After a car crash, I faked amnesia to tease my notoriously stiff husband, asking him who he was. Mark froze for a second before offering a tender smile. “I’m your brother.” I reached out playfully, running my hand over his rock-hard abs. “Like… a naughty lover kind of brother?” Mark dodged my touch, his tone laced with restrained distance. “Stop messing around. I mean your biological brother.” That got me even more excited. “Wild taboo romance! Gotta love it!” Later, when I was diagnosed with a pregnancy, Mark was beside himself with joy. Yet I stubbornly insisted on getting an abortion. He nearly went out of his mind, gripping my shoulders and begging to know why. I looked at him calmly and replied: “Forbidden sibling tropes are fun to joke about online, but in real life, who actually dates their own brother?” 01 I have always been someone who cared way too much about saving face. When other kids tripped and fell, they would cry and pick themselves up. When I fell, I would lie flat on the pavement and pretend I had simply decided it was time for a nap. Naturally, getting courted and married by Mark was the proudest achievement of my life. As the youngest associate professor at the university, Mark was ridiculously attractive in a cool, distant way. Whenever he stood behind the lecture podium, the quiet clicking of student phone cameras sounded like a flock of cicadas. After we got married, Mark treated me like a precious glass doll, taking care of my every need. Everyone who saw us couldn’t help but gush about how lucky I was to score an older, refined man. When it came to romance, however, Mark was painfully vanilla. Even if I took the initiative and begged for a kiss, he would only peck my cheek or forehead before giving my head an affectionate little pat. So when he called himself my brother after my accident, I felt a surge of relief. My stiff, uptight husband is finally learning how to roleplay. To be fair, the car crash was minor. I only ended up with a few bruises and a mild concussion. But when I woke up from my stupor and saw Mark sitting by my bed, the dark circles under his eyes heavy with exhaustion, my heart melted. I wanted to play a little prank to lighten the mood. Who knew Mark wouldn’t follow the script and would go straight for a forbidden blood-relation drama? Since he wanted to act, I couldn’t let the ball drop. Where would my dignity go if I broke character first? And so, I kept up the act for a full week. Every single day, I had to exert all my willpower to keep my hands off Mark’s broad chest, which looked like it was actively threatening his shirt buttons. Finally, Mark seemed convinced that I had genuinely lost my memory. He reached out and gently ruffled my hair. “Sweetheart, there’s something I need to tell you.” “My wife, your brother’s wife, is actually staying in this same hospital.” “Since you have amnesia, you probably don’t remember her. If you’re feeling up to it, I can take you to see her.” I giggled silently in my head. I was already picturing the scene where Mark would lead me to a full-length mirror, point at my reflection, and say, Look, this is my wife. Instead, Mark walked me down the long hospital corridor and stopped in front of a private room. He pushed the door open. Lying on the crisp white hospital bed was a complete stranger. “Is that you, Sienna?” The woman looked up, her voice gentle and soft. “Mark told me you were in a car accident and lost your memory. I was so worried about you. Come here and let me look at you. Thank goodness your pretty face didn’t get scratched.” Mark gave me a soft nudge from behind. “Sweetheart, this is my wife, Giselle.” My mind went instantly blank. Who? For a split second, I actually questioned if I really had amnesia. But I knew down to the exact drawer where our red marriage certificates were stored at home. Seeing me frozen in place, Giselle looked at me with tender concern. “Sienna, I know your head is foggy right now. It’s completely normal that you don’t remember me.” She offered a timid, embarrassed smile. “Mark and I have known each other since we were kids. We were childhood sweethearts. When he came over to my house back then, my dad told me to call him big brother, but I refused. I didn’t understand it then, but when I grew up, I realized it was love. So getting married later just felt like the natural step.” What was she talking about? If she was married to my husband, then what was I? “Where’s your marriage license?” I heard my own voice come out hard and sharp. “You say you two are married. Where’s the license?” Giselle blinked, startled, then let out a soft laugh. “We have it, of course. But it’s at home. Once I get discharged…” “I don’t want to wait until you get discharged,” I