted my lucky stars. Every day I clocked out, I practically thanked the universe for dealing me the ultimate boss.

I would have gladly chained myself to my desk and worked for the man until retirement. Then came the company wrap party. I drank way too much tequila.

The world tilted, and the next thing I knew, Alaric was buckling me into the passenger seat of his car.

He guided my heavy head down to rest on his shoulder. "Go to sleep," he murmured, his chest vibrating against my cheek. "I'll take you home." I'm a lightweight.

With the amount of alcohol swimming in my veins, I should have been dead to the world until the next morning.

But for whatever cruel reason, my eyes fluttered open halfway through the drive. My vision blurred, then sharpened.

Alaric was leaning over the center console, pressing a deep, stifling kiss against my lips. That shattered the illusion. Alaric dropped the 'supportive boss' act on the spot.

He flatout told me he wanted me. A billionaire's pursuit isn't cute; it's a bluntforce trauma of wealth.

Private jets, yachts, dripping diamonds, and priceless art pieces—if my brain could conjure it, Alaric could buy it twice over. And it wasn't just the money.

The man was built like a genetic lottery winner. Broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist, sharp jawline, and eyes that missed nothing. When he smiled, it was devastating.

When he didn't, he looked untouchable. Every time we walked down the street together, I could feel the envious stares drilling into my back. But I've always been a realist.

A lack of chemistry is a lack of chemistry, no matter how many zeros are in the bank account.

If this were some elaborate scam, I would have gladly played along and fleeced him for everything he had. But it wasn't.

It sickened me to admit it, but beneath the mountains of cold hard cash lay something terrifyingly real—his actual heart.

And karma has a funny way of ruining people who play with genuine feelings. So, I looked him in the eye and turned him down again.

That was the exact moment something inside Alaric snapped. Chapter 2 He owned a sprawling waterfront estate. Tucked away inside was a windowless, pitchblack room.

Whenever I tried to run, he'd drag me in there and fuck the defiance right out of me.

Afterward, with his chest still heaving and a dark flush crawling up his neck, he'd pin my wrists down and demand marriage. "Be a good girl and stay mine.

I can give you the world." He threatened to break my legs and chain me to his side if I ever said no.

Of course, he made that empty threat a hundred times without ever lifting a finger to actually hurt me. Every time he dragged me back, he'd catch my deadpan expression.

The corners of his eyes would turn a bruised, furious red. The rims would glisten.

I'd usually play nice for a while after that—mostly because I thought he looked incredibly hot when he was on the verge of tears.

At first, the whole catandmouse game had a certain thrill to it. But after a while, it just got exhausting. I couldn't escape, and he didn't have the guts to actually destroy me.

Plus, the estate was massive. There were way too many empty rooms to explore to keep having angry sex in that cramped, dark basement.

So, on a perfectly sunny Tuesday morning, I signed the papers and married Alaric. Most of the time, Alaric played the ruthless dictator.

Like any billionaire who took what he wanted by force, he looked ready to handcuff me to his belt loop just to track my pulse every second of the day.

But I could see the cracks in the facade. He knew exactly how dirty he played to get that ring on my finger.

That underlying guilt kept him from actually locking me in a gilded cage. He operated on pure paranoia.

If I was out of his line of sight for too long, his jaw would clench, and the frantic pacing would start. Eventually, the toxic cocktail of insecurity and possessiveness won out.

While I was dead asleep, he slipped microtrackers into my phone and half my jewelry box.

If my dot on his map stayed in one place outside the estate for more than twentyfour hours, it took less than sixty minutes for him to show up and haul me back.

Once I figured out his little system, I just treated him like a premium Uber service.

Whenever I got tired of walking around the city, I'd just find a hotel, drop my bags, and pass out.

I knew I'd wake up tucked into our California king bed, already changed into my silk pajamas. It was essentially teleportation.

The only tax I had to pay was waking up with fresh bite marks and bruises painting my collarbones from where Alaric had devoured me in my sleep.

That brings us to my latest miscalculation. I only meant to take a quick day trip to the private island he bought me. But three days dragged by without a single call.

I sat on the pristine white sand, letting the ocean breeze whip my hair around, prying the back off my phone to see if the tracker had shorted out.

