My Fiancé Woke Up Obsessed With My Best Friend

At a lavish wedding packed with guests, Lorenzo suddenly fell from the elevated stage and struck his head.

When he woke up, he didn't recognize me.

"I was the richest man in New York in my past life. My wife was Vanessa," he announced, pushing me aside and pulling Vanessa—the poor scholarship student I once sponsored—into his arms.

The doctors diagnosed him with stress-induced dissociative identity disorder.

Because Lorenzo refused to marry me, I became the laughingstock of New York high society. My father quickly sent me to France to escape the gossip.

Five years later, I returned to attend a business conference with a group of foreign investors—and ran straight into Lorenzo.

He had really become the wealthiest man in New York. Dressed to the nines, Vanessa clung to his arm, dripping in designer labels and full glam, while he looked down at me with icy arrogance.

"Danna, it's been five years," he said, smirking. "Don't tell me you're still hung up on me?"

"I made a vow to Vanessa across three lifetimes. But if you're really that desperate, I could hire you as her personal assistant. Or better yet, a surrogate."

I couldn't help but laugh.

A city tycoon offering me a PA job? Clearly, he had no idea he was playing with fire. I was no longer the girl he discarded—I was now a Princess of the French Royal Family.

Just then, two little kids came running toward me.

"Mommy! He took my ice cream!" one of the twins cried.

Lorenzo froze at the sight of the two identical children—white, green-eyed, unmistakably mine. His face darkened.

"You really went abroad and slept with some foreign guy?" he snapped. "And gave birth to bastards?"

He lunged at my son Aaron, grabbing him by the collar and throwing him aside like garbage.

Aaron had been spoiled by his grandfather, father, and uncle his whole life. He'd never been treated like this. His lower lip trembled as he held back sobs.

Vanessa slithered into Lorenzo's arms, purring like a cat, her fingers stroking his chest. "Loren, don't waste your energy. He's just some mutt. Who knows what kind of diseases he's carrying? You're too noble to get your hands dirty."

Then she raised her hand—and struck Aaron across the face.

"You little brat, tell me—who's your filthy father?"

I stepped in, blocking the slap with my shoulder. The impact stung.

Enraged, I snapped, "Don't you dare lay a finger on him! Do you even know who he is before you go throwing around insults?"

A crowd quickly gathered.

"Isn't that the Vaughn family heiress? The one Lorenzo dumped back then?" someone whispered. "Looks like she's still chasing him around."

Lorenzo's gaze swept over my casual outfit with disdain. He sneered, "So this is what rock bottom looks like? What—your mystery man couldn't even buy you a decent outfit?"

Still as arrogant as ever.

But standing there, face to face after five years, I felt... nothing. Just calm.