Faking Amnesia To Scam My CEO Rival

After a blistering screaming match with my lifelong nemesis, I got knocked out cold by falling debris. When I came to, I figured I’d play dumb, fake amnesia, and extort him for everything he was worth. "Who are you?" I whispered, blinking up at him with Bambi eyes. He froze. The shock on his face was palpable, but without missing a beat, he lied straight through his teeth: "I'm your fiancé. We’ve been together for eight years." I stared at him. Excuse me??? He leaned in, his voice dropping an octave. "Want to make out? Just to, you know, jog your memory with the taste." Men. Absolute dogs. I was after his bank account; this bastard was after my mouth. 1 Nolan Davis and I practically grew up in each other’s backyards. By the time we were seventeen, we were sworn enemies. Honestly, if you looked at us on paper—two kids from old-money families, both ridiculously competitive, both easy on the eyes—you’d think we were a match made in country-club heaven. But in reality, we were like oil and water. A spark and a powder keg. Case in point: this morning, he ruthlessly poached a massive contract my firm was trying to land with Reed Global. I had marched straight into his corner office, slamming my hands on his mahogany desk. "Does it taste better when you steal the food right out of my mouth? God, Nolan, you are the absolute worst." Nolan just sat there, his impossibly long legs crossed, muttering something under his breath that I couldn’t quite catch. Right then, my phone buzzed on speaker. My assistant informed me that Declan Reed’s flight had just landed in the city. If I wanted to salvage this deal, I had to corner Declan immediately. Besides, Declan and I went way back. We were high school classmates. We had history. Hearing that, Nolan practically shot out of his leather chair. "You are not going to see him. Harper, stay here. I need to talk to you." I was too pissed to care about whatever corporate mansplaining he had queued up. "Watch me!" I snapped. "Who the hell do you think you are? You don’t own me!" I stormed out of the Davis Holdings building. Outside, the sky was an angry, bruised purple. A nor'easter was rolling in, and the wind was howling through the concrete canyons of the city. I tilted my head back to check the dark clouds, and that was the exact moment a heavy terracotta planter, trailing a massive ivy plant, blew right off a second-floor balcony and introduced itself to my skull. Right before the lights went out, I saw Nolan sprinting out of the revolving doors, his face pale and twisted in sheer panic. That son of a bitch, I thought, slipping into darkness. He’s probably rushing over to check if I’m dead so he can monopolize the rest of my clients. Ruthless. When my consciousness finally clawed its way back, the sharp, sterile scent of rubbing alcohol flooded my senses. A doctor’s muffled voice filtered into the room. "Ms. Hayes is perfectly fine. She has a mild concussion, so she might experience some dizziness or nausea over the next few days. Just standard post-concussion protocol." "Then why isn't she waking up? Are you sure there’s no brain damage?" Nolan’s voice was ragged, laced with a desperation I had never heard before. The doctor paused. "Uh... Mr. Davis, she’s just taking a nap." Me, pretending to still be unconscious: ... Wait, so I got knocked out for exactly one second and then just took a cozy little nap? My brain started working in overdrive. Opportunity. If I was going to suffer the indignity of a concussion, I was going to make Nolan pay for it. Literally. I’d fake amnesia, move into his penthouse, and drain his resources to make up for the Reed Global deal he stole. It wasn't a terrible plan. Even though we hated each other, our parents were inseparable. Right now, the four of them were on a luxury cruise in the Mediterranean. And frankly, the corporate catering at my office was getting stale, while Maria, Nolan’s private chef and housekeeper, made a truffle risotto that could bring a tear to your eye. Thinking about that risotto, my eyelids fluttered involuntarily. A nurse gasped. "Mr. Davis, she’s waking up!" Damn it, I need a minute to get into character! Channel your inner Meryl Streep, Harper! I fluttered my eyes open, softening my gaze until I looked as vacant and innocent as a newborn fawn. Nolan rushed to my bedside, waving two shaking fingers in front of my face. "Harper, how many fingers am I holding up?" His hand was trembling so much it was just a blurry appendage. I weakly