Chapter 1

Walking out of the Chase manor, I clutched the million-dollar check in my hand.

The iconic estate, with its private racing track winding through the 300-acre property, had been featured in countless motorsport magazines. Instead of the expected heartache, I felt nothing but relief, like a weight had finally been lifted.

Even through the grey, snowy day, I could see a glimmer of light ahead.

Adrian Chase - the racing prodigy who'd claimed his first F1 championship at just twenty-two. The golden boy of American motorsport, heir to the Chase Racing empire.

Three years ago, his near-fatal crash at Silverstone had shocked the racing world. That's when I entered his life, when he couldn't remember his own name, let alone his legacy.

Mrs. Chase's final words echoed in my mind: "The Monaco Grand Prix is in seven days. Wait until after the race to leave. Don't let anything affect his performance. The Chase name can't afford another scandal."

Having taken their money, I owed them this final duty at least.

I pulled out my phone to text Adrian.

[Coming home for dinner tonight?]

Instead of sending, the message bounced back with a red exclamation mark.

Blocked. Again.

Adrian always blocked me during his training weeks. It was his ritual now, just like the way he obsessively reviewed race footage or spent hours in the simulator. The same perfectionism that made him unbeatable on the track made him unbearable off it.

He expected me to beg, to plead until he finally deigned to unblock me.

Just another power play from a man who'd been born into power, whose family controlled half the racing teams in the circuit.

I used to tell myself it was just his way of staying focused on racing.

But I'm done lying to myself. Why am I the only one he blocks? Simple - I matter the least.

After all, I was just the caretaker who'd seen him at his weakest, a reminder of the time when the great Adrian Chase had been nothing but a man who couldn't remember his own victories.

Chapter 2

I turned in early that night, curled up on my side of our California king bed - the same bed where Rain used to hold me like I was precious. The bedroom still held echoes of those memories, though the warmth had long since faded.

Adrian didn't stumble in until past midnight, bringing with him the sharp scent of expensive whiskey and victory.

Another successful practice run, no doubt. The mattress shifted under his weight, and his muscular arms snaked around me with practiced possessiveness.

"In bed before midnight? That's new," he murmured, his voice carrying that familiar post-race huskiness.

He nuzzled my neck, his breath hot against my skin, reeking of aged scotch and hollow triumph.

I used to live for these late-night moments, staying awake just to catch a glimpse of him walking through the door.

My heart would race at his footsteps on the stairs.

Now, I instinctively recoiled from his touch, my body betraying what my mind tried to deny.

The expensive Chanel Gabrielle lingered on his collar - Sophia's signature scent.

The same perfume I'd seen on his credit card statements, a Christmas gift for his "teammate."

Of course they'd been together.

They always were these days.

His jaw clenched at my withdrawal, fingers digging into my hip as he tightened his grip.

"Stay still," he commanded through gritted teeth.

"My head's splitting."

The migraines - his constant companion since the accident. The kind that usually required prescription-strength painkillers and complete darkness.

But somehow, holding me had always been his miracle cure.

The only time the mighty Adrian Chase showed any vulnerability now.

Muscle memory took over as I massaged his temples, my fingers finding the familiar pressure points.

A quiet groan escaped his lips - a ghost of intimacy we once shared. Adrian caught my hand mid-motion, his thumb running over my palm with clinical detachment.

His expression turned to one of distaste, nose wrinkling as if he'd smelled something unpleasant. "Jesus, Riley, your hands feel like sandpaper. What's the point of those La Mer creams if you're not using them? You're representing the Chase name now - at least try to look the part."

"Some things don't wash away that easily," I said, voice hollow as winter wind. Three years of being his caretaker had left their mark - no amount of luxury skincare could erase that.

The contrast was crushing.

When he was Rain - the lost man with no memory - he'd kiss these same callused hands, whispering they were beautiful because they told our story of healing together. He'd trace each line like reading a love letter, thanking them for saving him.

Now?

He looked at them like they were an embarrassing reminder of a past he wanted to forget.

Just like me - a scar he couldn't quite erase, but could at least hide from the cameras.

Chapter 3

I found Adrian Chase half-dead in a ditch off Alpine Road, his designer racing suit torn and bloody.

The wreckage of his custom Ferrari was scattered across the mountainside - a deliberate hit, I'd later learn.

When he finally opened his eyes three days later, they held no recognition, just raw fear and confusion.

But he latched onto me like I was his only anchor in a storm.

My mother's death and father's remarriage had left me exiled to our old family cottage.

Loneliness had been my only companion until Rain - the name I gave him - came into my life.

He was endearingly helpless with everyday tasks, burning toast and shrinking sweaters.

But something changed whenever he was near cars. His hands would instinctively caress their curves, his eyes lighting up at the sound of engines. I thought nothing of it - most guys knew their way around cars, right?

Rain was gentle in a way that made my heart ache. He'd spend hours teaching me constellations, making up stories about each star.

When he tattooed my name across his collarbone - "Riley" in elegant script - I gave him everything.

That night, tangled in sheets and whispered promises, I finally understood what it meant to belong somewhere.

For six perfect months, we lived in our bubble of morning kisses and lazy Sunday drives.

He'd leave wildflowers on my pillow and dance with me in summer rain.

Then came the day he remembered he was Adrian Chase - F1 champion and heir to a racing empire.

The change was instant and absolute.

The soft smiles vanished, replaced by cold efficiency.

His gentle touches became possessive grabs. Our cozy dinners turned into missed calls and empty apologies.

While I heated up lonely microwave meals, gossip sites flooded with photos of him and Sophia Blake at exclusive restaurants.

The racing world's new power couple, they called them. She wore designer dresses and perfect makeup, everything I wasn't.

I clung to the hope that his tattoo meant something - that somewhere under Adrian Chase's polished exterior, my Rain still existed. Until the day I noticed fresh bandages on his collarbone. The laser removal hadn't even healed when he was already posing shirtless with Sophia for Sports Illustrated.

When I confronted him, Adrian didn't even look up from his phone. "What would the sponsors think?" he drawled. "Riley, I'm not your precious Rain anymore. You don't get to question anything I do. If you want to keep your position, learn your place."

Watching him walk away, reality finally hit me.

The man I loved had died in that mountain crash.

Adrian Chase was just wearing his face, racing through life in the fast lane while I stood frozen in the pit stop of our memories.

I believe his love was real once, but I forgot that hearts change lanes as fast as racing cars.