I saved a billionaire with no memories only to be betrayed

“I’m willing to accept the twenty million dollars and disappear from Jackson’s life… so prepare the money in five days.”

My voice was steady, but my hands trembled as I spoke into the phone.

On the other line, Nathalia’s laugh rang out, sharp and triumphant. “Finally realized you don’t belong in my son’s world? Great then. Consider it done, Cassandra. Just make sure I never see your face near him again.”

And then the line went dead.

I stood there frozen, the silence pressing against me. The phone slipped from my fingers and landed on the couch with a muted thud. My eyes burned, but no tears came. Only the hollow ache of surrender.

If it had been another time—another me—I would’ve fought for him. I would’ve shouted, argued, clawed my way through hell just to stay by Jackson’s side. But not now. Not anymore.

I closed my eyes and let out a long, broken sigh.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Five years ago, I had stumbled upon Jackson on the side of the road, bloodied and unconscious after the accident that stole his memories. Back then, I had nothing—not even a proper roof over my head. Just a tiny apartment with peeling paint, a secondhand mattress, and enough savings to barely feed myself.

But I took him in anyway.

I nursed him. I cooked with what little I had. I bandaged his wounds and whispered to him in the dead of night, promising he wasn’t alone. And when he finally opened his eyes—confused, broken, lost—I smiled through my tears and said, “You’re safe here. With me.”

He didn’t remember his name, his family, his past. But he remembered me.

In that small, fragile world we built, we fell in love. A love so raw, so real, it felt like the universe had rewritten itself just for us. He worked hard for us, taking odd jobs, saving every dollars, always whispering, “Someday, Cassandra, I’ll give you the world. You’ll never feel poor again. That’s my promise.”

And he kept it.

Because one day, we learned the truth. Jackson wasn’t just some lost man with empty pockets—he was the heir of one of the most powerful business empires in the city. A multi-billionaire by blood. And when his memories came back, he brought me with him into his world.

I thought it was our fairy tale ending. He fought for me in front of Nathalia, his formidable mother who looked at me like dirt clinging to her diamond floors. He slipped a ring onto my finger, promising forever, whispering, “I choose you, Cassandra. No one else. You’re my home.”

But our happiness was short-lived.

Because Ivy returned.

Ivy—his old love. The one who had been with him before the accident. Perfect Ivy, with her family name, her polished charm, her unshakable connection to his world. She slid back into his life like she had never left, and suddenly, I was a shadow in my own relationship.

He forgot our sixth anniversary.

And while I waited in the penthouse, clutching the dinner I prepared, the news flashed across the screen—photos of Jackson with Ivy at a gala. The world gushed over their reunion, the headlines screaming: “The Perfect Match is Back—Wedding Bells Soon?”

That night, something inside me died.

I thought he had simply overlooked me, but when he saw the photos of him and Ivy on my desk, he accused me of stalking him. Of hiring someone to follow him. He never realized it was Nathalia giving me those to leave.

And still… I stayed.

Until tonight.

The sound of the door unlocking snapped me out of my thoughts. The tall glass doors of the penthouse swung open, and Jackson stepped inside. His tie hung loose around his neck, his jaw tight, his phone still in his hand.

He didn’t even look at me when he asked, “Where’s the food?”

I stared at him, my lips curving into a bitter smile. “Didn’t you eat with Ivy?”

That caught his attention. His gaze snapped to me, sharp and accusing. “What’s this again, Cassandra? Are you making someone follow me? Isn’t it enough that you stalked me and took those photos of me and Ivy back then? Do you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

“That wasn’t me,” I whispered.

But he didn’t hear me. He didn’t want to. “Can I not have a life? Do you know how much I missed when I lost my memories? How many connections? How many opportunities? I’ve told you so many times—it’s for business! We’ve already cut ties romantically. She means nothing beyond her family’s influence!”

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. But the bitterness in his tone, the exhaustion in his eyes, the way he said “we” when he spoke of him and Ivy—it told me everything.

So I nodded. Silent.

And then I stood.

“Where are you going?” he asked sharply, his voice echoing through the high-ceilinged penthouse.

I turned to him, forcing my expression into something calm. “I’m not feeling well.”

I walked past him, each step heavy, each breath burning, and locked myself inside the room that had never really felt like mine.

I sank onto the bed, clutching my chest. Around me was everything he promised me: luxury, comfort, the glittering view of the city through tall glass windows.

But it was all empty. Because I no longer had him.

My gaze drifted to the passport on the bedside drawer. My hand trembled as I picked it up. Then, with a deep breath, I dialed a familiar number.

The call connected after a few rings.

“Cass?” a warm, worried voice answered. My best friend.

I swallowed hard. “Can you pick me up in five days, Lina? I… I’m going to run away from my wedding with Jackson.”