Blurb：
When Ethan Vanderbilt wakes up with amnesia, he can’t believe he’s married. As a Vanderbilt heir with global properties, he’s shocked to learn he begged to marry an academic’s daughter through a setup. Now, with only memories of being 18, he demands a divorce—until his wife walks in. Suddenly, love at first sight strikes him again. Can she help him regain his lost memories of their marriage, or will his amnesia tear them apart? Dive into this emotional romance filled with amnesia, second chances, and the Vanderbilt family drama.
Content：
Ethan Vanderbilt accidentally fell down the stairs and lost years of memory.
I rushed to the hospitalthen I accidently heard,
How could I possibly be married to some lady through a setup? Dad, are you pulling my leg???
We’d only been married for six monthslooked like it was heading for divorce now…
I thought.
But the moment I showed my face at the door, Ethan looked up, his breath hitched:
“Dad, do you believe in love at first sight?”
…
“Oh come on dad, you can’t be serious! I just wake up, and you are telling me that suddenly I’m 25 instead of 18? And I’m married?” Ethan’s voice was full of drama.
“If I’m 25I must be at the prime of my life! Why would I get married? Was I out of my mind, or did you force me into some arranged marriage?”
Mr. Vanderbilt,
“Don’t you dare blame me! You were the one begging to get hitched. I didn’t force youyou wanted this!”
Their conversation made me pause before stepping in.
I’d been on my way back from a business trip when my husband’s father called.
Saying that my husband hit his head in a car accident, and forgotten everything since he was 18!
I first met Ethan at his 23.
That meant the man in that hospital bed had no memory of me
“No way,” Ethan’s voice cut through.
“I’d have to be crazy to marry at this age. Tell me, who’s the lucky lady? Some socialite?”
The Vanderbilt family have global properties and businesses
In deed, they always care about matching status’.
“She’s not some socialite. Your wife comes from a family of academicsboth her parents are college professors.”
“And,
“She’s three years older than you, but a real looker. You two met through a setup.”
“What!”
Ethan exploded. “How could I marry someone from a blind date? Dad, are you kidding me?”
He touched his face. “I didn’t get disfigured, did I? ”
“Here I am, a fresh 18-year-old virgin, yesterday, I was still debating whether to go to college or study abroad, and you’re telling me I’m hitched to a 25-year-old lady?”
Ethan laid out his gripes. “Old Man, why didn’t you stop me!”
“When it rains, it pours, and when a son wants to marry, who am I to stand in the way? I told you you proposed multiple times! She wasn’t even planning to say yes at firstyou were ready to move in with her family!”
Mr. Vanderbilt twisted the knife.
“And don’t think amnesia lets you play the kid card! You’re 25! They say ‘an older woman is like good wine’what’s there to complain about?”
“I don’t care. The 25-year-old me must’ve been hexed,” Ethan declared. “I want a divorce!”
The room fell silent for a couple of seconds.
Mr. Vanderbilt took a deep breath and sighed dramatically:
“What did I do to deserve this? I finally get you to grow up in your twenties, settle down, and then you bang your head and lose your marbles. How am I supposed to face your mom…?”
…
After a deep breath, I stepped forward.
I pushed the door and saw Ethan in a hospital gown, a thick bandage wrapped around his head
The 18-year-old Ethan had a totally different vibe from the 25-year-old version.
That youthful spark in his eyes was genuine.
He really had amnesia.
I was about to speak when Ethan’s breath catching.
He tugged at his dad’s sleeve and muttered, “Dad, do you believe in love at first sight?”
Ethan stared at me for so long, so long that I began to wonder if he was remembering something. Yet, he still wore that same look of confusion.
“Dad, who’s this?”
He still didn’t know me.
Mr. Vanderbilt snorted at his son’s pathetic display.
Just as he was about to say something, the doctor walked in.
The doctor got straight to the point about Ethan’s condition:
“The memory loss from the concussion needs observation and rest. Avoid mental strain for now. As for when the memory returns, it could take time.”