cut her off. “I want to see it right now.” Giselle instinctively glanced past me toward Mark, her eyes filled with a helpless plea. “Well… maybe Mark can run home and grab it?” “No, I need to see proof right now!” My voice hit a high, jagged note. “If you two are really married, you must have photos on your phone, right? Wedding pictures, album posts, social media updates! Show me right now. If you can’t, you’re a liar!” Giselle’s already pale face drained of all color. “Stop it, Sienna.” Mark frowned, his tone heavy and stern, just like an older brother scolding a bratty younger sister. “Giselle isn’t like you. Her health is fragile. Don’t push her like this.” As if on cue to prove his point, Giselle suddenly clutched her chest and began coughing violently, gasping for air. “Giselle!” Mark rushed to the bedside, wrapping one arm around her shoulder while using his other hand to gently pat her back in a practiced, fluid motion. I stood all alone by the doorway, a band-aid stuck to my forehead, my eyes stinging as tears welled up uncontrollably. 02 I turned around and walked away. Roleplay or not, I didn’t want to play this sick game anymore. All I wanted was to go home, open our bedroom door, and look at the framed wedding photo hanging above our bed. In that photo, I was wearing a white veil, my eyes crinkling with joy, while Mark stood beside me in his tailored suit, his gentle eyes looking only at me. Then, I would grab my documents from the nightstand and figure out how to get a clean, dignified divorce. When I got back to my hospital room and grabbed my coat, I looked up to find Mark standing at the door. “Where are you going?” “Home.” “Do you even remember where home is?” I choked on my words. “Sweetheart…” Mark stepped closer, staring at me intently. “Did you remember something? Or… did you never lose your memory at all?” I wanted to tell him the truth. I wanted to yell that I never lost my memory, that I was his wife, not his sister. I wanted to ask him if he realized what he was doing. If I hadn’t been pretending, was he really planning to let another woman claim to be his wife right in front of my face for the rest of my life? I wanted to ask him if we had really been married for three years, or if I had been living with a complete stranger. But the words gathered in my throat and dissolved into a bitter lump. Why should I tell him the truth? If I admitted to faking my amnesia now, I would be admitting that I lied to him first. He would turn it back on me, blaming my little trick for his grand deception. When I first started this joke, all I wanted was to see his flustered reaction. The moment he panicked, I was going to throw my arms around his neck and laugh, Fooled you! How could I ever forget a husband as handsome as you? Then I would watch him smile that helpless, indulgent smile of his, the kind where the corners of his eyes crinkled softly, making me feel utterly safe. It was supposed to be a sweet, silly moment between husband and wife. I never imagined it would open the door for another woman to step into my life. And why was Mark teaming up with her to deceive me? Fine. If he wanted to act, I would play the part until the very end. When the lie finally unraveled, I would see his real answer. “…I wish I had never forgotten,” I murmured, lowering my head to hide the wetness in my eyes. “I don’t remember you, and I definitely don’t remember having a sister-in-law like her. Neither of you can even produce a single wedding photo. How do I know you aren’t human traffickers trying to kidnap me?” Mark stared at me for a long time. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh. He walked over, pulled his phone from his suit pocket, unlocked it, and opened his photo album. The first picture was of me, grinning foolishly at the camera while making bunny ears behind Mark’s head. He swiped right. It was a photo of Mark standing in front of his alma mater alongside a handsome young man with bleached blonde hair. Mark swiped past it quickly. The next photo showed only his hand holding a cozy blanket, covering me while I was fast asleep on the couch, drooling slightly. “See? This is you, and this is me,” Mark said, his voice softening as he looked at the screen. “We are family.” He looked down at me, pausing for a moment. “As for Giselle… she’s sick. Stage four lung cancer.” My head snapped up, meeting his gaze. “Giselle’s father was my benefactor,” Mark explained softly. “My grandmother and I used to live in a crumbling mud hut in the mountains. She washed clothes for extra cash just to raise me. When she was diagnosed with kidney failure, the dialysis bills were astronomical.” “It was Giselle’s father who paid for everything. After my grandmother passed away, he