raised a hand to my bandaged temple, putting on my most delicate, breathy voice. "I don't know... but... who are you?" Nolan froze. He whipped around to glare at the doctor. "You said she was fine! Why the hell doesn't she remember anything?" The doctor began to sweat, nervously clicking his pen. "This shouldn't be happening. Medically speaking, this doesn't make sense..." He cleared his throat. "It appears the patient is experiencing transient global amnesia. But don't worry, it should resolve itself." I offered the doctor a sweet, vacant smile, then turned back to Nolan. To really nail the coffin shut on this performance, I tilted my head and asked again, "Who are you?" I swear, my acting in that moment was Oscar-worthy. The sheer vulnerability, the confusion. It was flawless. Nolan swallowed hard. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before saying, "I'm your fiancé. We’ve been together for eight years, Harper. We’re getting married soon." Me: ??? Was he onto me? Was he counter-playing my amnesia grift? But before I could overthink it, Nolan’s large, warm hand cupped the side of my face. His thumb gently stroked my cheekbone. "It’s okay, Harp," he murmured softly. "I’m going to take you home." Holy shit. Either I had actual brain damage, or Nolan had finally lost his mind. I stared at him in genuine shock and realized, with a sudden jolt, that the rims of his eyes were rimmed with red. His lashes were wet. It looked like he had been crying. Right. The wind from the nor'easter outside. It must have made his eyes water. Maybe my stare was a little too incredulous, because Nolan cleared his throat, a faint flush creeping up his neck. "What? You don't believe me? Want to make out? Just to, you know, jog your memory with the taste." Before I could even process the audacity of that sentence, Nolan turned his head away, the tips of his ears burning crimson. "Kidding. Just a joke," he muttered to the floor. "There are people in the room." I blinked. I didn't see a joke in his eyes. Just seconds ago, his gaze had been fixed on my mouth with a dark, consuming intensity. He looked like he actually wanted to kiss me. Wait a minute. I was just here for his money. Was he trying to get in my pants? 2 Since I was "perfectly fine," we checked out of the hospital quickly. As we walked down the corridor, I caught my reflection in the glass doors. Dear God. My hair was a rat's nest, and there was literally a crushed ivy leaf plastered to my forehead. I looked like a swamp witch. Okay, Nolan definitely didn’t want to kiss me. He just wanted to get close enough to laugh at my misery. Classic. "Got your meds. Let’s go home, Harp." Nolan jogged over to me, shrugging off his heavy wool trench coat and draping it over my shoulders. He flashed me a warm, genuine smile that made my chest do a weird, unprompted stutter. Damn it. That was the smile I used to be entirely in love with. When exactly did we turn into enemies? I let my mind drift back. It was junior year of high school. Nolan was seventeen; I was sixteen. It was the same year Declan Reed transferred to our prep school. Nolan had always been the golden boy. Sharp jawline, piercing eyes, effortlessly athletic, and fiercely intelligent—he never dropped below the top of the honor roll. He was the center of gravity at our school. And naturally, I was the one orbiting closest to him. Because of my late-summer birthday and skipping a grade, I was placed in his year. He carried my ridiculously heavy backpack. He did my share of the lab clean-ups. Even during P.E., when we had to run the dreaded mile, he’d finish his laps first and then fall back to jog beside me, keeping my pace. "If you get too tired, Harp, I’ll literally carry you home," he’d tease, jogging backward effortlessly. "Come on, keep moving!" He was always coaxing me, always gentle. I had never seen him truly angry. Falling for him was the most natural thing in the world. Besides, half the school was in love with him anyway. We were inseparable. Until midterms. Right before exams, Declan Reed arrived. He was quiet, brilliant, and possessed the kind of brooding good looks that made girls whisper in the hallways. The administration treated him like royalty because, between Declan and Nolan, our school was guaranteed two Ivy League acceptances. Two days before the exams, Nolan got sick. Badly sick. Pneumonia. He lost weight, his skin was pale, and he spent study hall with his head buried in his arms on his desk, coughing weakly. My heart ached for him, but