The Ruthless CEO's Forgotten Amnesiac Wife

The heat of Los Angeles hit Grace Wagner the second she stepped out of the jet bridge.

It wasn't just the temperature. It was the suffocating weight of the air, thick with the smell of jet fuel and unwashed bodies.

She gripped the frayed handle of her duffel bag. The canvas dug into her palm.

A luggage transport cart swerved past her. The driver slammed on the brakes.

The tires screamed against the polished linoleum floor.

The high-pitched screech sliced straight through Grace's eardrums.

Her breath stopped.

The terminal around her vanished. The bright fluorescent lights flickered out, replaced by the suffocating darkness of a collapsed building.

The roar of concrete shattering filled her skull.

Five years ago. The rubble. The dust choking her lungs. The blood pooling beneath her.

Her vision blurred into a tunnel of gray.

Her knees buckled. The duffel bag slipped from her sweaty fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud.

Her hands started to shake. The tremors moved up her arms, violently vibrating through her chest.

Travelers in expensive suits and vacation clothes walked right past her. A woman in a sun hat bumped her shoulder and kept walking without a backward glance.

The isolation wrapped around Grace's throat like a physical hand, squeezing her windpipe.

She needed to breathe.

She bit down hard on her lower lip. The sharp tang of copper flooded her mouth.

The sudden pain was a hook, dragging her back to the present.

She grabbed her bag with trembling fingers and stumbled away from the crowded corridor. Her chest heaved.

She needed silence.

Her eyes darted around until she saw the frosted glass doors of an airline VIP lounge.

She dug into her pocket and pulled out a nearly expired guest pass her agent had given her months ago.

Her hand shook so badly she dropped the pass twice before scanning it.

The light flashed green.

Grace pushed through the doors.

The heavy soundproof glass sealed shut behind her. The roar of the airport vanished, replaced by the low hum of air conditioning.

She leaned her back against the door and dragged oxygen into her burning lungs.

She walked straight to the restroom, turned on the faucet, and splashed freezing water over her face.

She gripped the edges of the marble sink and stared at the mirror.

Her skin was paper-white. Her eyes were bloodshot, wide with a lingering, hollow terror.

She grabbed a paper towel, dried her face, and forced her breathing to slow down.

She walked out into the main lounge area, heading for a secluded corner in the back. She just wanted to hide.

She dropped onto a plush chair.

The slight rustle of her jacket made her notice movement on the leather sofa directly across from her.

She stiffened.

A large potted palm tree blocked her view. All she could see were three pairs of tiny, polished leather shoes dangling over the edge of the cushions.

She leaned forward.

Three little boys were sitting