Chapter 1
During that fire, I was trapped at one end of the abandoned warehouse, while the real heiress was stuck at the other. The beams overhead were about to collapse.
My fiancé, my brother, and my recently reunited little brother rushed in like madmen.
But they passed right by me, heading straight for the real heiress who'd been missing for twenty years and had finally come home.
"Wendy, you've always been tough. Just hold on a little longer!" my brother yelled, scooping the real heiress up onto his back.
My fiancé gave me one last look, his eyes filled with regret and resolve. "Sorry, but I have to do this for the Grant family. I owe them."
He forgot I was pregnant with his child.
My little brother was even more ruthless. He grabbed the last half-bottle of water from beside me and handed it to his frail, beloved sister.
They all chose her over me.
But the fire didn't care. It never gave me the chance to hang in there, not even for a second.
*****
Five years later, I went to Riverdale Cemetery.
I placed a bouquet of daisies in front of the tombstone and whispered, "Alex, I'm here to see you again."
On the tombstone, the young firefighter's smile was as bright as the sun.
Without him, my daughter and I would've been nothing but ashes by now.
"Mom, looks like it's going to rain. Let's head home," Anna said, tugging at my sleeve. My five-year-old daughter's eyes shone with kindness, just like Alex's used to.
I put on my mask, covering the jagged scar on my left cheek, and took her hand as we turned to leave.
We'd barely taken two steps when a few faces I could never forget appeared in my line of sight.
It was my fiancé, Ryan Quinn, my brother from the Grant family, William Grant, and my real younger brother, Charles Stone.
Dressed to the nines, they looked heartbreakingly lost in the drizzle, each clutching a bunch of white roses as they stood before a lonely, empty grave.
That grave was mine.
"Wendy, it's been five years." Ryan's voice was hoarse. "You still won't even visit me in my dreams. Are you still blaming me?"
"Blame you?" William let out a cold laugh, his eyes red. "Ryan, who are you to talk about blame? If you'd just reached out and pulled her back that day, she'd still be alive."
"Stop fighting!" Charles kicked the stone steps. The golden boy of the screen now looked like a trapped, tormented beast. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have taken her water... I'm such an asshole!"
The three of them were about to come to blows, just like every time for the past five years.
I quietly averted my gaze, just wanting to get Anna away from this place full of drama as quickly as possible.
But Anna's little ball slipped from her hands and rolled, coming to a stop right at Ryan's feet.
He bent down to pick it up, then looked up, his gaze passing over me casually.
Just as he was about to hand the ball to Anna, I instinctively spoke up, wanting him to give it to me instead.
"Thank you," I managed to say.
The words scraped out of my throat, hoarse and broken.
Ryan's hand froze in the air, ball still in his grip.
The voice was harsh, almost grating, but there was something familiar in my tone, like a tiny, invisible needle that jabbed at him.
My instincts screamed at me, and I hurried Anna along. "Anna, let's go."
As I turned, instinctively shielding Anna behind me, I fell right into the defensive stance Ryan himself had taught me. He said it was the safest in a fight.
My right arm curled protectively, and my left hand landed softly on the back of her neck.
We used to mess around and practice that move over and over, just for fun.
But the instant Ryan saw me do it, he froze up, stiff as a board.
The little bit of doubt my voice had sparked? That familiar move blew it wide open.
His eyes turned into a tempest, fixated on me like he was under some kind of spell, closing the distance between us one step at a time.
My heart seized up, and I instinctively shifted, taking Anna's hand and hurrying away.
"Stop right there!" Ryan barked.
He lunged at me, ignoring my attempts to break free, and grabbed my wrist with all his strength.
"Who are you?" Ryan shouted, his voice raw with emotion. "Who the hell are you?"
The moment his fingers brushed against the old, ring-shaped scar on my wrist, his whole body jolted like he'd been struck by lightning.
That scar came from the bracelet he'd slipped onto my wrist years ago. He put it on himself, and after that, no matter what we did, it just wouldn't come off.
Alarm bells blared in my mind. I jerked my wrist free, rasping out a few words, "Sir, you've got the wrong person."
My voice was so raspy from the damage to my vocal cords that it grated like sandpaper.
A voice harsh enough to make anyone flinch, but for Ryan, William, and Charles, it was like a lightning strike. Their faces drained of color in an instant.