What Happens At The End Of 'The Impossible Knife Of Memory'?

They threw her off a bridge. The husband that she was willing to burn the world for was the same person who thought it wise to murder her. With Arya dead, Edgar frolicked with his mistress in public, assured that he had succeeded in life. But when his dead wife showed up at his wedding a year after he killed her, he knew his good days were over. With faked amnesia, Arya was ready to turn their lives upside down. She tormented them from the shadows, acted all innocent in their presence. She was no longer the naïve woman who let people take advantage of her. She was back, stronger. But there was Lucien, a former fiancé who would walk through fire for her. He wanted to be her revenge tool. He wanted to claim her and never lose her like he did in the past.

The third year after I got diagnosed with intermittent amnesia, I happened to overhear my husband, Lucien Rook, chatting with his friends. “Lucien, Anneliese loses her memories every couple of months, and you keep making us impersonate you to live with her. Aren’t you afraid that one of us might take it all the way one day?” “What’s there to be afraid of?” Lucien laughed uninhibitedly, swishing the alcohol in his glass. “Annie is cold and distant. As long as you guys don’t tempt her, she won’t have any such desires. “But I’m warning you now. You can act all you want, but you can’t ever sleep with her. Once I’ve had my fun, I will be going home to her.” For three years, every time I lost my memories, Lucien was not the one who would hold my hand and embrace me, or even sleep with me in the same bed. In three years, I had lost my memories nine times, and nine men had pretended to be my husband. What they did not know was that my amnesia had been cured two years ago.

My mate is Ryder Blackwood, Alpha of the pack. As the approaching bonding ceremony, he tells me that his "savior", Isabelle Morrison, is dying. She took a silver dagger meant for him three years ago. Now she is terminal, and her days are numbered. Her last wish, he says, is to leave behind a pup bearing the strongest Alpha blood. I tremble. "What about me? I'm your only mate." His voice is cold, emptied of feeling. "Don't worry. I'll always be your mate." Two days later, I receive the pregnancy test results. Isabelle is five weeks along. Turns out there was never a choice. All I get is a belated notice. What he doesn't know is that I'm the one who took the silver dagger meant for him three years ago. The healer tells me I have, at most, a month to live. I neither weep nor protest. I cancel the bonding ceremony I've dreamed of and quietly book a flight out. It leaves on the very day of the ceremony. Ryder stands at the venue of the canceled ceremony when my message reaches him. It's my unwavering rejection of him as my mate. That's when he finally breaks. For the first time, the Alpha who controls everything tastes a fear that tears the soul. He searches for me frantically, only to find every trace of me erased from his world.

Three year after my death, my former mate returned— not to mourn me, but to make use of me one last time. It was the Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year—the night when wolves whispered to the dead. “Where’s Mira Thorne?” Rowan demanded as he strode downstairs into the tavern beneath the den. “Her lived here—Gavin’s sister. I need to find her.” Dorian, the tavern keeper, glanced up slowly. “Mira?” he repeated, wiping his hands on a cloth. “She’s gone, Doctor. Died three winters ago. Same night the Moon rose red.” Rowan’s brows knit. “Dead? That’s impossible. There’s no record.” Dorian’s voice softened. “The family from that healing case—remember them? They found her in the alley behind this inn. Tore her apart before dawn. The healers couldn’t even retrieve her wolf.” Rowan froze, a flicker of disbelief passing across his face before irritation took over. “No. She’s pretending. She’s doing this to make me feel guilty.” he said sharply. “She’s hiding. She always was weak. Tell her if her doesn’t come out within three days, I’ll stop sending money for brother’s treatment.” He turned abruptly and left, the tavern door slamming behind him. Dorian sighed after him., shaking his head. “brother? Her brother died before the healers even arrived… there was never any money for treatment.” The silence that followed was heavier than snow. Dorian watched the falling snow and murmured to the empty air, “No one pretends death, Doctor. Not when they’ve already lost everything.”

When Vivienne Carter married Sebastian Cross at twenty-two, everyone said how lucky she was. He was ten years older, a mafia Don with terrifying power in his hands, and yet for three years he doted on her alone. He indulged her in everything, kept her sheltered under his wing, tender and attentive down to the smallest detail. Only in the dead of night did he turn possessive and overpowering, taking without limit, never once relenting even when she begged him through tears. She had always been certain she was the one thing he loved. Then her father died without warning. Drowning in grief, she called him ninety-nine times, and every call was cut off. In an instant, a single photo shattered every illusion she had. On a Paris street softened by dusk, the man she'd loved for three years was bending to hold another woman. That woman, gentle-featured and faintly resembling her, was her cousin.

When she married Harry Slate, she was 22 years old while he was 32. During their three years of marriage, he showered her with endless tenderness and would give her anything she wanted. He said he could pick the stars for her if she wanted, even the moon if she so wished. He spoiled her like she was a precious treasure. The only thing was that he had insatiable demands every night. He would chuckle and refuse to let her go, even when she cried and begged for mercy. She knew Harry had a lot of money and a lot of love—and all of it belonged to her. The day her father passed away, she called him 99 times, yet he declined every single one. The next second, she received a photo taken by her best friend. [Celine, is this your man? I saw him hugging a woman on the streets of Palto.] After tapping the photo and seeing the man and the woman, Celine Quest felt as though she had fallen into an icy abyss. The man was Harry, and the woman was her aunt.