Chapter 1

The mountain air should have been crisp and refreshing, but all I could taste was the metallic tang of fear coating my tongue. The remote resort Colson had chosen for our pre-wedding getaway now felt like a trap—isolated, with no witnesses for miles around.

"Jade, stay behind me," Colson whispered, his voice trembling as the masked figures emerged from the treeline like shadows given form. There were three of them, moving with the calculated precision of predators who had done this before.

My heart hammered against my ribs as rough hands seized us both, dragging us toward a van that materialized from nowhere. The last thing I saw before the hood came down over my head was Colson's terrified eyes, wide and helpless.

The warehouse they brought us to reeked of rust and decay. When they finally removed our hoods, I found myself in a cavernous space filled with abandoned machinery and broken windows that let in sickly streams of moonlight. Colson sat tied to a chair across from me, his face pale and drawn.

"Please," he said, his voice cracking. "Whatever you want, I can pay. My family has money—"

"Shut up," the tallest kidnapper snapped, backhanding Colson across the face. The sound echoed through the empty space like a gunshot.

That's when I realized something that made my blood run cold. They barely looked at Colson after that first strike. Their attention was entirely focused on me.

"You're the one we came for, pretty girl," the leader said, his voice muffled by the black mask. "Your boyfriend here is just... collateral."

I watched in horror as they approached me with instruments I didn't want to identify. But when I saw the fear in Colson's eyes—the way he flinched every time they moved—something fierce awakened in my chest.

"Wait," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady even as my hands shook against the ropes. "If it's me you want, then focus on me. Leave him alone."

The leader tilted his head, amused. "How noble. But we weren't planning to hurt your precious fiancé anyway. He's going to watch every second of what we do to you."

The first blow came without warning, snapping my head to the side and filling my mouth with blood. I bit back the scream that wanted to escape, refusing to give them the satisfaction. But when I saw Colson's face—the way he looked away, unable to watch—I made a decision that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

Every time they raised their hands to strike, I spoke. I taunted them, drew their attention, made myself the sole focus of their rage. When they brought out the electrical devices, I gritted my teeth and endured the agony in silence, watching Colson's horrified face through the haze of pain.

"Stop looking away," I whispered to him during one brief respite, my voice hoarse from screaming. "Don't you dare look away from me."

But he did. Again and again, he turned his head, squeezed his eyes shut, sometimes even whimpering when the sounds became too much. And each time he looked away, I felt something inside me break a little more.

Hours blended into an endless nightmare. They took turns, some more creative in their cruelty than others. My body became a canvas of bruises and cuts, each mark a testament to my determination to protect the man I loved. Even when they brought out the hammers—even when I knew what was coming—I kept my eyes on Colson's face.

"I love you," I whispered as they positioned my legs. "Remember that I love you."

The sound of my bones breaking was surprisingly quiet, like twigs snapping underfoot. But my scream—that echoed through the warehouse like the cry of a dying animal.

When the rescue team finally burst through the doors, I was barely conscious. Through the fog of pain and blood loss, I heard Colson's voice calling my name, felt hands lifting me onto a stretcher. As they carried me toward the ambulance, I caught sight of him standing in the warehouse doorway, his clothes barely wrinkled, his face unmarked.

He was talking on his phone.

Even through the morphine haze, even as the paramedics worked frantically to stabilize me, I could hear fragments of his conversation drifting through the night air.

"Diana... I know... she's alive... we need to talk..."

The name hit me like another blow, and suddenly the pain in my broken legs seemed insignificant compared to the ice spreading through my chest. Diana Nichols. His first love. The woman whose shadow had haunted our entire relationship.

As the ambulance doors closed and we raced toward the hospital, I stared at the ceiling and felt something fundamental shift inside me. I had endured one hundred hours of hell to protect a man who couldn't even wait until I was safely in the hospital before calling another woman.

The worst part wasn't the torture. It wasn't even the broken bones or the scars I would carry forever.

It was the growing certainty that my sacrifice had meant nothing to him at all.