Page 69 of “Not” Engaged to the Grumpy Billionaire

I don’t wait for any more details. “I’m on my way.”

The rain from earlier has slowed to a drizzle, the wet roads shining under the dim glow of the streetlights. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly, my thoughts racing as I navigate the empty streets.

Becky. I haven’t thought about her like this in years - rushing to her side, worrying about her well-being. It feels strange, foreign even. But no matter how complicated things are between us, she’s still Max’s mother.

By the time I pull into the hospital parking lot, my heart is pounding in my chest.

The smell of antiseptic greets me as I step into the emergency room, the fluorescent lights making everything feel colder. A nurse directs me to Becky’s room after I check in, her expression neutral but professional.

“She’s stable,” the nurse says as we walk. “The doctors will explain more when you get there.”

When I step into the room, Becky is lying in bed, her face pale but unmarred. A few minor cuts and bruises mark her arms, but otherwise, she looks like herself.

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something in her expression - relief, maybe? But then she smiles, and it throws me completely off balance.

“Nate,” she says softly, her voice tinged with warmth I haven’t heard in years. “You’re here.”

I nod, stepping closer to her bed. “Of course I’m here. Are you okay? What happened?”

She frowns slightly, her brows knitting together. “I… I don’t know…” She trails off, her eyes filling with tears. “It’s all a blur.”

Before I can respond, the door opens, and a doctor steps in, clipboard in hand.

“Mr. Kingston,” he greets me with a nod before turning to Becky. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Kingston?”

Mrs. Kingston.

I glance at Becky, expecting her to correct him, but she doesn’t. Instead, she smiles faintly and says, “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Any pain?” the doctor asks, flipping through his notes.

“Not really,” Becky replies, her voice steady. “Just… confused.”

As the doctor continues his routine questions, I stand at the foot of the bed, my confusion growing. Becky hasn’t called herself “Mrs. Kingston” in years.

When the doctor finally leaves, I turn to her. “Becky, what’s going on?”

She looks at me, her expression soft and familiar. “What do you mean?”

“You’re acting like…” I pause, running a hand through my hair. “Like we’re still married.”

Her face falls, and her eyes widen. “Nate, what are you talking about? Of course we’re married.”

I blink, staring at her in disbelief. “Becky, we’ve been divorced for years.”

Her laughter is soft but incredulous. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking,” I say firmly, stepping closer to her. “Becky, we’re not married anymore. You left.”

She shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears again. “I don’t remember that. I don’t remember anything like that.”

Before I can press further, the doctor returns, his expression serious. “Mr. Kingston, may I have a word?”

I step into the hallway with him, my chest tight with frustration and confusion.

“What’s going on with her?” I demand, keeping my voice low.

The doctor sighs, glancing at his clipboard. “Physically, she’s fine. There’s no evidence of serious trauma—just a few scrapes and bruises. But her behavior suggests some level of amnesia, likely caused by the shock of the accident.”

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