It had been three years since the accident that left me with intermittent
amnesia.
Three years since the night I overheard my husband, Aiden Manvell, laughing with his friends:
"Aiden, your wife forgets everything every few months. Each time, one of us steps in to play you. Aren't you afraid someone might actually cross the line?"
"Afraid of what?" Aiden's tone was careless, his wine swirling in the glass.
"Hannah doesn't care. As long as you don't touch her, she'll never want anything. But don't forget–she's still mine. When I've had my fun, I'll go back to my family."
Since then, every time I woke up without my memories, the man holding my hand, whispering to me, even lying beside me at night–was never truly Aiden.
Nine times in three years. Nine different men playing the role of my husband.
What they didn't know was this-
I had regained my memory two years ago.
And this time, I wasn't going to play along.
When my ninth "husband" arrived home, I sat on the couch, lost in thought.
A distinct voice broke through my train of thought. "Hannah, I'm back."
I glanced over at the man standing at the entrance.
"Who are you?" I asked, pretending to be perplexed. "Isn't my husband's name Aiden?"
The man hesitated briefly before quickly responding. "No! Well… I'm your husband's friend. Hannah, don't worry. I'll call your husband to come back immediately."
After saying that, the man grabbed his phone and quickly headed toward the balcony.
"Aiden, Hannah's lost her memory again. Whose turn is it now? Come over and take over from me."
I stayed hidden by the window, listening to Aiden's friends making excuses through the speaker.
"Aiden, your wife is so clingy. We have to be with her around the clock. We can't handle it!"
"Yeah, she's great otherwise, but she's just too uptight. What guy can say no to temptation?"
"What about you, Aiden? Why don't you head back yourself?"
"No," Aiden's laid–back voice replied through the speaker. "I'm not done enjoying myself. I don't want to go back. Which one of you will step in for me? It's pretty lame as friends to turn down such a minor favor."
Amid their attempts to dodge the question, a distinct and unwavering voice spoke up, "I'll volunteer."
I knew that voice–it belonged to Caleb Radmore, Aiden's best friend.
In our social circle, Caleb was known as a heartthrob who had supposedly stayed single all 30 years of his life.
Initially, when Aiden suggested finding someone to pose as my husband, Caleb was the first to disagree. But now, was he intrigued by the idea of participating in this domestic charade?
Half an hour later, the house's door quietly swung open. Caleb entered, silhouetted by the light.
"Hannah, Pm home," he said, his cool voice laced with a touch of allure.
I rose to my feet, fixing my gaze on the tall, handsome figure before me.
"So, you are my husband, Aiden?"
"Yes," Caleb responded, gently clearing his throat. "I'm sorry, I had to work late tonight."
As soon as he finished speaking, Caleb's phone rang.
He mouthed an apology, picked up the phone, and stepped out to the balcony.
Aiden's relaxed voice came through the line. "Hey, Caleb, just a reminder. You can hold her hand or give her a hug, but don't even think about sleeping with her. She's still my wife, no matter how much fun I'm having."
"I understand," Caleb responded quietly.
For the last three years, regardless of how those men tried to mimic Aiden, they never did more than hold my hand or embrace me. They never overstepped any boundaries.
During this time, there
a single photo of us in the house, nor any
personal items belonging to the man.
Without parents and suffering from amnesia, I had no friends to connect with. They assumed I would remain oblivious.
I pretended to be ignorant, acting as though I was unaware.
However, this time, I intended to change the game.