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She woke up with no name, no past-just the man who saved her. Elias is gentle, calm, too perfect. He offers her a place to stay and a role to play: be his lover, just until things settle. But fake feelings turn real, and the woman with no memory starts to believe in a future she can't remember. Until the day he proposes-and his missing lover comes back from the dead. Lena. Beautiful. Broken. Identical. Suddenly, she's invisible. Styled, molded, and loved only because she reminded him of someone else. Shattered, she runs. Not just from Elias-but from the lie of who she thought she was. As she uncovers the truth, she realizes her accident wasn't random. She wasn't just forgotten-she was erased. And the secrets go deeper than she ever imagined. Cloning. Memory manipulation. A man pulling strings from the shadows. Now, she must fight for her name, her past, her truth-and decide if love can survive betrayal. Because she was never the copy. She was the threat.
Chapter 1 The Stranger Who Said He Saved Me
The first thing I remembered was the cold. Then pain. Then nothing.
I opened my eyes to a room too white, too clean. The lights were harsh, the sheets stiff, and my head... throbbing like someone had tried to split it open and sew it back together wrong.
A man sat in the corner, arms folded, face unreadable. Sharp jaw. Cold eyes. Too calm for someone sitting beside a wreck like me.
"You're awake," he said, voice deep, detached.
I blinked. "Who... are you?"
He didn't answer right away. Just stood and walked over, his shoes clicking on the tile like a metronome counting down to something I wouldn't like.
"You don't remember anything?"
His tone wasn't hopeful. It was cautious. Careful.
"I don't..." I swallowed. My mouth was dry. "I don't even know my name."
He nodded like he expected that. "You were in an accident. I found you. You've been in a coma for two weeks."
A coma? I looked down at my arms. IV tubes, bruises, bandages.
"You saved me?" I asked.
Something flickered in his eyes, but it vanished too fast.
"You can say that."
"And... my family? Friends?"
His silence was loud.
"We couldn't find anyone. No ID. Nothing."
I stared at him. "So you just... brought me here?"
"I had my reasons." He didn't elaborate.
There was something off about him. Too controlled. He didn't touch me, didn't try to comfort me. Just stood there, arms crossed like I was a project he regretted taking on.
"What's your name?" I asked.
He hesitated. "Elias."
Elias. It fit him-sharp and hard.
"You said you had reasons," I murmured. "What kind of reasons?"
Elias slipped a folded paper out of his coat pocket and placed it on the bedside table.
"A contract."
I stared at it. "What kind of contract?"
His eyes were unreadable. "Be my lover. In public. For one year."
I almost laughed. I couldn't even remember my name, and this stranger wanted me to play house with him?
"Why me?"
He didn't answer. Just looked at me like he was deciding whether I was worth the trouble.
"You need a place to stay. Medical care. And I-" He paused. "I need someone to stand beside me."
"So, I'm just... convenient?"
His jaw clenched. "It's not like that."
"But it is."
Silence settled thick between us. He picked up the pen and placed it beside the paper.
"You don't have to sign it. But if you want to stay, there are rules."
"What rules?"
He didn't blink. "Don't ask questions about the past. Don't try to find who you were. Don't go through my things."
I wanted to scream. But I didn't. I nodded like a fool, because what choice did I have?
The next day, I left the hospital.
His place was like him. Cold. Polished. Not a single photo or plant. Just marble floors, glass walls, and silence.
He gave me a room at the far end of the house.
"You'll find clothes inside," he said before walking away.
Everything in the closet was pristine, neatly arranged. And... strange. Dresses. Heels. Lingerie. Not one pair of jeans.
They were too perfect. Too fitted. Like someone else had picked them. Not for comfort, but for show.
Dinner was quiet. I sat across from him, chewing slowly, watching how he never looked at me. Not really. He looked through me.
"Do I remind you of someone?" I asked suddenly.
His hand froze over his wine glass.
"No."
Liar.
Weeks passed. I learned how to exist in silence. I signed the contract. I smiled at the cameras when we went out. The press called me his mystery woman. His Cinderella.
He never kissed me. Not once. Not when people watched. Not even when I tried.
Sometimes he watched me when he thought I wasn't looking. Like he was waiting for something to return. A memory. A word. A clue.
One night, I couldn't sleep. Something gnawed at my chest. I walked the hallway barefoot, trailing my fingers along the walls like maybe I'd bump into a memory.
A door was slightly open. His study.
I stepped inside.
It smelled like cedarwood and ink. Neat shelves. Papers stacked. A single desk lamp on.
Then I saw it.
A drawer slightly ajar.
Curiosity was louder than his rules. I pulled it open, just a bit.
A photo sat inside.
My breath caught.
It was a woman.
She looked exactly like me.
Same eyes. Same mouth. Hair curled the same way mine had been styled yesterday.
But this woman... she was laughing. Alive in a way I hadn't seen myself be in weeks.
The date on the back said three years ago.
A chill ran down my spine.
Was I... her?
Or just a replacement?
"Don't go through my things."
I froze.
His voice was behind me, low, quiet.
I turned slowly, heart thudding.
He stood there in a black robe, hair messy, eyes darker than ever.
"I-I just-"
"You disobeyed me."
"I had to know."
He stepped closer, expression unreadable.
"You were never supposed to see that."
"Who is she?" I asked, voice shaking. "Who am I?"
He didn't answer.
His silence was louder than anything he could've said.
And in that silence, something cracked inside me.
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