The Billionaire’s Forgotten Wife

The news broke at dawn. Leona stood in her tiny kitchen in Lucerne, fingers trembling as she poured warm milk into her daughter’s cup. The television hummed softly behind her, the anchor’s voice crisp and clipped. “Breaking news out of Monte Carlo this morning—billionaire Adrian Saint-Laurent has survived a fatal helicopter crash over the Ligurian Sea. Sources confirm the financier was pulled from the wreckage late last night and airlifted to a private clinic in Monaco. Mr. Saint-Laurent remains in critical but stable condition” The glass slipped from her hand. Milk splashed across the counter, onto the floor, soaking the hem of her robe. “Mommy?” whispered little Alora from the doorway, wide brown eyes blinking away sleep. Leona turned quickly, forcing a shaky smile. “It’s okay, baby. Just… spilled the milk.” But her voice cracked. The world outside her window blurred. The Alps stood cold and indifferent in the distance, but her insides twisted hot, her breath coming shallow and fast. Adrian. Alive. God help her. She hadn’t heard that name spoken aloud in nearly three years. She’d fought to erase it from her mind, carved out a new life for her and Amara in this quiet, snow-dusted town. And now, in one sentence, the past had come crashing through her door. He survived. She sank against the counter, eyes burning, milk pooling beneath her bare feet. “Mommy, why are you crying?” Alora’s small hand touched her knee. Leona pulled her close, burying her face in her daughter’s curls. “I’m not, my love. Just… surprised.” But the truth choked her. Because if Adrian survived… he would search. And if he searched, he would find them. And she wasn’t ready. Not again. Two weeks later, the letter came. Leona stared at the thick, cream-colored envelope, her name handwritten in looping script across the front. Mrs. Leona Saint-Laurent. Her heart stilled. She hadn’t seen her married name in so long, it looked foreign. She hesitated, fingers trembling as she broke the seal. “You are hereby summoned to Monte Carlo by court order regarding custody verification and paternity confirmation for one Alora Saint-Laurent…” Her knees nearly buckled. “No,” she whispered, voice hollow. “No, no, no…” She clutched the letter to her chest, trembling violently as tears streamed down her cheeks. They’d found her. He’d found her. Monte Carlo glittered like a serpent in the sun. The city sparkled beneath the Mediterranean sky, but Leona felt no warmth as she stepped out of the private car, clutching Alora’s small hand tightly in hers. The Saint-Laurent estate loomed ahead, sleek glass, cold steel, manicured perfection. She hadn’t seen it since the night she fled. Now, here she was again, dragged back into the world she swore she’d escaped. Her lawyer, Rina, touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?” “No.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “But I’ll walk through that door.” “For her,” Rina said softly, glancing at Alora. Leona nodded, for Alora. The guard at the gate barely glanced at her before letting them in. Of course, he knew her face. They all did. As they entered the marble lobby, Leona’s pulse thundered in her ears. A man in a sharp suit approached, Blaise Renard. Adrian’s right hand, his shadow. He regarded her coolly. “Mrs. Saint-Laurent.” “Ms. Wanjiru,” she corrected, chin lifting. His mouth twitched. “As you wish. Mr. Saint-Laurent is expecting you.” “He remembers?” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. Blaise hesitated. His eyes flickered, just for a second. “No,” he said quietly. “He doesn’t.” Leona froze. “What do you mean he doesn’t?” “He has partial amnesia,” Blaise said curtly. “He remembers everything… except the last five years.” Five years? Which meant, Their entire relationship. Their marriage. Their daughter. Gone from his mind. Leona’s knees almost gave out, but she swallowed the scream rising in her throat. She had to be strong. She had to protect Alora. “Where is he?” she asked. Blaise gestured toward the private elevator. “Top floor.” Leona gathered her daughter close, her pulse wild. “Let’s go.” The penthouse smelled of sterile flowers and salt air. Leona stepped inside cautiously, Alora clutching her hand. And there he was. Adrian Saint-Laurent stood by the window, gazing out at the sea. Broad shoulders tense beneath a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled, hair tousled in that careless, aristocratic way. The shadows under his eyes were new, deeper than she remembered. But the face was the same. The face that haunted her dreams. The face she once loved with everything she had. And hated. “Adrian…” she whispered, her voice trembling. He turned slowly. Their eyes met. And he stared at her, blankly, coldly. Like a stranger. “I was told you had something to prove,” he said flatly. Leona’s throat closed. This wasn’t the man who once whispered her name against her skin. This was a man who didn’t remember breaking her heart. She forced her chin up. “I didn’t come to prove anything. The court ordered this.” His gaze dropped to Alora. His brow furrowed. “Who is the child?” His voice was ice. Leona’s breath caught. “She’s your daughter,” she said quietly. The words hung in the air, heavy as stone. Adrian’s eyes darkened. He stepped forward slowly, studying Alora with an expression that was both bewildered and wary. “She looks nothing like me.” “She has your eyes.” Leona’s voice shook. “And your stubborn mouth.” Adrian looked away sharply. “I don’t recall fathering a child.” “Because you forgot,” Leona whispered. “But forgetting doesn’t change the truth.” Silence. Then Adrian turned sharply to Blaise. “DNA test. Immediately.” “Already arranged,” Blaise replied. Adrian’s gaze flicked back to Leona, sharp as glass. “If she is mine,” he said coldly, “you’ve stolen three years of her life from me.” Leona’s heart shattered. “You abandoned us first,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare paint yourself as the victim.” His jaw clenched. Something flickered behind his eyes, confusion, rage, a flash of old pain he couldn’t place. But the wall remained. “I want supervised custody starting today,” Adrian said. “And you will remain here in Monte Carlo until this is resolved.” “No.” Leona’s voice trembled. “I will not stay under your roof.” “You have no choice,” Adrian said sharply. “Court orders.” Tears burned her eyes. She bit them back. Alora tugged her hand softly. “Mommy… who is he?” Leona swallowed the lump in her throat. “That… is your father, baby.” Adrian stared at the child, his child, as if seeing a ghost. And Leona’s heart cracked all over again. Outside, in the corridor, Rina caught her as she staggered out of the penthouse. “God, Leona—are you alright?” “No.” Her voice broke. “He doesn’t remember. Not a single thing.” Rina’s face softened. “Then you’ll remind him.” Leona shook her head, tears blinding her. “No. I’ll protect Alora. That’s all I care about now.” “But what about you?” Rina asked softly. Leona wiped her face, steel creeping into her voice. “I stopped belonging to that man the night I walked away.” But even as she said it, her heart ached with a truth she couldn’t silence. She still loved him. And now… He was falling in love with her for the first time. Again.