Chapter 1 · I Met My Ex at the Summit

Three years after divorcing my billionaire husband, we met again at the summit of a snow-covered mountain.

I was now just a bottom-rung guide at the camp, someone desperate enough to risk my life for a few dollars.

He, meanwhile, was the perfect lover everyone at the camp talked about, who booked ten helicopters just to rescue his girlfriend after she injured her ankle.

When we crossed paths, not a word passed between us.

It wasn't until I pried open an ice crevasse with my bare hands for a ten-thousand-dollar fee that I ended up freezing my ring finger.

When he saw my hand, swollen and oozing pus, his eyes were red as he grabbed my wrist and shouted, "You'd rather risk breaking your hands and feet than swallow your pride and ask me for help?

"Lily, how long are you going to keep this up?"

I looked at his face, as if he was someone from a whole different world, and couldn't help but laugh.

"Ask you for help? Like that would actually change anything."

He'd forgotten how I spent three days and nights begging him for money to save our son.

But he was off sleeping peacefully beside another woman.

In the end, I never got the money, and my child didn't even have an urn to be buried in

"Three thousand dollars. Cash or transfer?" I asked.

Joseph fixed his eyes on my open palm, the skin mottled and discolored, frostbite and pus seeping out.

He didn't answer.

The wind whipped through my collar. I drew my hand back and turned to leave.

"Lily!" he called out.

His voice was swept away by the wind, and I could just barely make out my name.

I ignored him.

The ice beneath my feet was slick, but I moved slowly, each step steady and sure.

Three years. I'd lost count of how many times I'd climbed this mountain. I knew every loose rock, every crevice that could swallow a person whole.

I heard hurried footsteps behind me.

He caught up and grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong.

Looking down, I saw his hand. His knuckles were pale and trembling.

"What happened to your hand?" he asked.

"Frostbite," I replied.

"I'm talking about your ring finger!" he pressed.

"It's not gonna make it," I said.

He froze, eyes wide in shock.

His grip on my arm loosened for a split second, then tightened again.

"When did this happen?" he asked.

I shot him a cold look. "That's none of your business."

I yanked my arm back. "Three thousand dollars. Are you paying or not? If not, I'll find someone else."

His jaw was clenched tight, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "You need money?"

"Yeah," I replied, my tone flat.

"How much?"

"Three thousand dollars."

"I'll give you 300 thousand dollars," he said.

I gave him a cold look.

The wind had messed up his hair, his gold-rimmed glasses were covered in snow, and the hem of his coat was streaked with mud.

Standing on the ice field at 13,000 feet, he still had that superior air, like the whole world owed him something.

"I don't need that. Just give me the three thousand dollars I earned," I said.

"Lily, how long are you going to keep messing around?" he snapped.

I thought, 'Messing around.

'He really said that.'

In the twenty-below wind, I almost laughed.

He'd said the exact same thing three years ago.

Back then, I was on my knees, begging him to just take one look at our newborn son, and all he said was, "Stop fussing."

After that, I spent the whole night sitting in the hallway of the town clinic, holding my premature baby, calling him seventeen times. Every single call went straight to voicemail.

The last time, when someone finally picked up, it was Maria Morgan's voice on the other end.

She said, "Lily, Joseph's asleep. Let's talk about it tomorrow, okay?"

Tomorrow.

My son was hooked up to tubes in an incubator, and she was telling me to wait until tomorrow.

"I'm not making a scene," I said.

I shoved my hand back into my pocket, my voice barely a whisper in the wind.

"I'm just asking for the pay I earned. You guys booked ten helicopters to save someone with a twisted ankle. You're not seriously going to stiff the lead guide out of 3 thousand dollars, are you?"

Joseph's face darkened.

I knew exactly what he was thinking.

He thought I was rubbing it in.

Ten helicopters, three doctors, all just for Maria.

I spent four hours clawing through ice with my bare hands, lost a finger to frostbite, and that was only worth 3 thousand dollars.

But he was reading way too much into it.

I didn't have the time or energy to bother with him.

I just really needed that three thousand dollars.

The hundreds of thousands I'd risked my life for over the past three years had already disappeared into Logan's first two heart surgeries and the bottomless pit of ICU bills.

I even owed the camp manager for months of meals.

