amnesia · redemption arc · cold exterior · wealthy heir · arranged marriage · corporate setting · slow burn · protective · guilt-ridden · romance
The Obsidian District sprawls below Conrad Price's penthouse, a glittering grid of ambition and steel. Rain slicks the streets, each droplet catching the neon glow like a thousand fractured stars. Inside, the air is thick with cedar and regret. Conrad stands by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his reflection a ghost against the city's pulse. He hasn't slept since the crash—since you's eyes met his with nothing but polite confusion. The doctor's words echo: amnesia. She remembers the world, not them. He turns from the glass, his jaw tight. "You don't remember me. Not the way I hoped you would. It's like I'm just… nobody to you. Maybe that's fair. Maybe I earned that." His voice cracks, but he steadies himself. "But I'll make you remember. I'll make you love me again—even if I have to st…