brought me into his home, put me through school, and taught me how to be a proper man. He told me, Mark, study hard and get out of these mountains. You don’t belong in the dirt.” “Without him, I would have starved to death in that hut. I wouldn’t be the man I am today.” Mark’s eyes filled with exhaustion and deep guilt. “But good people don’t always get good endings. He fell ill suddenly. On his deathbed, he held my hand and said the only thing he worried about was his daughter. He asked me to take care of her.” Mark had promised him. “I owe her father my life,” Mark whispered. “I can’t just abandon her. She doesn’t have much time left. I just want to stay by her side through this final stretch. It’s the only way I can repay my debt to her father.” Listening to him, everything finally clicked into place. We had dated for two years and been married for three. Mark was a popular professor, and bold female students often asked for his contact information. He always handled those situations gracefully and reported them to me right away, completely transparent. Yet, in all those years, he had never once mentioned the name Giselle. He had kept her hidden so very well. Then I thought about the car crash. After we married, Mark insisted that I didn’t need to work, promising to provide for me so I could live comfortably. But sitting around at home for too long made me feel useless, so I recently started sending out resumes. On the afternoon of my crash, I had just finished an interview. Mark was supposed to pick me up, but he called at the last minute, claiming a male graduate student of his was having a mental health crisis and he had to rush to the hospital. Mark had mentioned that student multiple times before. He said the guy couldn’t get over his ex-girlfriend, constantly sending her desperate texts and calls. Later, he fell into severe depression and stood on the roof several times. Mark was always the one called in to pull him back. I used to think Mark was just an exceptionally responsible professor, listening to his stories like dramatic campus gossip. That day was no exception. “What happened to him this time?” I had asked over the phone. “He swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills. They’re pumping his stomach right now,” Mark had sounded utterly drained. “Sweetheart, can you take a cab home by yourself? I’ll make your favorite pork rib and yam soup when I get back tonight.” So, I happily booked a taxi. And then my taxi got rear-ended. Looking back now, that troubled male student never existed. The person Mark rushed to see that afternoon was Giselle. And those dramatic stories were just gender-swapped versions of reality. Giselle was his ex. After they broke up, she couldn’t let go. Even after Mark married me, she kept clinging to him, using her failing health and mental state to keep him tethered. How long had Mark been living this double life behind my back? Perhaps even back when we were dating, he was already playing both sides. Benefactor’s daughter on one side, girlfriend turned wife on the other. Trying to care for both, weighed down by guilt for both, maintaining a fragile, suffocating balance. So when I woke up and randomly pretended to have amnesia… what did Mark feel in that exact moment? I knew the answer now. It was relief. He had finally found a loophole, a perfect solution handed to him on a silver platter. He could stay by Giselle’s side openly, fulfilling her final wishes without technically committing adultery. Because his wife didn’t even know she was his wife anymore. How brilliant of you, Professor Mark. You pushed me away with your own hands, thinking I would just stay right where you left me. I raised my head, my eyes dry and burning, but not a single tear fell. “That’s so moving,” I said, forcing a bright smile. “I believe you guys are real husband and wife now. You’re so good to your wife, big brother! When I look for a boyfriend, I definitely want someone just like you!” I even let out a small laugh, reaching out to swipe through his phone screen. I swiped back to the photo of the young man with bleached blonde hair and bedroom eyes. “By the way, brother, who’s this friend of yours? What’s his name? He looks super handsome. Why don’t you introduce us?” Mark’s breathing hitched. 