Forty-Nine Days of His Fake Amnesia Chapter 01
On the 49th day of nursing my amnesiac husband at Highpine Moon Retreat, our brakes failed on Highpine Pass.
When the rescue team finally showed up, I thought we were saved.
Until I overheard—
“Alpha Evan, the PackNet stream just hit ten million viewers. Your amnesia punishment show is a killing.”
I forced my eyes open.
And saw my husband coldly holding his first love.
“This is what she owes Mira. Ninety-nine humiliations. Because of her.”
“Leave her in the wreck a little longer. Pain teaches. She needs to learn her place.”
All the fake rescue wolves stopped working.
The comments floated in front of me.
Every one of them mocked me—the desperate, discarded Luna. Bad acting, they said. Even my screams didn’t sound real.
They didn’t know…
The show was fake.
But the steel rod that pierced through the windshield was real.
I threw myself over him. My sternum shattered. Broken ribs punched into my lung.
Looking at Evan’s back, I closed my eyes.
I pulled the oxygen tube from my nose.
“Evan Ward. This show is over. I’m done playing your Luna.”
—
The tube slid free. The comments kept rolling.
[She’s committed, I’ll give her that. Blood all over and she’s still in character.]
[Alpha Evan, take our white-dressed goddess Mira Bellamy and go. Don’t let that bitch contaminate the air.]
I tried to reach for the crystal screen. The crushed door had my right arm pinned.
Every twitch sent the broken ribs deeper into my lungs.
The fake rescue wolves circled the car.
One of them raised hydraulic cutters and muttered, “Felix… her color’s wrong. Do we keep cutting or stop?”
Felix Grant’s voice hissed through the earpiece.
“Alpha Evan said leave her. So leave her.”
“Push the camera in closer. The audience loves suffering.”
Evan stood beyond the cordon. His black jacket was spotless.
He held Mira with one arm, wiping her tears with the other.
“Don’t look. It’s ugly.”
Mira pressed against him like she’d been wronged.
“Sweetie… does she hate me? The way she looked at me just now—it scared me.”
Evan glanced my way.
“She doesn’t have the spine to hate you.”
His tone was flat. Like he was critiquing a defective prop.
“Forty-nine days of loyal mate performance. That’s enough.”
“Today she learns what it feels like to be laughed at by the entire pack. Good lesson.”
I opened my mouth. Only blood bubbles came out.
He didn’t know.
When the brakes failed, I thought he’d genuinely lost his wolf power and memory to rogue-war trauma forty-nine days ago.
I shoved him into his seat. I used my body to block the rebar that came through the windshield.
It wasn’t a prop. It was real.
When it pierced my chest, I was glad it hit me instead of him.
Outside, Mira pointed at the moon-signal whistle around my neck.
“Sweetie, she’s still wearing that?”
Evan gave it to me ten years ago.
“Signal’s bad on Highpine Mountain. Whenever you blow it, I promised I would find you.”
Evan’s gaze snagged on the whistle. Just for a second.
Then he looked away.
“Old thing. Let her keep it. It doesn’t work anymore anyway.”
Mira smiled. She rose on her toes and kissed the corner of his mouth.
The crew whooped.
“See? Alpha Evan and Mira are true mates.”
“Luna Naomi’s just clearing the way for the real one. Best punishment show ever.”
I listened to them laugh. My wolf was silent.
She hurt too much to even whimper.
I turned my head with the last of my strength.
Evan was closing the door for Mira. Getting ready to leave.
The monitor screamed.
“Beep.”
“Beep.”
The young healer actor’s face went pale. “Her oxygen’s at sixty. She’s crashing.”
Felix snapped, “Shut it. Alpha Evan’s watching the numbers. You stop the feed, you pay the fine.”
Evan heard the commotion. He looked back once.
“Give her some oxygen. Keep her awake. There’s still an apology segment.”
Then he helped Mira into another car.
Headlights swept over my face.
He didn’t look again.
My chest stopped moving.
The next second, my body went weightless.
The mate bond had been betrayed so badly it tore my wolf soul loose instead of letting it fade.
I floated above the wreck in spirit form.
I saw myself—blood-soaked, trapped in the driver’s seat, eyes half-open, fingers still stretching toward the tube I’d pulled out.
I was really dead.
Dead in the live stream he’d built.
The crew was still pushing in for close-ups.
Then a real rescue team stormed up Highpine Pass—Moonlight Mountain Rescue.
The lead wolf shoved past assistant director Jimmy.
“Move. Who the hell gave you permission to seal off a real crash scene?”