I knew better than to bother him when he felt like trash. I was sitting a few desks away, chewing on my pencil, staring blankly at AP Calculus. Declan happened to walk by, noticed my struggle, and leaned over, effortlessly solving the equation in two steps. I beamed at him and gave him a thumbs-up. He really was Nolan’s equal. Because I was the youngest in the grade, I still had a bit of baby fat in my cheeks. It was freezing in the library, and I was buried in this oversized, fluffy white sweater Nolan had bought for me. I probably looked like a lost sheep. Declan chuckled and affectionately ruffled my hair. "Not bad, kid." I hadn't noticed him reaching out, so I didn't dodge it. But a second later, the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. I turned around to see Nolan. His head was off his arms. He was staring at us, his eyes narrowed into dark, icy slits. He looked like someone had just broken into his house and stolen his most prized possession. That afternoon, the sky opened up. A massive, torrential downpour hammered the city. When the final bell rang, Nolan didn't wait for me. He walked straight out into the torrential rain. Because our families were high-profile, we always walked the few blocks home rather than waiting for obvious town cars, trying to keep a low profile. He just left me there. I stood under the school awning, stunned, until a large black umbrella appeared over my head. I looked up. It was Declan. "No umbrella? Come on, I’ll walk you back." I watched Nolan’s silhouette disappear into the gray sheets of rain, a heavy knot forming in my stomach. What had I done wrong? Later that evening, long after I got home, I snuck up to the attic window that faced Nolan’s house. His bedroom light was off. He hadn't come home yet. But he left so early, I thought. Where is he? I was just about to go downstairs and call his mom when I finally saw him walking up his driveway. He was soaked to the bone. Dripping wet. He looked exhausted, defeated, and utterly miserable. Usually, when he got to his room, he’d look across the yard to my window and wave. But that night, he walked in, didn't even glance my way, and aggressively yanked his curtains shut. The next morning, Nolan was waiting on my porch as usual, but he didn't say a single word. I tried to break the ice. "Nolan, yesterday..." "Declan walked you home," he interrupted. It wasn't a question. It was a cold, hard statement. As he said it, he reached out, grabbed my heavy backpack, and slung it over his shoulder, just like always. He was acting weird, but at least he was talking to me again. I felt a rush of relief. But just as I smiled at him, I looked up and saw Declan standing by the school gates, waving at us. Nolan looked at Declan, then looked down at my smiling face. His jaw clenched. "Does seeing him really make you that happy?" That was the day the fracture began. The rumors started pouring in. I heard Sloane Kensington—the reigning queen bee of the junior class—bragging that Nolan had given her his umbrella the day before. So that was why he walked home in the rain. To be chivalrous to Sloane. Then, I saw a braided leather lucky charm tied to Sloane’s designer tote. She loudly proclaimed it was a blessed talisman from a monastery upstate. Nolan had mysteriously taken a weekend trip upstate right before he got pneumonia. Later, rumors started flying that I was secretly dating Declan. When someone asked Nolan about it in the locker room, I happened to be walking by. I heard him say, with forced apathy, "Why would I care who she dates? She’s nothing to me." The final nail in the coffin was graduation. Declan was moving to London for university. I was sitting on the quad, looking miserable—mostly because my relationship with Nolan had completely deteriorated into cold warfare. Nolan walked up to me, looked down with a sneer, and said, "Still crying over Declan leaving? Fine. Tell your dad I’m taking over the logistics account your family has been trying to close. Consider it gone." From that day on, it was war. We spent the next eight years going at each other's throats, both refusing to yield, finding sick satisfaction only when we could make the other person lose. 3 Lost in my memories, I realized Nolan had brought me to his place, not mine. Even though our family estates were literally next door to each other in the Hamptons. I leaned into the bit, grabbing his arm and looking around in exaggerated awe. "Wow, future hubby, is this your house? It’s beautiful." I felt the