Chapter 1

The sterile scent of antiseptic hung in the ICU like a curse.

My legs were infected. The doctor didn’t sugarcoat it.

“Even if they heal,” he said, “you’ll have permanent damage.”

His words echoed in my skull, but nothing hurt more than the betrayal.

Tears soaked my cheeks as I whispered through chapped lips, “I was wrong, Dalton Wrenley… I should’ve never met you.”

Ten years ago, we crossed paths at a beat-up arcade on a downtown corner.

I was a slum kid with holes in my sneakers and nothing but sass to my name. The arcade was my escape.

He looked like he’d walked straight out of a country club—expensive coat, shiny shoes, a lost look on his face as a group of street thugs circled him, demanding cash.

I sauntered in with a half-empty soda dangling from my lips and kicked over a chair.

“You guys must be new. This is Tee’s turf.”

The punks sized me up, muttered something under their breath, and shoved him aside before scattering.

That day, I saved Dalton.

And for the next ten years, I kept saving him.

Until last year.

That’s when she came back.

Mariah Sutton—his childhood sweetheart—returned from Italy, playing the violin like she was born on a stage. Dalton cried the first time he heard her play.

After that, he couldn’t stop talking about her. I thought she was just an old friend. Silly me.

As our tenth anniversary approached, Dalton finally invited me to his family’s dinner party. I thought—naively—that it was the moment. So I did it. I proposed.

But then Mariah “accidentally” knocked over her wine glass and gasped with wide, teary eyes.

“Dalton… you’re getting married?”

The entire table fell into cold silence. His mother stood up and left.

Dalton didn’t even look at me. Instead, he wrapped his arm around Mariah and said softly, “Of course not. I’m still waiting for you to recover.”

Later, he dragged me upstairs.

His expression twisted in disgust. “You? A broke designer? Marry into the Wrenley family? Don’t kid yourself.”

My heart cracked.

“You promised me. You said you wanted to marry me—remember? We’ve been together since junior high. I changed my whole life for you.”

He didn’t meet my eyes.

“That was before Mariah came back.”

My voice shook. “So now that she’s back, you’re marrying her?”

He looked away. “I’m not breaking up with you. I just… need time. Mariah’s sick. She needs me.”

“Is she sick, or does your family just want her because I’m not rich enough for their little empire?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice tight.

“You’re being dramatic. This isn’t like you.”

Not like me?

Once, he said he loved my fire, my carefree spirit. Then he wanted me quieter, steadier, more “useful.” He told me to study architecture so I could help him take over his grandfather’s company. I did everything he asked. Five brutal years.

And now he says I’ve changed?

My hands trembled.

“Fine. I won’t fight you. But if I walk away now, I won’t come back. Ever.”

“Don’t cry,” he said quietly.

But before I could answer, Mariah’s voice drifted like poison.

“Can I talk to Dalton for a minute, please?”

He turned to her immediately. I grabbed his sleeve, desperate for something.

His cufflinks glinted under the hallway light. The same ones I gave him.

He yanked his arm away like I was diseased. “God, you’re so annoying.”

“I just want an answer.”

But Mariah suddenly clutched her chest and whimpered.

In a flash, Dalton panicked. And without a second thought… he shoved me.

I tumbled down the stairs.