Chapter 1

Zoey Silvain had attempted suicide 108 times in the three years she'd been married. When she came to, she found herself lying in a hospital bed, her mind a complete blank. A middle-aged couple sat at her bedside. They frowned as soon as she opened her eyes. "How long are you planning to keep up this nonsense? Yves has always had eyes for Wendy. He only married you because he was drunk and stumbled into the wrong room." Her tone was sharp, and full of annoyance. "He doesn't love you, so it's only normal that he doesn't want to come home. However, you've been using suicide to guilt-trip him for years. Has he ever once shown up at the hospital to check on you?" "If you weren't our biological daughter, we wouldn't even bother with you." The man sighed. "Honestly, you don't hold a candle to Wendy." Zoey blankly stared at them. She didn't remember anything—not even who she was. All she could do was piece together her shattered life from the harsh words of the couple who claimed to be her parents. Apparently, she was the heiress of the Silvain family. When she was little, she had been kidnapped and lost for years. By the time she was found and brought home, she realized her parents had adopted a young woman named Wendy Silvain. Her parents, who were supposed to love and spoil her, now only had eyes for their adopted daughter. Wendy had completely taken her place. Later on, Zoey fell in love with Yves Pearce, the CEO of Pearce Group. Yet, he only had room for Wendy in his heart. Then, everything changed at a banquet one night. Yves had gotten drunk, stumbled into the wrong room, and taken her virginity. After that wild night, he had no choice but to marry her. However, he gave her nothing but coldness and contempt. Her parents didn't love her, and neither did her husband. Zoey felt heartbroken and hopeless. With no one to turn to, her only way of screaming for attention was through desperate, repeated suicide attempts. … "Alright, we have to head home and cook for Wendy," Bryant Silvain, her father, said as he rose from his seat with Daphne Bowman, her mother. "You stay here and think about what you've done." The moment the hospital room door clicked shut, a sharp pain pierced Zoey's chest. Even without her memories, the feeling of being abandoned by the entire world felt all too real. She couldn't understand how any parent could love a foster daughter but not their own flesh and blood. Also, that man named Yves… He was the one who'd shuffled into the wrong room and mistook her for someone else. If he'd already married her, why couldn't he treat her right? Why did he bury her in so much indifference and force her into a dead end? Zoey didn't dare dwell on it for too long. Even just thinking about those fragments of her past made her chest ache, as though she was being sliced open with a blunt knife. What had her old self been like—living day after day in a loveless home, with parents who didn't care about her and a husband who ignored her? How much despair had she been drowning in? Zoey slowly pulled herself upright and handled the discharge paperwork by herself. However, once she stepped out of the hospital, she realized she had no idea where to go. She couldn't remember where her parents lived or where Yves lived. Worst of all, neither place welcomed her. Just then, a commotion erupted near the entrance. Zoey looked up and spotted a tall, slender man striding in her direction while carrying a fragile figure in his arms. He wore a sleek black suit that hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, and he was incredibly good-looking too. Every step he took felt powerful. He carefully held the woman in his embrace. Her pale face rested against his chest, and he looked down at her with overwhelming tenderness. His arms tightened possessively around her, and even his footsteps softened, as if he was afraid of jostling her. "Get out of my way," he calmly said. The crowd instinctively parted. "Goodness gracious, is that Yves?" Someone gasped behind Zoey. "Who else could it be? No one in Norwind has that kind of presence! He's so handsome, he's making my legs go weak…" Zoey stiffened. So, that was her husband, Yves. The woman in his arms was most probably her adopted sister, Wendy. When Yves walked past Zoey, he paused for a fraction of a second. His dark, ink-black eyes glanced at her, cold enough to cut through skin. Then, without a word, he looked away and hurried toward the emergency room with Wendy in his arms. Zoey's thin frame trembled slightly. She didn't follow him, and as she wondered where she should go next, she heard footsteps behind her. She turned around and noticed that Yves had returned. He grabbed her wrist without warning, gripping it hard enough to make her wince. "You're RH negative, right?" Before Zoey could answer, he dragged her toward the blood collection room. "Wendy was in a car accident, and she lost a lot of blood. The hospital's blood bank is running low, so I need you to donate some to her." "I—" Zoey parted her lips, but Yves cupped the back of her head and kissed her. It was a cold, brief kiss. "Now, will you donate?" he asked in a low tone, and with a cold look in his eyes. Before Zoey could respond, she was already being pushed into the blood collection room. The nurses whispered loudly enough for her to hear outside the door. "Is that the Mrs. Pearce who tried to kill herself 108 times? I heard the first time was to get Mr. Pearce to kiss her, the second time to go on a date, and the third time to sleep with him… But he rejected her every time. How pathetic. "Mr. Pearce finally kissed her, but it was to get her to donate blood for Ms. Silvain…" "She must be torn—over the moon about getting a kiss, but heartbroken it was for someone else…" Zoey lay on the chair, eyes fixed on the window. Through the glass, she noticed Yves sitting beside Wendy's hospital bed, his long fingers gently holding her pale hand. Then, he bent down and placed a soft kiss on the back of it. Oddly enough, she felt neither happy nor sad. The needle pricked her vein, but the pain felt muted, as if there was a veil between her and her emotions. Even the anguish she should have felt had been dulled by her memory loss. Perhaps forgetting everything was the only mercy the universe had ever shown her. After donating 13.5 fluid ounces of blood, Zoey staggered out, pale and dizzy. She tried to regain control over her body and forced herself to walk up to Yves. "Yves, could you tell me… our home address? In return, I'd like to give you a gift." Yves' brows knitted. "What are you playing at now? Did you attempt to kill yourself one too many times that you'd even forgotten where you live?" "No… I lost my memory—" "The driver's waiting outside," he cut her off. "Let him take you home." "Thank you," Zoey softly said. "I'll get that gift ready for you." "I don't need it," Yves icily said. "I'm not interested in anything you give me, so you can stop wasting your time trying to please me." Zoey lowered her gaze, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She was sure he'd like this one.