03 Mark’s face went rigid, his tone turning cold and clinical. “His name is Rowan. He was the last student Giselle’s father funded. I heard he recently started a successful tech company.” Mark kept his eyes fixed on my face as he spoke. The moment I nodded, he abruptly changed his tune. “But his private life is a complete mess. He’s been wild and unmanageable since he was a kid. The first time Giselle’s father went to visit him with gifts, Rowan thought he was a kidnapper and shoved him straight into a muddy ditch, standing on the bank laughing his head off.” Mark locked his phone screen and slid it back into his pocket, his voice turning into a low, persuasive coo. “Trust me, sweetheart. A guy like him isn’t right for you.” Mark glanced out the window. It was the rainy season, and heavy gray clouds hung thick over the city skyline. “You’re not in good shape right now, and I don’t feel comfortable leaving you home alone. I talked to Hank and Lily. You can stay at their place while I’m away, okay?” Hank was an old colleague of Mark’s, and Lily was his wife. The two of them were constantly bickering, so they always envied Mark and me, talking about how in three years of marriage, they had never seen us raise our voices. Mark was always patient and gentle, and I cared too much about keeping up appearances to throw a tantrum. We simply never had a reason to fight. I got into Mark’s car. We barely made it past the second intersection before his phone rang, automatically routing through the car’s Bluetooth speakers. “Hubby?” Giselle’s sweet, affectionate voice echoed clearly through the car. Mark pressed his lips into a tight line, but he still let out a quiet, “Yeah?” My nails dug deep into the flesh of my palms. Giselle called out to him a second time. “Hubby, did you catch up to Sienna? Why did she leave so suddenly?” “Did I say something that upset her? It’s all my fault. Hubby, you should really spend more time with Sienna.” “I might have to do the lung biopsy later today. I looked it up, they insert a long needle through the chest wall under CT guidance. It’s local anesthesia, so I’ll be awake the whole time.” “But it’s fine. I can handle it alone.” Her voice was soft, fragile, and selfless. “Hubby, you don’t need to rush back to be with me. I’m okay. Anyway, I won’t disturb you two anymore.” The call disconnected. The car happened to reach a busy crossroads. Turning left led to Hank’s house, at least an hour’s drive away. Turning right meant circling back to the hospital. I turned my head to look at Mark. His face was completely devoid of emotion. I opened my mouth, intending to tell him to just turn back to the hospital since medical care was more important and I wasn’t that petty. Before I could speak, Mark flipped his right turn signal on and merged into the right lane. The first heavy raindrop slammed against the windshield. Within seconds, downpour sheets of rain battered the glass. I slowly closed my mouth and stared out the passenger window. Mark finally spoke. “Sweetheart, I’ll drop you off somewhere nearby first. I bought a place near the hospital. I’ll come pick you up as soon as I’m done staying with Giselle.” I turned back to him. “What kind of place?” Mark hesitated for a moment, his eyes fixed on the rain-drenched road ahead, looking thoroughly exhausted. “Giselle used to… spend a lot of time in the hospital. To make it easier to take care of her, I bought a small apartment nearby.” I didn’t even know how to describe the feeling rising in my chest. My husband had bought a private sanctuary near the hospital for another woman, spending countless nights caring for her there. And I only found out because I was pretending to have amnesia. The rain outside grew heavier, pounding against the window like a frantic heartbeat. My mind, curiously, went entirely quiet. When we pulled up to the apartment complex, he unlocked the door and led me inside. The place was dripping with signs of daily life. In the shoe rack at the entryway, there were only two pairs of slippers, a matching couple’s set in pale pink and sky blue. There were no spare guest slippers. Mark bent down, pulled out the pink pair, and handed them to me. “Wear these for now. I’ll buy a new pair on my way back.” Before leaving, Mark ruffled my hair again, offering careful instructions. “It’s slick out there, so don’t wander around. I’ll be right back after I check on Giselle. Be a good girl, okay?” The second Mark walked out the door, I began tearing the apartment apart. After digging up four hundred-dollar bills from a drawer, I grabbed an umbrella from the hallway and headed straight out into the storm. Mark had taken my phone after the accident, and he had likely left it back at our real home. I needed to get my phone back, along with my official documents. The storm had turned ferocious. The moment I popped the umbrella open, the wind nearly blew it inside out, soaking my shoes and socks instantly. I caught a cab back to our house and used the keypad to unlock the front door. Sure enough, my phone was sitting on the console table in the foyer, its battery drained down to a single percent. I plugged it into a charger right away and hurried into