short-term memory loss movies

I'm just a regular human being, and yet I've ended up signing a soul-bond contract with Erik Pendragon, the Frost Dragon King. Due to my lowly status, Erik refuses to let me attend the festival that we're supposed to show up at. So far, I've organized 18 grand festivals for Erik, and yet I'm forced to hide in the shadows. But somehow, Erik agrees to let me attend the 19th festival as the Dragon Queen. Of course, I'm excited to no end. I even go to great lengths to doll myself up, only to see Erik holding hands with another human woman named Clara Beech. The memory montage, which I've put hard work into making, has been replaced by a lovey-dovey montage featuring Erik and Clara. After Erik slips the ring that symbolizes the Dragon Queen's status onto Clara's finger, he turns to look at me in disdain. "Our Dragon Queen needs to be acknowledged by everyone in the clan. It's not like you have an official title anyway, Aurora. To top it off, Clara had received everyone's acknowledgement far earlier than you, too. From today onward, she shall replace you as the Dragon Queen." All the dragons in the lobby are waiting to watch me go ballistic before descending into hysterics. But I'm not mad in the slightest. In fact, I feel a little relieved. After all, there are three days left before my three-year contract with Erik gets dissolved.

I was the Falcone family's top consigliere. Their brain. And today, I was walking away—handing over the books to every legitimate business I ran, severing my final tie. My protégé couldn't understand. "You're the future of this family, Aurelia. You can't just leave." I shook my head with a bitter smile. They didn't know. I'd been secretly married to the Don, Vittorio Falcone, for three years. I thought my looks, my mind, and everything I gave him would be enough to win all of his love. A hit at the docks three months ago showed me the truth. I took thirteen bullets. Emergency. I needed the family surgeon—which required Vittorio's direct order. I called him over a dozen times. But when he finally answered, all I heard was a soft, breathless voice on his end. "Vittorio, we haven't cut my birthday cake. Will you hold my hand and cut it with me?" That voice. My best friend. The woman Vittorio once had a crush on. Carina. In the safe house, weak from blood loss, I dug the bullet out myself and had one of my men rush me to a family clinic. Right before they wheeled me into the OR, Vittorio burst in—carrying Carina. Twisted ankle. Needed a doctor. Now. My surgeon was dragged away. The antibiotics came too late. The wound got infected. I fought for my life for a week. When I woke up, I stared at my phone. Not a single message. The tears finally came. I understood. I was just the woman he'd been forced to marry after he was drugged and slept with me. A scandal averted. All he cared about was my value and his reputation. And me? The secret princess of the Rossi family, who gave up everything to build his empire. All for nothing. So I prepared four parting gifts. A celebration of our mutual destruction. Then he'd never see me again.