The doctor said the seven years Ethan lost might come back quickly or take longer.
The human brain is complex; no one could make guarantees.
“What, so I might not remember anything after 18 for years?” Ethan caught on fast.
The doctor was cautious “Don’t worry too much. Your case isn’t severe, and it’s highly probable your memory will return. But the timeline varies.”
“Dad, hear that? If I never remember, you expect me to live with a stranger?”
The man stuck at 18 was all emotion.
“It’s unfair to both of us! Maybe we should just divorce now!”
Mr. Vanderbilt glanced at me, hesitating. With the doctor there, he held back from yelling.
The doctor added, “By the way, the patient’s physically fine. He’s been observed enoughcan be discharged. Family can handle meds and paperwork.”
As Mr. Vanderbilt headed out with the doctor, I spoke up: “I’ll do it.”
“Why should you go? Who are you?” The young Vanderbilt zeroed in. “Old Man, you have a secret daughter this old? How could you betray Mom!”
Mr. Vanderbilt, who’d been biting his tongue since his son woke up, finally snapped, “Ethan Vanderbilt, cut it out! This is your wife!”
The word “wife” hit Ethan like a ton of bricks. His pretty eyes widened, and he stared at me again.
His face said it all. This was a shocker.
“My… my wife?” His voice dropped, as if checking with me and his dad.
Ethan had fair skin, and unless I was mistaken, his ears turned red in seconds.
Mr. Vanderbilt watched his son’s flustered act, settling into spectator mode.
“Yep, the wife you met at that party. Weren’t you just demanding a divorce?”
Ethan stayed silent, head down, too embarrassed to look at me.
Was he awkward or shy?
I didn’t know the 18-year-old Ethan. To him, I was a stranger, plain and simple.
I hadn’t gone two steps from the room when I heard Ethan say, “Dad, was that love at first sight really for my wife?”
Mr. Vanderbilt deadpanned, “Nope, your almost-ex-wife you’ve never met.”
“…”
After handling Ethan’s discharge, Mr. Vanderbilt and I took him home.
For the six months we’d been married, Ethan and I had lived in a spacious penthouse in an upscale neighborhood, just the two of us.
Mr. Vanderbilt was healthy and preferred not to live with us.
We’d discussed where Ethan should stay now. I thought he’d be more comfortable recuperating at the family estate.
But Mr. Vanderbilt insisted,
“Eleanor, I know this is rough on you, but Ethan can’t work now. I have to handle the company. If he stay with me, I won’t have time to look after him. It’s better to keep things as they were. Maybe seeing you every day will help him remember sooner.”
It made sense. Plus, Ethan had quieted down after his divorce talk, so I agreed.
In the car, the driver was upfront, Mr. Vanderbilt in the passenger seat, and Ethan and me in the back.
I’d been busy overseas, jet-lagged, and rushed to the hospital after the news. Now I could finally close my eyes.
Even with my eyes shut, I felt someone staring.
But when I looked, it seemed like nothing.
The smooth ride or my exhaustion must’ve knocked me out.
I woke up to sunset outside.
The driver and Mr. Vanderbilt were gone, and my head was on Ethan’s shoulder.
He opened his eyes as I lifted my head, looking flustered. After a pause, he said, “You fell asleep.”
His first words to me since the amnesia.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
Ethan dodged, “We just got here. My father had stuff to do.”
Out of the car, Ethan followed me quietly. With no memory past 18, he didn’t know which building or floor our home was on.
I wondered how to handle living with a husband who’d lost seven years.
To him, I was just a stranger with a marriage certificate.
Ethan and I met through a social mixer.
The year I turned 26, my parents, leveraging their extensive teacher-network, started arranging all sorts of school-related social events for me.
They had always respected each other throughout their teaching careers, probably because they were colleagues at the same school with plenty of common topics.
As a kid, I slept alone early because they’d chatter in bed about colleagues, superiors, or students. Not all gossip, just non-stop sharing.
I couldn’t stay up, so I missed out.
