I Left My Past Love After Amnesia

I opened my eyes, my head pounding as if it would split apart; the unfamiliar crystal chandelier swayed, making me squint. This isn't my apartment. The decor is cool-toned but carries a subtle feminine touch. I propped myself up, my mind a complete blank. The only clear memory was the days I locked horns with Stacy Lynn. She's the heiress of the Lynn Family; I'm the newly risen heir of the Scott Family. Since school, we've fought tooth and nail, neither willing to give an inch. "Awake?" A cold, clear female voice came from the doorway. I turned my head and saw Stacy Lynn standing there, wearing a silk robe. The sharpness in her gaze that once marked her youth had softened, replaced by a hint of mature grace. "What are you doing here?" I gripped the bedsheet tightly, instinctively slipping into a defensive stance. Stacy raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise in her voice: "Ryan Scott, are you confused? This is our home." "Our home?" I froze. "Stacy Lynn, what game are you playing now?" She didn't answer, turning and walking into the bathroom. I took the chance to look around. On the bedside table lay a photo album. Opening to the first page, it was a wedding picture of me and Stacy Lynn. In the photo, we were dressed in formal wear. She linked her arm with mine, smiling gently, and the look in my eyes held a soft glow. This can't be true. My hands trembled as I flipped through the album. Inside were snapshots of our everyday life after marriage—from awkward beginnings to seamless understanding—spanning a full six years. "What are you looking at?" Stacy Lynn came out, drying her hair. When she saw the album, her eyes softened for a moment. "We've been married for six years?" I looked up at her, my voice thick with disbelief. Stacy Lynn hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, six years and three months." My head was spinning. Before I lost my memory, we were bitter rivals who never backed down—so how did we suddenly end up married and living together for six years? Just as I was wrestling with the confusion, the sound of the front door opening echoed, and a stranger stepped inside, heading straight toward Stacy Lynn. "Stacy, I brought your favorite dessert." The man smiled, reaching out to ruffle Stacy Lynn's hair with a familiarity that felt way too intimate. Stacy Lynn didn't dodge; instead, she took the dessert box, her tone playful, "You really understand me." I sat on the bed, staring at the glaring scene before me. I felt no anger—only a strange sense of relief. That's more like it. Stacy Lynn has always been this way; there's no way she'd quietly spend six years with me. The man seemed to notice me for the first time, turning his head with a hint of challenge in his eyes: "Mr. Scott is awake?" "Who are you?" I asked coldly. "My name's Henry Shaw. I'm Stacy's friend." Henry deliberately moved closer to Stacy Lynn, his tone suggestive. Stacy Lynn didn't argue; she just lowered her head and unpacked the dessert box, silently accepting his words. I threw off the quilt and got out of bed, walked over to the two of them, my gaze locking on Stacy Lynn. "Let's get a divorce." Stacy's hand froze mid-motion, and she suddenly looked up at me. "Ryan Scott, what did you say?" "I said, divorce." I repeated firmly, "Since there's someone else in your heart, there's no point in dragging this out." Henry Shaw's mouth curled into a smug smile as he wrapped his arm around Stacy Lynn's shoulder. "Stacy, since Mr. Scott said it like that, why not just go along with it?" Stacy pushed his hand away and shot me a glare. "Ryan Scott, stop making a scene. Stacy and Henry Shaw are just friends." "Friends show up at your house every day with desserts and act this close?" I scoffed, "Stacy, don't fool yourself." Her face went pale, then flushed, and finally, biting her lip, she said, "I don't agree to a divorce." "That's not up to you." I turned and walked into the walk-in closet to grab my clothes. "I'll have the lawyer draft the divorce agreement."