I literally debated whether a satellite had crashed into the ocean before it even crossed my mind that something might have happened to Alaric. Well, it worked out perfectly.

He wiped his hard drive and erased me from his existence. When someone finally told him he had a wife, he just waved a dismissive hand from his hospital bed. "Divorce her.

I don't remember the woman anyway." Fate just flipped the board, and everyone walked away a winner.

Alaric reverted to the icy, untouchable billionaire who treated women like bad investments.

Victoria finally got the green light to play matchmaker and hunt down some blueblooded heiress for her golden boy. And me? I got my freedom. And eighty million dollars.

Chapter 3 Before I left, Victoria gave me one final, explicit instruction: vanish from her son's life forever. "Alaric's obsession with you was nothing but a psychological defect," she sneered. "Now that he's practically cured, don't flatter yourself into thinking he'll ever long for you again." I knew about his diagnosis.

Childhood trauma had mutated into severe paranoia. It was the only logical explanation for his twisted fixation on me. Because, let's be real.

No sane man just abducts a woman and forces her into marriage against her will. Three years of marriage dissolved like a fever dream.

The waterfront estate, the yachts, the blinding diamonds, that suffocating dark room—all gone.

All I had left to show for it was a dangerously light piece of paper worth eighty million dollars. Victoria told me to roll as far away as humanly possible. I kept my word.

I pulled up a map, pinpointed the exact city furthest from Alaric's orbit, booked the next direct flight out, and never looked back.

I touched down in this unfamiliar city and bought a modest house. I filled it with cheap, basic furniture.

To kill time, I picked up a lowstress, parttime shift at a local cafe and bakery. It felt exactly like my life before Alaric hijacked it.

The owner's grandson, Asher, was a college senior who crashed at the shop to help out on his breaks. He was obsessed with Wall Street gossip.

The small projector mounted behind the counter constantly looped financial news and billionaire scandals. That was where I saw Alaric again. It was his discharge day.

Paparazzi swarmed the hospital exit, their camera flashes bouncing off his pale, sharp features. He didn't spare them a single glance.

He just looked deadeyed, icy, and untouchable.

A reporter shoved a mic into his space, shouting about rumors of a secret marriage, holding up a blurry, stolen paparazzi shot of me. "Sir, is this woman your wife?" Alaric glanced at the photo.

Not a single muscle in his jaw twitched. "Sorry.

I have absolutely no impression of her." Leaning against the counter, Asher let out a low whistle. "Professor Alaric is in his thirties, right?

Can't believe he's still single." "Professor?" I echoed. "Yeah, he used to be a guest lecturer at my university.

The entire campus was obsessed with him." I propped my chin in my hand, completely unfazed. "Why?

Because he skipped roll call?" Asher rolled his eyes. "Because he's hot, obviously." Asher went on a tangent about how Alaric's archetype—refined, mature, politely distant—was basically catnip for college students.

He kept rambling about all the times Alaric ruthlessly rejected people who threw themselves at him.

The wild stories Asher spun perfectly matched the cold, untouchable statue on the projector screen.

Victoria's screeching voice from our wedding day echoed in my head. "This is all your fault!

Alaric was never like this before he met you!" I used to think she was just a hysterical snob. How was I supposed to know what Alaric was like before me?

From the exact second I met the man, he was a relentless bastard who would burn the world down just to drag me into his bed.

The kind of man who would literally lick my palm if I slapped him across the face. But staring at the screen, it finally clicked. Oh. This was the real Alaric.

Mental illness was a terrifying thing. It had hijacked this flawless, unattainable billionaire and ripped him out of character.

It made him go rabid, made him cry, and drove him to do the most despicable, degrading things just to keep me. Good thing his memory was wiped clean.

Chapter 4 The news cycle had been relentlessly dominated by Alaric lately. Wiping three years of his memory apparently didn't even put a dent in his schedule.

Buying out a tech firm today, crushing a merger with another CEO tomorrow—his empire was expanding faster than ever. His media interviews were completely lucid.

An anchor asked if he had any plans to settle down soon.

He didn't even blink, stating flatout that he had zero expectations for romance and would likely just enter a strategic marriage of convenience. "And if you happen to meet the right girl?" the anchor pressed.