the bedroom to retrieve my documents. My gaze brushed past the large wedding portrait hanging above the bed, a wave of sour irony washing over me. Just as I pulled my suitcase out from the closet, my phone chimed. I picked it up. It was the HR manager from the company I had interviewed with the previous week. “Hi, Sienna! Our team lead really loved your presentation from the first round. We tried reaching out earlier and were worried when we couldn’t get through. We have a final interview scheduled for two-thirty this afternoon. Are you available? If it goes well, you can start onboarding today!” I gripped the phone, stunned, feeling the suffocating pressure in my chest finally ease up just a fraction. “Yes! Yes, absolutely! I can be there right away!” I agreed eagerly. I checked the time. It was already 1:15 PM. I opened a rideshare app, booked a car, grabbed my purse, and dashed back out into the rain. The driver was a middle-aged guy who started cursing about traffic the moment I got in. I stayed silent, staring blankly out the window. Up ahead, I noticed a huge puddle on the side of the road, right next to a pedestrian walking with an umbrella. I narrowed my eyes. Just as the person started looking strangely familiar, the driver suddenly slammed on the gas. “Excuse me, there’s a huge puddle over there, watch out for—” Before I could finish my warning, the car sped right past, splashing a wall of muddy water straight over the pedestrian. I instinctively turned around to look through the rear window. The man was standing there soaked, slowly lowering his umbrella. His bleached blonde hair shone shockingly bright against the gray, dreary sky. He raised a hand, looking like he was trying to hail a cab. I turned back around. At the next intersection, there was another puddle with several pedestrians waiting for a ride. The driver pulled the exact same trick, swerving toward the curb and stomping on the accelerator. Except this time, as soon as the car got close, one of the pedestrians pulled a concrete brick from behind his back. A loud, violent THUD echoed from the back of the car. The driver slammed on the brakes, pulled over, and jumped out cursing up a storm to confront the pedestrian. Anxiety surged through me. I checked my phone inside the car. It was 2:13 PM, and my battery was down to 5%. I quickly sent a text to the HR manager: [I am so sorry, I ran into an emergency on the way. I might be a little late.] The HR manager took a moment to reply: [We have other candidates lined up today. The latest we can stretch it for you is 3:00 PM. Please hurry.] I texted back a quick thank-you. Without even bother opening my umbrella, I opened the door and stepped out, desperate to hail another cab. The moment I raised my hand, the bald driver grabbed my arm with a vice-like grip. “Hey! Where do you think you’re going? You’re my passenger! You have to testify for me! I didn’t see that puddle! Make him pay for the damage!” He pulled with so much force on the slick, rain-soaked pavement that my feet slipped right out from under me. I crashed heavily onto the ground, landing hard in a deep puddle of muddy water. Both arguing men went dead silent. At that exact moment, thunder rumbled overhead, and the rain poured down harder. I sat there, completely dazed. My thighs and palms throbbed with a sharp, burning pain from hitting the asphalt. Wet strands of hair stuck to my face as muddy water dripped down my chin. In that moment, I wanted Mark to be by my side so badly. I wanted to break down and sob. But he wasn’t there. He was at the hospital, holding Giselle’s hand like a loving husband. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t cry right now. If I cried, I would lose the last shred of dignity I had left. Just then, the sound of screeching tires cut through the rain. A bright yellow taxi pulled up to the curb, and Rowan pushed the back door open and stepped out. He was covered in mud spots too, his designer shirt soaked through, looking like a drowned cat. Yet, he had a grin on his face as he walked straight up to the bald driver. Rowan delivered a brutal, solid punch right to the driver’s gut. The driver let out a pathetic groan, doubling over as his knees gave out, his face falling straight into the muddy puddle. Rowan shook out his fist, his grin widening. “Revenge is a dish best served instantly.” He turned around and caught sight of me sitting on the ground. “What’s going on here? Bullying a woman? Guess one punch wasn’t enough.” He bent down slightly and extended a hand toward me. “Can you stand up?” I didn’t look at him. I pushed myself up off the wet ground, grabbed my soaked purse, and sprinted straight for the taxi he had just stepped out of. Rowan yelled from behind