---- Chapter 8 Ethan POV: | kiss Chloe, a quick, dismissive peck on the lips. "Wait here. This shouldn't take long." I'm practically buzzing with anticipation. My performance is about to begin. The prodigal memory returns. Ava will weep with joy, and I'll have my dutiful fiancée back on my arm, none the wiser. My property, secured. The family alliance, cemented. My phone buzzes. It's Mark, one of the Associates | had watching the building. "Boss, she's not in the apartment. Her phone's going straight to voicemail." A flicker of annoyance. She was supposed to be here, waiting for my call, pining for me. My absolute authority feels... challenged. She doesn't have my permission to be anywhere else. "Stay put," | snap, my tires screeching as | U-turn back toward the penthouse. Chloe looks at me, confused. She is a pawn, and pawns don't need explanations. | use my key, but the deadbolt is thrown from the inside. She locked me out. A new wave of anger surges through me. | use ---- the master key my father, the Don, gave me for emergencies. The apartment is silent. Eerily so. All of her things-her books, her clothes, the little trinkets she cluttered the shelves with- are gone. The place is sterile, empty. My property has vanished. Then | see it. On the kitchen island. A set of keys. The engagement ring, its diamond catching the light like a mocking eye. And a small, white card. | pick it up. The handwriting is hers. *| remember everything. Me too.* | read the words again. And again. A cold dread, unfamiliar and sickening, begins to pool in my gut. What does she remember? *Me too?* What the hell does that mean? "What is it?" Chloe asks, reading over my shoulder. She gasps. "Oh my god, Ethan. She knows. She must know about us, about the amnesia." The fear in her voice ignites my own panic into fury. This wasn't supposed to happen. My perfect plan, my flawless manipulation, has been discovered. You," | snarl, turning on Chloe, my voice dangerously low. "This is your fault. Those stupid pictures you sent her. You got sloppy!" | spot her old phone on the charger by the counter, a backup she kept. | snatch it up. The screen lights up, showing the ---- message history. All the taunting photos. Each one marked with a small, blue "Read" receipt. She saw every single one. She wasn't ignoring them. She was collecting them. The floor drops out from under me. My perfect plan hasn't just failed. It's been turned against me. She played me. Ava, my quiet, compliant property, has outmaneuvered me. A blind, helpless rage fills the void where my confidence used to be. I've been humiliated. She hadn't just left me. She had defied me. She had made a mockery of my authority. In our world, there is only one response to such profound disrespect. Vendetta. It wasn't a choice; it was a duty. A promise etched in blood to restore the honor she had stolen from me.