Her Billionaire husband who acts like a child

PROLOGUE: The Cost of a Miracle

The air in the private suite at the best hospital of New York was thick with the scent of sterile gauze and expensive cologne. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Manhattan skyline glittered—unfeeling and indifferent to the man who had once tried to own it.

Hudson Cole shifted against the pillows, the heavy bandage wrapped around his head looking like a fractured crown. He looked at the doctor, his sharp blue eyes—the eyes that usually terrified his competitors—now clouded with a strange, youthful confusion.

"How are we feeling, Hudson?" Dr. Aris asked, clicking a pen over a clipboard.

"Fine," Hudson muttered, his voice raspy. He squinted at the digital clock on the wall, then at the small desk calendar by the bed. "Just a headache. But... Doc, your calendar is off. It’s showing 2026."

The room went deathly still. Dr. Aris didn't look up. "And what year should it be, Hudson?"

"2025," Hudson said, a hint of his old, commanding impatience flickering in his tone. "I was heading home from the office. The rain was heavy, and that truck came out of nowhere... that was only a day ago. Right?"

A sharp, stabbing pain flared behind his eyes. Hudson groaned, clutching his temples as the machines beside him began to beep in a frantic rhythm.

"I don't understand," he gasped, his breath hitching. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Rest now, Hudson," the doctor said softly, signaling for a nurse. "We’ll talk when the pain subsides."

The Corridor of Silence

The heavy oak doors of the suite swung shut, cutting off the rhythmic thump-thump of the heart monitor.

In the hallway, the Cole family stood like a line of statues. Catherine looked regal and cold in her Chanel suit, while Asher paced the length of the carpet, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. But it was the girl standing in the shadow of the corner who looked the most fragile.

Luna gripped the strap of her bag so hard her knuckles were white. Her heart was a frantic bird in her chest, waiting for the word that would change her life.

Dr. Aris sighed, removing his glasses. "The surgery was a success. We removed the pressure on the brain."

"But?" Catherine’s voice was like a whip.

"But the trauma was more localized than we feared," the doctor admitted. "He’s awake, and his cognitive functions are returning to his pre-accident state. However... he has no memory of the last year. To Hudson, the accident happened yesterday. Everything—and everyone—involved in his recovery over the last twelve months is gone."

The world seemed to tilt beneath Luna’s feet. The months of staying by his bed, the nights she spent reading to him when he had the mind of a five-year-old, the way he used to hold her hand and call her his "bright star"—it was all erased.

A single, hot tear escaped, trailing down her cheek. She looked at the closed door, her voice a broken whisper.

"Dear God... that means he doesn't even know who I am."