me, “Hey! That’s my cab!” I pulled the door open, slid inside, and handed two hundred-dollar bills to the driver. “I’m paying for his ride too! Double! Please take me to this address as fast as you can!” The driver slammed his foot on the gas. At 2:27 PM, I finally stumbled into the office building for my interview. The HR manager took one look at my drenched, muddy appearance and froze, an awkward expression washing over her face. “Um… Sienna, I am so sorry…” “We actually just selected a candidate a few minutes ago. It was the director’s call, our hands are tied…” I took a deep, shaky breath and closed my eyes. It was fine. If this job didn’t work out, I would find another one. I was never a woman with only one path forward. I had simply spent too long inside the cozy shelter Mark built for me. I was just out of practice when it came to facing the cold, hard world alone. Sitting in the freezing, air-conditioned waiting room, my legs felt completely numb. I opened my purse to check my things. My documents were soaked into a clump of paper pulp, and my phone screen was shattered, completely unresponsive no matter how many times I pressed the power button. It was okay. Everything was going to be okay. By the time I made it back to the apartment near the hospital, night had fallen, and the rain was still coming down. When I unlocked the door, a wave of cozy, warm yellow light greeted me. The rich aroma of home-cooked food filled the air. A white ceramic pot sat on the counter, filled with steaming pork rib and yam soup. Mark walked out of the kitchen, wearing an apron printed with little teddy bears, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It looked almost ridiculously cute on him. The moment his eyes landed on me standing by the entrance, his pupils contracted sharply. “Sweetheart?!” Mark rushed over, wrapping a soft throw blanket from the couch around my shoulders, his hand immediately checking the temperature of my forehead. “Where did you go? Did you try to find your way home by yourself? Why are you covered in mud? You’re freezing… Wait here, I’ll go run a hot bath for you right now.” He turned to leave, but I reached out and snagged the strap of his apron. My heart, which had been frozen solid all afternoon, completely melted under a wave of overwhelming grief and betrayal. “Mark…” My vision blurred, and tears began falling uncontrollably. I buried my face directly into his chest and sobbed out loud. Mark froze for a split second before pulling me tightly into his arms, his voice laced with suffocating pain and self-reproach. “It’s okay, it’s okay now. I’m right here. Your brother is right here.” You’re not my brother. You’re my husband. You’re the man who stood beside me at the altar and swore to love and cherish me in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until death do us part. Why do I have to share you with someone else? In that moment, regardless of what he had done, I was ready to forgive him. I lifted my head, looking up at him through a haze of tears. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to say that I had never lost my memory, and that I had missed him so much today. “Mark, I actually—” “Oh, Sienna? What happened to you? Why are you covered in mud?” A voice cut through the air. I turned toward the hallway and saw Giselle stepping out of the master bedroom. She was wearing a pair of plush bear pajamas, her long hair draped casually over her shoulders. She stood in the warm light, looking relaxed, settled, and completely at home. She looked far more like the mistress of this house than I did. “Giselle,” Mark frowned instinctively, loosening his arms around me just a fraction. “Dinner isn’t ready yet. You should rest a bit longer.” Giselle playfully stuck her tongue out. “You always tell me to sleep. If I sleep any longer, I’ll turn into a mummy.” She turned to me with an apologetic smile. “I was supposed to get that lung biopsy done this afternoon, but I was just too terrified… So Mark comforted me and said we could push it to tomorrow. He told me to come stay here tonight so I could relax.” She offered a soft smile. “So Mark came back to cook for me. Sienna, why don’t you join us? There’s plenty of soup.” I stood there, frozen solid, feeling the cold seep right back into my bones. Noticing me shivering, Mark looked down at me, his eyes filled with worry and unease. “Sweetheart, what were you trying to say just now? What did you mean by ‘actually’?” “…Nothing.” I stepped backward, pulling myself entirely out of his warm embrace. “I already ate outside. I’ll go take a shower. You two go ahead.”
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “587994”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel
Leave a Reply