Keeping My Amnesiac Nemesis

Zoe's POV

I pushed open the VIP room door at Daytona Hospital, my heart racing.

Please, Kyle, please be okay...

"Kyle!"

Medical staff were running tests on him. My husband—though most people didn't know that—was propped up in bed, thick bandages wrapped around his head, those amber eyes filled with a confusion I'd never seen before.

He blinked, his gaze lingering on my face, then...

"Zoe? What are you doing here?"

The air froze. That tone... something was wrong.

"Are you okay?" I stepped forward trembling, wanting to check his head wound.

Kyle suddenly pulled back, wariness flashing in his eyes. "Whoa, wait, Zoe, what are you doing?"

I frowned. "Stop messing around, let me see your injury."

He grinned—that familiar yet strange cocky smile. "Caring about me this much, you wouldn't happen to have a crush on me, would you? I know I'm handsome, but rushing in here like this..." He dramatically touched his chest. "A bit too obvious, lady."

What?

My brain went blank. What the hell was this bastard saying?

"Kyle Harrison!" I snapped, "What the FUCK do you mean? Did you forget I'm already married?"

Halfway through, I stopped abruptly. Shit, I almost blew it.

Kyle stared, eyes wide. "What? You're married? When the HELL did you get married!"

Oh God, he really doesn't remember.

"Doctor!" I practically roared at the physician nearby, "What's wrong with him?"

The white-coated doctor approached with test results, expression grave. "Mr. Harrison, please tell me, what year is it?"

"2020, obviously." Kyle answered matter-of-factly, rolling his eyes. "What's wrong, doc, did you lose your memory too?"

The doctor and I exchanged glances. He took a deep breath. "Sir, it's 2024."

Kyle's smile froze instantly.

The room fell deathly quiet, only the steady beeping of medical equipment and my rapid breathing breaking the silence.

Kyle looked at me bewildered, then at the doctor, slowly shaking his head. "No... impossible. Yesterday I was still preparing for playoffs, Zoe was still competing with me on the track..."

"Kyle," my voice was hoarse, "that was four years ago."

The doctor cleared his throat, speaking in professional, calm tones. "Due to the car crash impact, you've temporarily lost your memory. Preliminary assessment shows complete memory loss of four years."

Kyle's expression shifted from disbelief to shock, finally settling on complete bewilderment. He stared at his hands, touched the bandages on his head, like a lost child.

I couldn't take it anymore and rushed out of the room.

The doctor followed me out. The disinfectant smell in the hallway made me nauseous.

"How long will the amnesia last?" I leaned against the cold wall, feeling my legs go weak.

"Hard to say," the doctor shook his head, lowering his voice. "Could be days, months, even longer. But I must warn you—never try to forcibly restore his memory. Any shock could cause secondary damage."

"What do you mean?"

"Like suddenly telling him major information, especially regarding relationships." The doctor looked at me seriously.

Can't tell him about our marriage?

I closed my eyes as last night's fight crashed back like a tsunami.

"Your ex-boyfriend's back, would you still fucking choose me?"

Kyle stood in our Malibu mansion's living room, gripping my iPhone tightly, the message still flashing on screen: "I'm back in the country, convenient to meet?"

The living room atmosphere was explosive.

"Kyle, are you insane?" I tried to grab the phone back, but he held it higher. "We've been married three years! THREE YEARS!"

"SECRET marriage!" His eyes burned with rage I'd never seen, veins bulging at his temples. "It's been a fucking secret marriage from the start! Now your first love's back, and I still have to hide like some dirty secret!"

"That wasn't just my choice!" My voice rose too. "It was OUR decision! To focus on our careers!"

"Really?" Kyle laughed coldly. "Or because you never got over him? The moment he comes back, you can't wait to meet him?"

"Kyle, let me explain..."

"Explain what?" He slammed the phone onto the couch. "Explain why your eyes lit up when you saw his message?"

We'd never fought like this before.

Kyle gave me one last deep look, then headed for the door. "If you want to see him, go ahead. But don't expect me to keep waiting."

SLAM! The door crashed shut.

Then came the engine's roar. Not his usual Porsche, but that modified Ferrari from the garage—the race car I'd explicitly forbidden him from driving on public roads.

That lunatic! He actually took that car out!

At 3 AM, the hospital's call jolted me from nightmares: "Serious car accident, please come immediately."

I opened my eyes, the hospital corridor's fluorescent lights stabbing painfully.

All because of that damn fight. All because of his impulsiveness and recklessness.

Anger began burning in my chest.

Kyle Harrison, you wanted excitement, right? You wanted to prove you didn't care about our marriage, right?

The doctor's words echoed: "Never shock him... major emotional information..."

Suddenly, a crazy idea formed in my mind.

Since the doctor says I can't shock him, I'll give him a "non-shocking" version. Since he wants freedom and excitement, let him taste what being controlled feels like.

I pulled out my phone, quickly messaging Kyle's parents and friends who knew about us, explaining the situation and asking them to play along.

Putting away my phone, I looked toward the still-shocked Kyle in the room, raising an eyebrow.

Show time.

At dusk, the Malibu mansion basked in California's warm sunset, ocean breeze carrying salt from the Pacific.

Kyle sat on the Italian leather sofa in the living room, gaping at his surroundings: the custom Swarovski crystal chandelier, French imported marble coffee table, and that massive floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the endless ocean view.

"Damn... how much does this place cost?" He couldn't help cursing.

"My house." I walked over with two cups of Blue Mountain coffee, keeping my voice calm. "About your current situation, there are some things I need to tell you."

Kyle took the coffee, frowning deeply. "What things? Sounds ominous."

"After the crash, doctors say you can't race for at least three months." I deliberately paused, watching his face turn pale instantly. "And... Phoenix Racing is now facing serious financial problems."

"WHAT?!" Kyle shot up, nearly spilling his coffee. "How could Phoenix Racing have financial problems? We're a top NASCAR team!"

"Many things changed in four years, Kyle." I set down my coffee cup. "Sponsors pulled out, operating costs skyrocketed, plus your medical expenses..."

"So what now?" His voice trembled slightly.

I stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, back to him, barely suppressing laughter.

This is what you get for reckless street racing.

"Now, I'm your benefactor."

"Benefactor?" His voice jumped an octave.

I turned around, seeing his shocked expression, and smiled. "You could think of me as... your sugar mama."

Kyle's face turned crimson. "You've got to be kidding! This is impossible..."

"I never joke about these things." I stepped toward him. "You're living here now, I'm covering all your expenses—rehabilitation, training costs, living expenses, even..." I paused deliberately, "your personal needs."

Kyle collapsed back onto the sofa, head in hands. "So... so I'm being kept by you?"

I raised an eyebrow. "You could put it that way."