Chapter 3

The moment the car stopped, Zachary pushed the door open, popped his umbrella, and walked around to Fiona's side to open her door.

He helped her step out, his voice turning gentle.

"Careful. The ground is slick."

"Can you walk? Do you want me to carry you?"

"Are you cold?"

Throughout it all, he never cast a single glance my way.

The two of them huddled under the single umbrella and walked toward the motel lobby, leaving me abandoned in the car.

I sat in the driver's seat, waiting for the worst of the pain to ebb away, before lowering the window and pressing a small remote buzzer.

It was the signal I had arranged with the motel owner, Mrs. Miller.

Moments later, a clerk dashed out under a large umbrella, pulling an aluminum ramp from my trunk and locking it between the van door and the pavement.

"Miss Clara, you're here."

I gave him a weak nod, steering my electric wheelchair down the ramp and onto the ground.

By the time I entered the motel lobby, Zachary and Fiona were already standing at the front desk.

"One room, please."

Zachary slapped down his black card and ID.

The receptionist checked the computer and shook her head apologetically.

"I'm so sorry, sir. It's peak season, and with this sudden storm, every single room in the motel is completely booked."

Fiona leaned heavily against Zachary, her voice cracking into a whimper.

"Zachary, what are we going to do? My foot hurts so much, I can barely stand."

Zachary frowned, his knuckles rapping sharply against the counter.

"Check again! If you can't find one," he threatened, his voice dropping dangerously low, "I'll make sure this place disappears from the block by tomorrow morning!"

Terrified, the receptionist's voice began to tremble.

"Sir, there really, really aren't any left. The last executive suite was reserved over the phone just five minutes ago."

Just then, the motel owner, Mrs. Miller, hurried out from the back office.

The moment she saw me, a warm smile broke across her face, completely bypassing Zachary and Fiona.

She strode over to me, taking my icy hands in hers.

"Oh, my sweet Clara! You finally made it!"

"Honey, why do you look so pale?!"

"Didn't I tell you over the phone not to rush? Safety comes first!"

As she spoke, she moved behind my wheelchair and took over the handles.

"Come on, let's get you inside. Don't sit here catching a draft."

She pushed me toward the elevator, talking loudly enough for the entire lobby to hear.

"Your old suite—I've kept it reserved for you the whole time!"

"Knowing you were coming, I had the housekeeping staff scrub it down several times."

"I even had a warm herbal bath drawn in your bathroom right now. Go soak and warm up."

"It's the exact formula Dr. Evans prescribed for your chronic nerve pain."

Her old suite? Kept reserved the whole time? Dr. Evans?

All color drained instantly from Zachary's face. He froze on the spot, his fists clenching until his knuckles popped audibly.

He whipped his head around, glaring murderously at my back as I was wheeled toward the elevator.

The moment the elevator doors began to slide shut, I caught his eyes through the narrowing gap one last time.

In those dark eyes, nothing remained except freezing cruelty, blind rage, and absolute contempt.

Silently, his lips moved, shaping three venomous words without making a sound:

You disgust me.