My memory was gone—severed cleanly at the precise moment I hated Hannah Swanson the most.
The last thing I remembered, we were sworn enemies. Ten years ago, a dispute over a project escalated into a brawl on the staircase. We tore at each other until gravity took over. I walked away with a fractured leg; she took seven stitches to the forehead.
We'd cursed each other to hell, both wishing the other would vanish from the earth.
But my best friend told me I'd lost ten years. He claimed Hannah and I had been married for six—a "model couple" in our elite circle.
Then he hesitated. With a pained look, he admitted she'd recently had a change of heart.
I didn't believe it until I saw it myself.
A man sat in my living room, his neck plastered with lipstick marks and hickeys. He leaned drunkenly against Hannah's chest, eyes gleaming with undisguised smugness. She stood before him like an impenetrable wall.
She glared at me, brows knitted. "Are you done? He's uncomfortable and needs rest. Do you think wrapping gauze around your head proves you were in a car accident?"
I stared at her, and dark amusement bubbled up.
Yes. This is right.
Hannah Swanson and I were meant to be like this—at daggers drawn, destined never to interact until we died of old age.
——
"What are you laughing at?" Astonishment flashed across her face.
Even Dominic Sullivan seemed thrown. He hadn't expected me to smile, let alone look relaxed.
I ended the call and cleared my throat. "Nothing."
The memories my friend had briefed me on raced through my mind. Apparently, the "current me" had been bitterly waiting for her return. I arranged my features into a mask of hurt. "Wife, you're finally back."
In reality, my gaze roamed over Hannah and Dominic, and I felt nothing but delight.
Hannah was a notorious germaphobe, yet she let this man cling to her like a parasite. Her feelings for him must run deep.
I looked at their intertwined hands, then at her defensive posture—terrified I might hurt him. Both sights brought me satisfaction.
This is how it should be.
The version of me from ten years ago who wanted to marry her must have been an idiot. Now I only hoped they'd love each other deeply and produce a child immediately. Locked together forever. The best outcome.
Hannah's expression softened. She turned to the secretary behind her. "See? Joel loves me too much to stay angry over something this small. Go buy daily necessities for Dominic to use here."
My eyes lit up. She wants him to move in? Could I be this lucky?
The secretary—whom I'd trained personally—looked at me with concern. "President Swanson, your husband just returned from the hospital. Letting Mr. Sullivan move in... isn't that disrespectful?"
Hannah glanced at me, her explanation short on patience. "Dominic tripped today. It's dark, his place is far. I'm not comfortable leaving him alone." She fixed me with a look. "You aren't that unreasonable, are you, Joel?"
I fought to suppress my grin. "Let him in."
Dominic limped through the door. His eyes widened at the interior. "You live like a king. I've never seen anything like this."
I gave him a cold look. "If you're poor, just say so. I paid for every inch myself."
Hannah froze. Guilt flickered across her face as she surveyed the furnishings. "I really have neglected you lately. Tomorrow, I'll take you to pick out that Land Rover you wanted."
"No need."
Even if you gave it to me, I'd feel like it dirtied my hands.
Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you acting so... today..."
Before she could say "obedient," I realized I was blowing my cover. I needed to act like the jealous husband she expected. I widened my eyes in mock fury. "Just go over there with your little lover!"
Her tension evaporated. She actually chuckled, her arm sliding around my waist. "I knew you were jealous. There's nothing between us—it's just acting for business..."