A faint, perfectly polite smile touched his lips. "Even if I did, I wouldn't force the issue. I respect boundaries." I stared at the screen, mute. Right.

So he learns how to respect boundaries only after I'm out of the picture.

Asher walked out of the back kitchen, sliding a massive, fullyloaded ice cream sundae across the counter toward me. "Wow. Splurging today?" I asked.

He flashed a cocky grin. "Hell yeah. Celebrating my new job offer." "Congrats. Where at?" "Alaric Corp." The spoonful of ice cream hit the back of my throat.

I coughed, grabbing a napkin. "I thought… isn't their headquarters on the East Coast?" "They're opening a new regional branch.

Didn't you see?" He rewound the interview playing on the projector by half an hour. There was Alaric, laying out his aggressive expansion strategy. The very first target on his map?

This exact city.

Remembering my own days as a corporate drone in one of his satellite offices, I gave him a reality check. "Working at HQ is great, but the branch offices will work you to the bone." "Yeah, but the pay is insane." "You're still in college.

Why are you in such a rush to stack cash?" Asher shot a quick, loaded glance at me before looking away, his ears turning slightly pink. "Maybe so I actually have a shot with the person I like." It wasn't just my imagination.

Guys in their early twenties were essentially open books.

The flushed cheeks whenever we made eye contact, the nervous fiddling with his sleeves, the painfully obvious phantom basketball shots he'd do when I walked by—he couldn't have telegraphed it harder if he tried.

Unsurprisingly, he eventually confessed. Equally unsurprisingly, I shut it down immediately.

Back in the day, when I rejected Alaric, the man would just show up the next morning acting like nothing happened, casually throwing out lines like, "Persistence is a virtue." Asher, on the other hand, didn't have the thick skin of a billionaire psychopath.

The second the rejection hit, his eyes grew impossibly shiny. He choked out a quick "Sorry for bothering you," and practically sprinted out the door.

By 11:00 PM, he still hadn't come back to the shop. His grandmother was pacing a hole into the floorboards.

I was just pulling up his contact to call him when a text popped up on my screen. [ Hazel, I'm at the police precinct.

Can you come bail me out? ] Honestly, I was expecting the worst—that a bruised ego had pushed him to do something incredibly stupid and illegal. But no.

He had actually gone to his new job and worked his ass off all day. He got roped into a client dinner that evening.

After a few too many drinks, the client suggested taking him out to "have some fun." Asher, riding a heavy buzz, just stumbled along.

It wasn't until they were in a VIP room and someone started undoing his belt that the alcohol completely wore off. "I had no idea the client was into guys, or that the club he dragged me to was a gay club," Asher stammered from behind the bars of the holding cell, rubbing his face. "I panicked.

I didn't know what else to do, so I called the cops." Which, naturally, landed him right in lockup alongside the rest of them. "The client was screaming that my career is over," Asher groaned, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. "And now my boss is on his way down here…" "Your boss," I repeated.

A cold, sinking feeling pooled in my stomach. "Asher… which boss?" "It's…" Chapter 5 Before the words fully left my mouth, Asher suddenly shot up from the metal bench.

He wiped at his redrimmed eyes and looked past my shoulder. "Sir. You're here." Half a year later, and Alaric hadn't changed a bit.

He still materialized out of thin air like a damn ghost. I really didn't want to deal with him.

I tugged the brim of my baseball cap lower and shrank into the corner, trying to blend into the peeling paint of the precinct wall.

He moved efficiently, handling the police paperwork and ensuring the predatory client was booked and locked in a holding cell without an ounce of hesitation.

Through the cracked glass of the interrogation room, I heard his voice. Smooth, controlled, authoritative. "Next time something like this happens, don't panic.

The company will always prioritize employee safety over a contract. And lay off the alcohol at client dinners." Asher sniffled loudly. "I'm sorry, sir. I just… I got rejected today.

I was in a bad headspace, so I…" "Love is inherently chaotic.

The odds of the person you want actually wanting you back are incredibly low," Alaric said, sounding like a patient, understanding mentor walking a kid off a ledge. "There are millions of women in the world.

You'll find the right fit. Some things shouldn't be forced." Hiding in the corner, the knot in my stomach finally loosened.

That was the first time I'd ever heard Alaric speak like an actual, rational human being.