muscles in Nolan’s arm instantly lock up. The afternoon light caught the edge of his ear—it was completely red. He slowly turned to face me, his expression strangely intense. "My name is Nolan. You used to call me Noly when we were little. Could you... could you just call me that once?" Me: Uh... I hadn't called him that since we were ten. In my phone, his contact name was literally "Stubborn Jackass." But hey, if he wanted to play house, I was going to make it unbearable for him. "Did I used to call you that?" I tapped my chin playfully. "I think it sounds a little childish. How about I just call you Babe? Or... Honey? Does that work, Honey?" I couldn't beat him in the boardroom today, so I was going to psychologically torment him in his own home. Nolan stood completely frozen, a muscle feathering in his jaw. Ha! Scared you, didn't I? But then, the corner of his mouth twitched upward into a devastatingly soft smile. He stepped into my space, leaned down, and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against him. "Whatever you want, Sweetheart. You're the boss." Wait. What? His voice was a low rumble against my chest. I was so taken aback by the warmth of him that I completely forgot to push him away. I just let him hold my hand as he led me into the massive, echoing house. The place was dead quiet. Maria was apparently off for the week. No truffle risotto for me. A catastrophic miscalculation. Instead, Nolan rolled up the sleeves of his cashmere sweater and started boiling pasta in his state-of-the-art kitchen. "Honey, I’m making carbonara, is that okay?" "Babe, do you want extra parmesan?" How was he saying these pet names so smoothly? Was this a long-con humiliation tactic? "Babe, if you're hungry, there's chocolate on the top shelf of the fridge to hold you over," he called out. I opened the Sub-Zero fridge. The entire top shelf was lined with artisanal hazelnut chocolate bars. My absolute favorite. When we were kids, my parents were strict about sugar. I used to beg Nolan for candy, and he always magically produced it. Wow, I thought. No wonder he always had chocolate on him. He must be obsessed with it. I snapped off a piece of chocolate, leaning against the marble island, watching him cook. He was even better looking now than he was in high school. Broad shoulders, narrow waist. Even wearing an apron, he looked like he belonged in a GQ spread. The chocolate tasted suddenly a little bitter on my tongue. I couldn't stop picturing the teenage boy who used to sneak me candy in the library. He plated the pasta, sliding a massive bowl toward me. He had taken the time to perfectly fry an egg on top. His own plate was just the leftovers from the pan. If I really had amnesia, this would be incredibly romantic. As it was, I just assumed he hadn't poisoned my food. The portion was huge. I couldn't finish it. Without a word, Nolan pulled my half-eaten bowl across the island and finished it himself. Okay. Definitely not poisoned. Later that night, the tension thickened. Nolan stood in the doorway of his own master bedroom, looking entirely out of his depth. Why is he nervous? I thought. It's his bedroom. We've known each other since we were in diapers. "You take the bed," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’ll sleep in the guest room next door. Call me if you need anything." I narrowed my eyes. He’s trying to ditch me so he can finalize the Reed Global contract. I had overheard him on the phone while he was cooking, telling his VP he was going to video-conference Declan tonight to sign the papers. I wasn't going to let that happen. I reached out and lightly tugged the hem of his sweater. "Nolan... we've been together for eight years. Are you saying we don't sleep in the same bed?" I let my gaze drop slowly, deliberately down his torso. "Unless... is there a problem? Are you... you know, incapable?" Nolan’s jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might shatter. The look of pure, restrained agony on his face was incredibly satisfying. He hates this, and I love it! I stepped backward into the room, pulled him in with me, shut the heavy oak door, and locked it. Click. Nobody is signing any contracts tonight, buddy. I looked up at him, fluttering my eyelashes. "Stay with me, Honey. I don't want to be alone." Since he wanted to play the protective fiancé to keep an eye on me, I was going to use my 'fiancée' privileges to take him hostage. I didn't have pajamas, so after my shower, I threw on one of his oversized crisp white