Chapter 1

Everyone in New York's elite circle knew that the wife of the billionaire CEO of Carter Enterprises was wheelchair-bound, missing both her legs.

But anyone who dared to gossip behind my back was instantly crushed and ruined by Ethan Carter.

Five years ago, to save Ethan from a speeding truck, I lost both my legs in a horrific car crash.

Instead of leaving me, Ethan proposed to me at my bedside, promising he would cherish and take care of me for the rest of his life.

And he did. For years, he applied my medicine and massaged my numb limbs every single day, keeping my spirits up with endless patience.

He canceled all business dinners, making sure to be home before eight every night just to be with me. He would FaceTime me twelve times a day just to give me peace of mind.

Countless beautiful young girls tried to throw themselves at him, but he rejected and banished every single one.

Everyone said Ethan loved his disabled wife to the point of absolute madness.

But everything changed when his new personal assistant arrived. Suddenly, his phone was constantly turned off. He started staying out all night.

Even Maria, our housekeeper, started whispering that Ethan had a secret love nest outside and that I had lost my crown.

I didn't believe it. I couldn't believe Ethan would betray me like this.

Until the new assistant sent me a photo of them in bed together.

Only then did I realize I had given my life to the wrong man.

Staring at my phone—with Ethan’s line still busy—I sent him a single text:

"It’s over. Let’s go our separate ways. Come back and sign the divorce papers."

And that was when Ethan finally panicked.

***

This was the fifty-eighth call.

All I got was the same cold, automated voice: "The subscriber you are trying to reach is currently unavailable."

I hung up, my face completely blank.

My finger hovered over the screen for three seconds before I opened Snapchat and typed out a short message.

"It’s over. Let’s go our separate ways. Come back and sign the divorce papers."

I tapped send.

I tossed the phone onto the sofa, spun my wheelchair around, and began packing.

This penthouse was too big, too empty. Even after five years, I still couldn't call it home.

Without legs, I moved very slowly.

I opened the walk-in closet. Half of it was mine, and half was Ethan’s.

I only took what belonged to me.

A cream-colored trench coat—the one I was wearing the day I first met him.

A moonstone necklace—the one he placed around my neck with trembling hands when he proposed.

I packed them into my suitcase one by one. Out of nowhere, tears began to fall, splashing onto the fabric and leaving dark, damp circles.

I thought I had run out of tears days ago.

Every single object in this house was branded with memories of Ethan.

But I didn't want to take any of them with me. I didn't want to leave them here, either.

I opened the storage room and began packing the things he had forbidden the maids to touch.

The custom mahogany wheelchair tray he had sanded down with his own hands. The edges were still slightly rough; he had said it would keep my books from slipping.

I had sat in my chair and read a hundred books on that tray.

The Scottish cashmere throw blanket—my absolute favorite during the cold winters.

He said my body ran cold, so he had imported it specially for me.

He had said, "Chloe, wrapping yourself in this is like having my arms around you."

And then there was the giant, six-foot wedding portrait hanging on the bedroom wall.

In the photo, he was holding me in his arms, laughing like a happy fool.

He had said, "Chloe, you are my actual life."

I stared at the man in the photo. His eyes were so tender they could melt glaciers.

Yet, this was the exact same man who could turn around and wrap those same arms around another woman.

I packed, boxed, and sealed everything. On each box, I slapped a label.

It read: *TRASH. TO BE DESTROYED.*

Since I was leaving, I wanted a clean slate.

No memories allowed.

By the time I taped up the last box, I was drenched in sweat and utterly exhausted.

I picked up my phone and called a moving company.

"Hi, I need to schedule a move."

"I have a lot of heavy boxes. I'll need a large truck."

"The address is..."

The voice on the other end sounded hesitant. "Ma'am, are you sure you want to do this now? It's past midnight."

I looked out the window at the heavy, pitch-black night and smiled faintly.

"Yes. Right now."

I didn't want to spend another second in this house.

Ethan hadn’t come home in seven days.

Seven days.

One hundred and sixty-eight hours.

I opened my phone and looked at the photo sent from an anonymous number once again.

Ethan was lying in bed, shirtless, fast asleep. His handsome features looked incredibly soft in the dim light.

His arm was wrapped tightly around a young, naked girl sleeping next to him.

I knew that girl. She was his new assistant, Hailey Miller.

She had only been with the company for three months.

She was even flashing a mocking peace sign at the camera.

Looking at the photo, my tears spilled over again.

Five years ago, when that truck came hurtling toward us, I had used every ounce of my strength to push Ethan out of the way.

When I woke up, the air was thick with the smell of hospital bleach.

My legs were gone.

Ethan held my hand, crying like a broken child.

"Chloe, don't be scared. I'll marry you."

"Chloe, I'll be your legs for the rest of your life."

Later, everyone in New York said Ethan Carter had gone crazy.

He rejected the high-society heiress his family had chosen for him, insisting on marrying a disabled girl.

He learned to cook for me, massaged my swollen muscles, and researched the latest bionic technology.

He kept all other women at a distance, giving me his entire heart.

Everyone thought Ethan’s love for me was an unbreakable, beautiful madness.

But in reality, I was the crazy one.

I actually believed a man's vow.

I believed it for five long years.

My phone vibrated, lighting up the dark room.

It was a text from Ethan.

"Chloe, what is this supposed to mean?"

"Stop throwing tantrums."

***