It was deeply unsettling. "By the way," Alaric suddenly asked, shifting gears. "Where is your family?" Asher jolted like he'd been electrocuted, clumsily pointing a finger straight at my corner. "Ah.

Right there." Alaric turned his head, following Asher's finger. And at that exact second, I looked up.

When I signed the divorce papers, I asked Victoria a very specific question. "What if he remembers me? Or what if he starts digging?

How do you explain a missing exwife?" Victoria waved her hand dismissively, telling me not to lose sleep over it.

She promised to scrub every trace of my existence from the Alaric estate. And she swore on her life that Alaric's brain damage was permanent. He would never remember me.

She sounded so absolutely certain. But in this exact moment, raw instinct kicked in. My boots scraped against the linoleum as I took two steps backward.

The way Alaric was looking at me was way too familiar. It dragged me straight back to the night I caught him kissing me in his car.

Back then, catching him in the act actually made him look ashamed.

He had scrambled to put his polished mask back on, claiming the tequila made him black out and begging me to forget it happened. And like an idiot, I actually believed him.

I had forced a strained laugh, trying to give him an out. "It's fine, boss.

Everyone misfires sometimes." Then I pretended to check my blank phone screen. "So, uh, my boyfriend is waiting for me to grab latenight tacos.

I'm just going to hop out here." The awkwardness had already peaked. My only goal was to eject myself from that car immediately. I yanked the door handle. It didn't budge.

The child locks were engaged. A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck. I slowly turned my head.

Alaric's eyes were pitchblack and locked onto my face. "You have a boyfriend again?" I pressed my back hard against the leather seat, doubling down on the lie. "Yeah.

It's pretty new. Crazy how chemistry works, right? When it hits, you just can't stop it. Haha." "Is that so." Alaric let out a low, humorless laugh.

He sounded almost exhausted. "Then why can't you manage to like me?" My jaw actually dropped. What? I sat there, paralyzed, the sensation of grabbing a live wire shooting up my arm.

Chapter 6 Alaric dropped the act. He tilted his head, his voice dropping into this sicklysweet, wounded tone. "Hazel. Am I not good enough?

Compared to that stagefive clinger of an ex, or this random guy you just pulled out of thin air… logically, you should be choosing me." He spread his hands, presenting his meticulously curated self.

Not a single hair out of place. A bespoke charcoalgray suit tailored perfectly to his shoulders.

That lingering, expensive citrus and cedar cologne filling the tight space of the car.

He even wore those silverrimmed glasses every single day, and I knew for a fact he had perfect 20/20 vision. "I scrubbed your social media. I mapped out your exact preferences.

I dress like your ideal type every single day." He leaned in closer, invading my space. "Hazel, tell me. Am I not attractive enough?

Or just not rich enough?" He reached over and tapped my phone screen, killing the backlight.

The car plunged into heavy shadows. "Break up with him," he murmured. "I guarantee he doesn't measure up to me. You know exactly what I can offer." "Money. Power. Connections.

I will let you step on my shoulders to climb as high as you want." "Plus, I'm incredibly openminded," he whispered, laying his final, twisted card on the table. "If you really can't let him go, keep him on the side.

When you get bored, just throw him out." His breath fanned across my cheek. "So, be with me.

Okay?" Honestly, what happened that night was child's play compared to the hell he put me through later.

But the look in his eyes—like a snake offering an apple in the Garden of Eden—burned itself into my brain. Turns out, I was just projecting my own trauma.

Back in the police precinct, Alaric extended a perfectly steady hand toward me. "Hello." A polite, professional halfgrip.

His skin brushed mine for exactly two seconds before he pulled back. Zero red flags. We acted like two absolute strangers meeting for the first time.

Aside from that brief greeting, we essentially didn't exchange a single word. He offered to drive us back.

I slouched in the backseat, letting the rhythmic hum of the tires and their casual, backandforth chatter lull me into a halfsleep.

Drifting in and out, I caught fragments of Alaric's voice. "Is Miss Hazel a relative of yours?" Asher kept his voice low. "Actually, no. She works at my family's bakery.

