Chapter 1
Just because I took one more look at my stepsister's belongings, I was cast out by my own father and thrown by my stepmother into a foreign land full of corpses.
When I was at death's door, Ronnie Anderson saved me.
He carried me on his back for more than ten miles along a muddy road, led me step by step out of that dark abyss, and let me see daylight for the first time.
For the sake of that kindness, I fought my way back to the country, crawled back into my family's home, and made Ronnie my bodyguard.
By the tenth year that he had protected me with his life, I finally gathered all the evidence.
I decided to expose what my stepsister really was before her death and take back everything that belonged to me.
That day, however, Ronnie set a fire.
It burned up all the irrefutable evidence I had spent ten years collecting, and it burned half of my face as well.
Amidst the devastation, for the first time ever, he knelt before me and begged.
Ronnie said, "Isabel must have had her reasons. I beg you, with the ten years I have spent by your side—don't ruin her reputation after her death."
The wind blurred my eyes. I finally saw the scar on his arm clearly.
It had been left by my stepsister's fiancé, the Anderson family's only heir, when he saved her.
At that moment, everything made sense.
I gave up those ten years of companionship, took my brother's belongings, and went to the place where he was buried.
No one in this world cared about me anymore. I wanted to see the spirit who once loved me with everything he had.
I heard that night, Ronnie searched every corner of Fairview like a madman.
He was desperate to find a familiar face.
*****
When I woke up from my coma, Ronnie was still kneeling by the floor-to-ceiling window in the hospital room.
His face was pale and tense, his bare chest covered in horrifying burn scars.
Even though he was utterly exhausted and weak, he still sat ramrod straight.
He looked so stubborn, like he was ready to die for it.
Half my face was scorched by the fire, bandages wrapped tight around it.
My vision was hazy; for a long while, I couldn't even see his face clearly.
Fairview's first snowstorm of the year was pounding against the window, thick flakes drumming on the glass.
He kept kneeling there, as silent as the falling snow.
Just like yesterday—after my place burned, he confessed he started the fire, then knelt amid the ruins, right in front of me.
I was unconscious in the hospital all night.
He followed me here, probably kneeling in the hospital room the whole night.
I just couldn't figure it out. Why?
Why did he set the fire?
Why, when I threw myself into the blaze of the study like a madwoman, did he risk his life to save me?
Ten years ago, when I was at my lowest, with nowhere left to turn, Ronnie saved me.
For ten years, I had no family, no friends.
He was the only person by my side, the one who always had my back.
So why?
I gritted my teeth through the pain, got out of bed, and pulled the IV needle from my hand.
Blood welled up and dripped down my hand onto the floor.
Ronnie's face darkened. He instinctively reached for the tissues on the coffee table.
But then, as if remembering something, Ronnie felt his hand trembling and he drew it back.
I walked over and crouched down in front of him.
His face was covered in ash and bruises, with a nasty gash on his chin, the flesh showing through.
I reached out, my nails pressing into the wound on his chin, locking eyes with him.
"Why did you set the fire?" I asked.
Blood started to seep from the old wound, running down his chin and onto his neck.
He hissed in pain, unable to hold it back, but still kept his mouth shut.
I wasn't born yesterday.
He started the fire, then pulled me out—there's only one reason for that: he wanted to destroy something.
I stared at him for a while, then let out a low chuckle.
I said, "All that evidence I mentioned? I kept backups. They're safe at my other place..."
Before I could even finish, his expression twisted all of a sudden.
It was as if a blade ripped right through his calm facade.
He finally couldn't hold it in and blurted out, "Isabel must have had her reasons."
So I was right.
But there was no satisfaction in my chest—just a crushing, suffocating pain that nearly took my breath away.
And a flood of confusion washed over me.
Ronnie looked like he was ready to risk everything. His hazel eyes locked onto mine, unwavering.
He said, "No matter what, she's gone.
"Kaylee, please, I'm begging you. Don't keep searching for the truth. Don't ruin Isabel's name now that she's dead."
I glared at him and snorted in contempt.
I said, "Beg me? You're just a bodyguard. What makes you think you have any right?"
Ronnie was left speechless, unable to say a word.
After a long moment, he seemed to make up his mind.
"Just remember I saved your life ten years ago, and I've been by your side ever since," Ronnie said.
I froze for a second, a sharp pain stabbing through my chest.
I had to remind him, "I paid you for this.
"Ten years, two million dollars. I didn't hire you for free."
"I can pay you back—every last cent," Ronnie cut me off, his voice resolute and final.
For the first time, he looked me straight in the eye, not flinching for a single second.
Staring into that storm of emotions in his eyes, I suddenly understood it.
"You know Isabel? You like her?" I asked.
Ronnie quickly looked away. "I don't know her. I've only ever heard about her in passing."
Just saying her name, and the man who'd kept his feelings hidden for ten years actually flushed.
I wanted to ask more.
The window wasn't fully closed, and a cold draft slipped in, making my eyes water.
That was when I caught sight of a prominent scar on his arm.
It ran from his left elbow almost all the way up his arm.
Yesterday, in his desperation to save me, he'd taken off his shirt for the first time, soaked it, and pressed it to my mouth and nose.
He still hadn't had a chance to put it back on.
For ten years, he always kept himself wrapped up.
Unless he was fighting for me, he wouldn't even undo a single button at his cuffs.
I stared at that nasty scar.