Trapped with My Billionaire Ex-Husband by Mariya Mercedes

Present day…

I just went to the town proper yesterday to pick up a few supplies. It’s been months since the incident, yet my memories haven’t come back. I’m just glad that Grant has been patient with me throughout the time I don’t remember anything.

Despite him claiming to be my husband, he hasn’t tried anything with me. Though he sometimes makes advances, which I quickly reject, he doesn’t take them against me. I would eventually apologize for rejecting him, and he would tell me that he understood.

No matter how hard I try to be affectionate with Grant, hoping it might jog my memory, I still can’t connect with him emotionally. Despite his insistence that he’s my husband, he feels like a stranger to me.

Moving to this island just six months ago means we don’t have many photos together from here. But beyond his words, there’s no solid evidence supporting his claim. He has a lot of reasons whenever I ask for our pictures, as if he is trying to avoid it. But he was convincing. I have my doubts, but I can’t find any solid reasons to suspect

Grant.

I was engrossed in tending to the garden when I noticed Steve hurrying towards our house, his breath coming in short gasps as he approached. “Is everything all right, Steve? You seem out of breath,” I inquired, curiosity piqued by his urgency.

“Do you happen to know this guy?” he asked, still catching his breath while showing a photo from his phone.

Steve’s question caught me off guard, and I couldn’t suppress the sudden rush of unease that washed over me. I took the phone from him, studying the photo closely. The man in the picture was a stranger to me, yet there was something oddly familiar about him-a nagging sensation that tugged at the edges of my memory.

“I don’t recognize him,” I stammered, struggling to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling within me. I had no idea who this man was, but there’s something about him that feels familiar. It was as if I already knew him.

Steve regarded me with concern, his brow furrowing in thought. “Well, if you don’t know him, then I’m glad that I didn’t say anything,” he remarked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

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Chapter 87

“What do you mean?” I asked curiously.

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“Well, he has been wondering around town, asking about you,” he answered.

you know that

was holding a picture of you. Though the woman in the photo that he was holding has long blonde hair while yours is bob-cut brunette, the woman looks exactly like you,” he

holding a photo of me sending alarm bells ringing in my mind. Despite the discrepancies between the woman in the picture and

my curiosity reaching a fever pitch as I sought answers to the

thought

stop him. “Wait,” I interjected, a surge of determination coursing through me. If there were indeed threats looming over me, I needed to face them head-on, on my own terms. “Let me talk to him. He’s occupied at the moment. Thank you for telling me, Steve.

in his gaze. “No worries, Dylan. Just take care of yourself and Grant,” he replied before

with my thoughts, a sense of urgency swept over me like a tidal wave. The man he had mentioned, the one holding a photo of me, seemed to hold the key to unlocking the secrets of my past. Every fiber of my being screamed for answers, urging me to seek out this mysterious stranger and demand

gnawed at the edges of my consciousness. Why did I feel compelled to keep this information from Grant? Was it simply a desire to handle the situation on my own terms, or was

truths he had yet to reveal.

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Chapter 87

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for answers. If I wanted to uncover the secrets of my past, I would have to do this treacherous path alone,

and I spun around to find Grant standing

observed, his brow furrowed

an excuse.

from the sun.” I stammered out,

responded, though I could sense a

a silent sigh of relief

Steve? What was he doing here?” Grant inquired,

explanation. “He was just telling me that there’s a new shipment of supplies that arrived. He’s wondering if I want to

the effort of appearing calm and composed, desperate to conceal the tangled web of lies that threatened to unravel at any moment. But

I

presence.

to stand before him as he studied me with such intensity. In that moment, he seemed more like a stranger than the husband he claimed to be. Doubt crept into my mind like a

he truly my husband, as he insisted? Or was there something

there something more

facade? The questions swirled in my mind, each one more troubling than the last, as I struggled to make sense of the enigma that

what seemed like

swered. ”