Chapter 1

Three years after divorcing my billionaire husband, we met again at the summit of a snow-covered mountain.

I was now just a bottom-rung guide at the camp, someone desperate enough to risk my life for a few dollars.

He, meanwhile, was the perfect lover everyone at the camp talked about, who booked ten helicopters just to rescue his girlfriend after she injured her ankle.

When we crossed paths, not a word passed between us.

It wasn't until I pried open an ice crevasse with my bare hands for a ten-thousand-dollar fee that I ended up freezing my ring finger.

When he saw my hand, swollen and oozing pus, his eyes were red as he grabbed my wrist and shouted, "You'd rather risk breaking your hands and feet than swallow your pride and ask me for help?

"Lily, how long are you going to keep this up?"

I looked at his face, as if he was someone from a whole different world, and couldn't help but laugh.

"Ask you for help? Like that would actually change anything."

He'd forgotten how I spent three days and nights begging him for money to save our son.

But he was off sleeping peacefully beside another woman.

In the end, I never got the money, and my child didn't even have an urn to be buried in

"Three thousand dollars. Cash or transfer?" I asked.

Joseph fixed his eyes on my open palm, the skin mottled and discolored, frostbite and pus seeping out.

He didn't answer.

The wind whipped through my collar. I drew my hand back and turned to leave.

"Lily!" he called out.

His voice was swept away by the wind, and I could just barely make out my name.

I ignored him.

The ice beneath my feet was slick, but I moved slowly, each step steady and sure.

Three years. I'd lost count of how many times I'd climbed this mountain. I knew every loose rock, every crevice that could swallow a person whole.

I heard hurried footsteps behind me.

He caught up and grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong.

Looking down, I saw his hand. His knuckles were pale and trembling.

"What happened to your hand?" he asked.

"Frostbite," I replied.

"I'm talking about your ring finger!" he pressed.

"It's not gonna make it," I said.

He froze, eyes wide in shock.

His grip on my arm loosened for a split second, then tightened again.

"When did this happen?" he asked.

I shot him a cold look. "That's none of your business."

I yanked my arm back. "Three thousand dollars. Are you paying or not? If not, I'll find someone else."

His jaw was clenched tight, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "You need money?"

"Yeah," I replied, my tone flat.

"How much?"

"Three thousand dollars."

"I'll give you 300 thousand dollars," he said.

I gave him a cold look.

The wind had messed up his hair, his gold-rimmed glasses were covered in snow, and the hem of his coat was streaked with mud.

Standing on the ice field at 13,000 feet, he still had that superior air, like the whole world owed him something.

"I don't need that. Just give me the three thousand dollars I earned," I said.

"Lily, how long are you going to keep messing around?" he snapped.

I thought, 'Messing around.

'He really said that.'

In the twenty-below wind, I almost laughed.

He'd said the exact same thing three years ago.

Back then, I was on my knees, begging him to just take one look at our newborn son, and all he said was, "Stop fussing."

After that, I spent the whole night sitting in the hallway of the town clinic, holding my premature baby, calling him seventeen times. Every single call went straight to voicemail.

The last time, when someone finally picked up, it was Maria Morgan's voice on the other end.

She said, "Lily, Joseph's asleep. Let's talk about it tomorrow, okay?"

Tomorrow.

My son was hooked up to tubes in an incubator, and she was telling me to wait until tomorrow.

"I'm not making a scene," I said.

I shoved my hand back into my pocket, my voice barely a whisper in the wind.

"I'm just asking for the pay I earned. You guys booked ten helicopters to save someone with a twisted ankle. You're not seriously going to stiff the lead guide out of 3 thousand dollars, are you?"

Joseph's face darkened.

I knew exactly what he was thinking.

He thought I was rubbing it in.

Ten helicopters, three doctors, all just for Maria.

I spent four hours clawing through ice with my bare hands, lost a finger to frostbite, and that was only worth 3 thousand dollars.

But he was reading way too much into it.

I didn't have the time or energy to bother with him.

I just really needed that three thousand dollars.

The hundreds of thousands I'd risked my life for over the past three years had already disappeared into Logan's first two heart surgeries and the bottomless pit of ICU bills.

I even owed the camp manager for months of meals.