Too Late For Your Love

Too Late For Your Love

Rafael

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I was a time traveler, driven by love to 1972, spending five years as a shadow to folk singer Nathaniel Hughes, crafting his career and believing I was finally winning his heart. But that dream shattered the night before our wedding when, in a moment of chaos, Nathaniel brutally shoved me aside to protect his childhood flame, Jennifer Clarkson. He didn't even see the wound, a deep gash on my shoulder, as he rushed to her, his true devotion laid bare. His casual gesture threw me to the ground, but his words, "Jennifer's safety is more important," cut deeper. How could I have been so blind, so foolish, to think I could outrun destiny and break a bond so profound? My love, my efforts, even my future knowledge, were just tools for him, eventually cast aside for the woman he truly adored. Then, caught in an anomaly during my forced return, I plummeted from the sky, my memories shattered, landing at the feet of "The Hatchet," Andrew Scott – an unexpected savior who would forge a new empire and choose me first.

Introduction

I was a time traveler, driven by love to 1972, spending five years as a shadow to folk singer Nathaniel Hughes, crafting his career and believing I was finally winning his heart.

But that dream shattered the night before our wedding when, in a moment of chaos, Nathaniel brutally shoved me aside to protect his childhood flame, Jennifer Clarkson.

He didn't even see the wound, a deep gash on my shoulder, as he rushed to her, his true devotion laid bare. His casual gesture threw me to the ground, but his words, "Jennifer's safety is more important," cut deeper.

How could I have been so blind, so foolish, to think I could outrun destiny and break a bond so profound? My love, my efforts, even my future knowledge, were just tools for him, eventually cast aside for the woman he truly adored.

Then, caught in an anomaly during my forced return, I plummeted from the sky, my memories shattered, landing at the feet of "The Hatchet," Andrew Scott – an unexpected savior who would forge a new empire and choose me first.

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Shattered Crystal, Broken Love

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The crystal shattered, a scream tearing through the quiet afternoon. It was followed by a tiny, terrified gasp from my four-year-old daughter, Lily. I found her frozen in the doorway of Ethan' s study, surrounded by the glittering shards of his limited-edition crystal set. When Ethan appeared, a cold presence blocking the light, he didn' t look at Lily or me, only the broken crystals. "This was a gift," he said, his voice dangerously calm, "From Chloe." Chloe Davis, his spiritual mentor, the ghost in our marriage. "Ethan, it was an accident," I pleaded, shielding Lily. But he ignored me, pulling Lily from my grasp. "Discipline is not a punishment. It is a teaching." He dragged her toward the soundproof meditation room, her panicked sobs echoing: "No, Daddy! Not the quiet room! It' s dark!" "Ethan, no! She' s terrified of enclosed spaces!" I cried, but he pushed her inside. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing off her screams. When he finally let me out an hour later, Lily was gone. No pulse. No breath. Nothing. Hours later, the TV in the living room showed Ethan on a stage, smiling, declaring his devotion to Chloe. My heart shattered, replaced by a cold, hard thought. I called my lawyer. "It' s Sarah Miller. Please draft a divorce agreement for me." The doorbell rang. It was Ethan' s mother, Mrs. Hayes, offering me a staggering check for his "carelessness." "He wasn' t careless," I said, pushing it back. "He was cruel. Your son killed my daughter." I expected shock. I didn' t expect Chloe Davis to walk through my front door, looking like a distressed angel, instantly comforted by Ethan. As she hugged him, she looked at me with a flash of pure, triumphant victory. This wasn't an accident. This was an execution, and she orchestrated it. The cold emptiness inside me ignited into a white-hot rage.

Amnesia's Gift: A New Beginning

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The antiseptic smell was sharp, the ceiling a stark white as I blinked myself awake, the rhythmic beeping of a machine my only company. A dull ache pinned me to the mattress, and I stared at the IV in my arm, a blank slate where memories should have been. Then, the door swung open, and three figures walked in: my impeccably dressed adoptive parents and my effortlessly confident adoptive brother, Liam. "Oh, for God's sake, Ethan. Are you done with this charade? Another one of your pathetic stunts to get attention," my adoptive mother, Mrs. Reed, sighed, her face a mask of weary frustration. My adoptive father, Mr. Reed, didn't even look at me, his gaze fixed on Liam. Liam stepped forward, a perfect blend of concern and superiority. "I'm just worried about Ethan. He seems... confused." Confusion turned to panic as their words landed like stones, painting a picture of a disappointing, burdensome person I didn't recognize. "Who... who are you?" I rasped, my voice foreign even to myself. Mrs. Reed scoffed. "Now he's pretending to have amnesia. How original." Then, Olivia, my wife, entered, her presence commanding, her eyes cold. "Is he done making a fool of himself? And me?" she cut through the air, her voice frigid. "The press is already sniffing around. 'Tech CEO Olivia Reed's husband in another suicide attempt.' Is this the life you want for me, Ethan?" Humiliation washed over me as whispers from the hallway confirmed my role: the artist who married Olivia Reed, pitied for his pathetic attempts, rumored to be in a loveless marriage with a woman who loved his brother. They left eventually, leaving me with the silence, the beeping, and a profound realization. This emptiness wasn't a void; it was a blank slate. The amnesia wasn't a curse; it was a mercy. It was a chance to escape a life I couldn't remember, a life that sounded like a prison. I fumbled for the phone, my finger landing on "Lawyer." "Ethan Miller," I said, my voice stronger now, filled with a newfound resolve. "We need to proceed."

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