Chapter 1

Three years after breaking up with Zachary, the damage in my spinal cord finally crushed the last of my nerve endings.

In the final clear moments of my life, I took my wheelchair and went alone to that abandoned lighthouse by the coast—the one we had once promised to buy together.

I buried the worn-out ballet shoes, the ones I had danced in for him countless times, deep inside the pile of stones beneath the tower.

"Zachary, this is the last dance I'll ever give you."

"I don't think I'll ever stand again."

The moment the words left my lips, all sensation drained completely from my legs.

Right behind me, a voice so familiar it tore into my bones spoke up.

"Excuse me, miss. Can we borrow your wheelchair? My wife twisted her ankle."

Three years after breaking up with Zachary, my spinal cord injury deteriorated into its end stages.

For my remaining days, I came to the coastal lighthouse.

This was the place we had once promised to buy together.

I pulled out my battered ballet shoes and buried them into the pile of stones.

These legs once danced Swan Lake for him. They had run through storms just to see him.

Now, they were completely ruined.

As I laid down the very last stone, a sharp pang shot through my legs, followed immediately by total numbness.

Just then, a voice called out from behind me.

"Hey. You."

My entire body froze.

The man walked around to stand right in front of me, his tall frame blocking the ocean view before my eyes.

Zachary.

It had been three years. The cruel edge around his sharp features was sharper than ever, and he wore an impeccably tailored designer suit.

The look he gave me was dripping with sheer disgust.

Clinging to his side was a woman, Fiona.

She held his arm tightly, giving me an appraising once-over before speaking up in a soft, sweet voice.

"Zachary, don't be so harsh. You're scaring the poor lady."

Zachary’s gaze flicked across my face, then down to my wheelchair.

"Fiona twisted her ankle. She can't walk."

He didn't even bother to look directly at me as he explained to Fiona, though every word was clearly aimed straight at my chest.

"You're a cripple anyway. Sitting there does nothing for you."

"Lend her the chair. Don't waste our time."

"How much do you want? Name your price. Stop playing dead."

A violent spasm gripped my chest, so painful I could barely breathe.

He used to say I was the purest light in his entire world.

Three years ago, his mother had already made it clear over the phone that she only recognized Fiona as her future daughter-in-law.

"You're just a penniless dancer. You really think a nobody like you could ever land a man like my son and cling to him forever?"

"Zachary's future wife will only ever be Fiona. She's the heiress to a multi-billion-dollar corporation!"

Now, they stood together.

And I was the pathetic outsider.

I bit down hard on my lower lip, trying to speak, but a tight knot blocked my throat.

Zachary's face darkened.

He leaned down, his breath cold against my ear, his voice freezing.

"Clara, what are you playing at in front of me?"

"Three years ago, when you were begging people to sleep with you for cash, where was all this pride?"

"What? Did your new sugar daddy make you forget what kind of trash you actually are?"

That car crash three years ago. The medical diagnosis. The long, endless days and nights waiting to die in a hospital bed.

To keep from dragging him down with me, I had used the cruelest, most vicious lies to force him to let go.

I swallowed back the burning tears, forcing my lips into a flat, detached smile.

"Mr. Vance, you flatter yourself."

"I just think... it's dirty."

The second those words left my mouth, lightning split the sky, and heavy raindrops slammed down against the earth.

Fiona gasped, immediately retreating into his chest.

"Oh god, it's pouring! Zachary, our car is parked all the way down at the foot of the hill!"

Zachary's eyes darted past my shoulder, landing on the van I had parked nearby. His eyes narrowed.

Before he could even speak, I cut him off in a cold, steady voice.

"My car doesn't take strangers."

He suddenly let out a dry, humorless laugh.

"Clara, do you actually think I'm asking for your permission?"

He grabbed the handles of my wheelchair with brutal force.

"You're giving us a ride today whether you like it or not!"