She's great, always looks out for me." "How old is she?" "I think… twentyeight." "A local?" "No, she just moved here about six months ago." "Does she have a boy—" "Sir." Asher sounded genuinely shocked. "Are you interested in her?" The car rolled to a smooth stop at a red light.

Alaric's dark eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror. "No," he said flatly. After dropping us off that night, Alaric vanished off the radar completely.

My only updates came from Asher, who essentially functioned as a walking PR machine for his amazing boss.

He wouldn't shut up about how much Alaric valued him, how he fasttracked his promotions, moved him to his personal executive team, and even took a keen interest in his personal life and relationship status. "The boss said he's transferring me to headquarters after the holidays." Asher checked his phone, then shouted toward the kitchen. "Grandma!

I'm not eating at home tonight! The boss wants me to go to a client dinner with him!" …Wait a minute. Why did this playbook feel so incredibly familiar?

Did Alaric's amnesia somehow wipe away his heterosexuality, too? "Asher, you might want to watch your back," I warned him, leaning against the counter.

He flashed a hopelessly naive smile. "It's fine! With the boss there, nothing like last time will happen." Yeah, the problem is exactly because he's there.

Chapter 7 Just as I suspected, 11:00 PM rolled around and Asher was still a noshow. I debated with myself for a minute before tapping his contact to call him.

The line clicked open, but it wasn't Asher's voice on the other end. It was Alaric's. "Apologies. Asher had a bit too much to drink.

Who is this?" I deliberately pitched my voice higher, laying the sweet, helpless girlfriend act on thick. "I'm Asher's girlfriend.

Who are you?" Dead silence hung on the line for a long beat. When he finally spoke again, his tone had dropped an octave, dripping with cold ice. "I am his boss." "Oh!

You must be the boss! Our Asher has mentioned you so much. Thank you so much for looking out for him." "Where are you guys right now?

I'll come pick him up." The call abruptly disconnected. A second later, a location pin popped up on my screen. It was a highend luxury hotel.

To save Asher's ass, I shelled out for a premium latenight Uber and made it there in under ten minutes.

I knocked on the heavy hotel room door, but when it swung open, Asher was nowhere in sight.

Under the dim, warm amber lighting, Alaric sat alone on a plush velvet sofa, wearing only a thin, unbuttoned dress shirt. He looked entirely too relaxed.

Seeing me, he offered a flawless, gentlemanly gesture toward the armchair opposite him. A polite smile curved his lips. "Miss Hazel. It's been a while." "Uh, right.

Long time no see." I scanned the empty suite. "Where's Asher?" "Asher…" Alaric rolled the name around in his mouth like it tasted bitter. "So the two of you are actually together?" Crap.

I went too hard on the method acting over the phone and slipped up. "Yeah. It's pretty new," I forced out, biting the bullet.

He poured a glass of juice and slid it across the glass coffee table, smoothly explaining that Asher had passed out in the adjacent bedroom. "That's how boys in their early twenties are.

They can't handle their own messes and constantly drag other people down with them," he remarked dryly. "He's six years younger than you.

He must rely on you for everything." Alaric's thumb began dragging in slow, deliberate circles over the bare skin of his left ring finger.

It was the exact spot our wedding band used to sit.

A subconscious tell he always fell back on when something dark and heavy was brewing beneath his skin. "Honestly, dating a boy that much younger sounds exhausting.

Aside from a youthful body, they bring absolutely nothing to the table. You're just constantly forced to accommodate them." "And you, Miss Hazel, are in your absolute prime.

Why waste your best years babysitting a boy while he grows up? Especially since there's no guarantee he'll ever actually amount to anything." He had moved.

The rustle of heavy fabric brushed the air behind me. His heat radiated against my spine, leaving less than an inch of breathing room between us.

I heard the sharp, drawnout inhale as he breathed in the scent of my shampoo. "Truly, I feel sorry for you." He delivered the entire monologue with the arrogant cadence of a keynote speaker.

My brain hadn't even finished processing the radioactive subtext of his speech before pure survival instinct took the wheel. Run. My muscles coiled to bolt.

But I didn't make it a single step. The heavy mahogany door was right in front of me, but Alaric's hand slammed flat against the wood, boxing me in. Click.

He threw the deadbolt right in front of my face. "You deserve a better option." He finally bared his teeth, the polished trap springing shut