I hadn’t dated before 26 simply because no one clicked, but my chatty parents were baffled.
Their “beautiful daughter” shouldn’t be single at 26.
After all, they had been quite open-minded in raising me.
I attended all the events they arranged.
I met their students, colleagues’ sons, and family friends they knew.
Just not quite right.
Some were nice, and we became friends. I even invited them to my wedding.
People connect in different ways.
Ethan stood out as somewhat special among them. He was from the last event I attended.
He wasn’t a student of my parents or their colleagues, nor the son of an acquaintance.
A local entrepreneur, wanting to find a wife for his son, had him attend a business mixer. His credentials were excellent, especially when they mentioned the entrepreneur was Mr. Vanderbilt. My parents thought it worth a shot.
Mr. Vanderbilt was well-known in the city for his charity.
His only headache was his son’s love life.
We knew Mr. Vanderbilt before Ethan.
When I first saw him at the event, I was surprised. Ethan, 23 and less than two years out of university, still had a student vibe.
He was far more handsome than I had imagined, hardly looking like someone desperate to find a partner.
He showed up in a white shirt, looking polished.
Sometimes, people get unexplainable sixth senses. That day, I sensed a story between us.
Ethan asked if I wanted to see a movie or walk after dinner. These were subtle signals of romantic interest, and my agreement would signal the same.
But a start based on such explicit purposes make you weigh thingshis status and mine.
With his family, he could’ve aimed higher.
I turned him down a few times before we got together.
But he truly was my type. The attraction plus his persistence led to a relationship.
We married within two years.
Married life was sweet until the accident.
Ethan wandered our home, clueless about the layout.
After six months, some wedding decor remained.
“So ugly,” he blurted out.
After his critique, he remembered I was there and glanced at me. I said expressionlessly, “You were the one who insisted on hanging that.”
Before the wedding, Ethan was adamant about hanging this very abstract painting in the house.
We’d taken down most stuff, but this stayed.
Ethan fell silent. He looked at me, then at the painting on the wall, his face a conflict of cognitive dissonance regarding his own taste.
“You” He stalled. “What’s your name? And are we really married?”
I didn’t know how he felt about the marriage or me as his wife.
Even though we’re legal, and his memory might return, the unfamiliarity in my partner’s eyes was still unsettling.
I went to the master bedroom, got our marriage certificates from the drawer, and handed them over. “Here. I’m Eleanor Sullivan.”
Ethan flipped through them, curious. I couldn’t tell his thoughts, but he looked from the certificates to me.
The 18-year-old still wasn’t used to being married.
The doorbell rangthe nanny Mr. Vanderbilt sent to help with meals.
She cooked dinner fast, and Ethan and I ate in silence.
After, he explored the place, stopping at the master bedroom door.
“Can I go in and look?” he asked.
“Sure, it’s your room too.”
Amnesiac Ethan slowly entered our bedroom.
The moment he stepped in, he froze, turning back to look at m, and said in disbelief, “I sleep on pink sheets with a pink comforter now?”
“What’s wrong?” I’d seen him fine with it before, even floral prints.
The 18-year-old probably didn’t know married men have no say in bedding.
I didn’t know young Ethan, but his current demeanor was more overt, projecting a ‘cool guy’ vibe. Yet here he was, looking conflicted at the sight of pink bedding.
Too cool for pink, huh?
“Ethan, look around. I’m showering, then I’ll change your bandages.”
What I didn’t know, after I left, he got restless.
But I was exhausted. I was tense since the accident. And I just wanted a shower and sleep.
When I stepped out in my black polka-dot pajamas, I saw Ethan fumbling with the nightstand, his back radiating panic.
I raised an eyebrow.
That drawer had stories.
Ethan had stocked up on condoms. Two drawers full.
The other side had some toys.
Even at 18, he wasn’t a kid.
He turned, saw me, and I moved closer. Ethan backed away, covering his face. “Don’t… don’t come near…”
He sat on the window-side sofa, face hidden, looking cooked.
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