button-downs. I didn't even bother drying my hair; I just walked straight out of the master bath, terrified he might have snuck out to make a business call. He hadn't. He was pacing the length of the bedroom like a caged panther. The man had probably hit ten thousand steps just walking from the window to the bed. He glanced at me, and his face went instantly crimson, his eyes darting to the ceiling. He stammered, "I—I’m gonna go shower." "Okay! Make sure you scrub behind your ears!" I chirped. He practically bolted into the bathroom. I sat cross-legged on his massive king-sized bed, bored out of my mind. I glanced over at his walk-in closet, the door slightly ajar. Hanging from the handle of a cedar drawer was a small, faded leather charm. It was the talisman from the monastery. The one Sloane had paraded around junior year. After high school, Nolan and I had gone to the same Ivy League university. As far as I knew, he never spoke to Sloane again. He was too busy making my life a living hell to date anyone. Freshman year, I mentioned I thought the point guard on the basketball team was cute. Nolan told me my taste was garbage. The next day, he organized a pickup game and absolutely humiliated the point guard on the court. As the guy limped away, Nolan stood next to me, dripping with sweat, and sneered, "That’s what you like? A crybaby?" Sophomore year, I said the captain of the tennis team had great arms. Nolan scoffed and told me I hadn't seen anything. For the next month, he inexplicably started wearing fitted muscle tees around campus. In November. Valentine's Day of our senior year, I complained to my friends that I wished I got flowers. That afternoon, a massive, elaborate arrangement arrived at my dorm. From Nolan. It was a wreath of white chrysanthemums. The kind you send to a funeral. My funeral, apparently. The bathroom door clicked open, pulling me out of my memories. Nolan stepped out, looking stiff and painfully awkward in a grey t-shirt and sweatpants. "You should get some sleep," he said, moving toward his desk. "I’m just going to catch up on some emails." My eyes widened. Hell no. He’s going to seal the deal! I scrambled off the bed, sprinting across the rug, and threw my arms around his waist from behind. "No! You can't work!" Before he could react, I rested my chin against his spine, projecting maximum pathetic energy. "Babe, please stay with me. My head still hurts." Nolan didn't say a word. He just stood there for a second, then gently pried my hands off, turned around, and walked right back into the bathroom. Wait. Didn't he just shower? Whatever. While he was in there, I lunged for his laptop, changed his login password, and reformatted his smart-room lock. I changed all the codes to my birthday. Checkmate. Tomorrow morning, I’m waking up first and sprinting to Declan’s hotel. A few minutes later, Nolan emerged again. He grabbed the Dyson hairdryer from the vanity and walked over to me. "Come here, Harp. Let me dry your hair." I plopped down on the edge of the bed with a secret smile. Since I was the amnesiac fiancée, I was going to milk this for all it was worth. "Noly, the heat is too high." "You missed a spot on the left." "The ends are still damp, Nolan..." I was being an absolute nightmare, but Nolan didn't show a flicker of annoyance. He just gently combed his fingers through my hair, adjusting the settings, his touch incredibly grounding. The hum of the dryer and the warmth of his hands were hypnotic. I felt my eyelids getting heavy. I leaned back into his stomach, the fight draining out of me. Damn it. I forgot the doctor had given me a mild sedative for the concussion. I was vaguely aware of the hairdryer turning off. Nolan’s body went completely still against my back. Gently, he scooped me up and laid me down on the mattress, pulling the heavy duvet over my shoulders. I felt the mattress shift as he started to pull away. Without thinking, my hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. "Nolan. Don't go." A long silence hung in the dark room. "I'm not going anywhere, Harp," he whispered. "Go to sleep." His body heat was a furnace against my back. The early autumn air outside was biting, but under the covers, I felt completely safe. I unconsciously curled closer, burying my face in his chest. Just before the medication dragged me under, I heard him let out a long, shaky exhale. "God, if only this were real," he whispered into the dark. If what was real? I thought hazily. Does he actually want me to have brain damage?