Chapter 1

At the class reunion, Mason Spencer sat across from Calla Scott, his arm draped around his gorgeous girlfriend.

She said, "If you hadn't let go back then, you'd be Mrs. Spencer now."

Mason's expression was cold. "That's ancient history."

Everyone started jeering and laughing.

Calla covered the scar on her wrist and forced a smile. "Yeah, we're nothing to each other now."

No one knew how that scar got there.

Five years ago, during that kidnapping, she shielded Mason from the blade.

She was in a coma for three months. When she woke up, the only thing waiting for her by the hospital bed was a breakup agreement.

He didn't even show up to sign it. His assistant brought it over.

Calla signed her name, and with that signature, she lost the three-month-old baby growing inside her.

But today, the bracelet on his girlfriend's wrist was her mother's heirloom.

Just as Calla set her glass down, the door to the private room swung open.

A four-year-old boy burst in, shouting, "Mommy!" Everyone turned to look at me.

Mason's face went completely pale.

*****

When Calvin called for the third time, Calla was in the lab, going over some data.

"Calla, you're the only one missing. Mason's coming too," Calvin said.

The glassware gleamed coldly under the lights. Calla held the phone between her shoulder and ear, her right hand unconsciously touching her left wrist. The scar was hidden beneath her sleeve, like a sleeping snake.

"Okay," she said.

She went. Not for Calvin, but to let certain people see that Calla was still alive and thriving.

The private room was up on the club's top floor, and the crystal chandelier was so bright it practically stabbed at Calla's eyes. When she pushed open the door, all the laughter stopped dead, like someone had hit pause on the whole scene.

Mason sat in the main seat, with Clare's hand draped casually over his shoulder.

"Calla," Calvin called out, all smiles. "Come sit here, right across from Mason, just like old times."

Calla took a quick look. That chair was dead center in Mason's line of sight, like she was about to be put on trial.

She slipped into the sofa in the farthest corner. As she straightened her sleeve, the scar on her wrist gave a dull ache, not from physical pain, but from the memories it carried.

"You're here?" Mason said.

His voice hadn't changed at all from five years ago, calm and indifferent, as if he were commenting on the weather.

Calla nodded, took her noise-canceling headphones out of her bag, and set them on the table, not to wear, but as a quiet shield between herself and the rest of the room.

Clare smiled, and as she walked over, her perfume filled the air. Calla's fingers froze. It was the same scent Hannah had worn five years ago, gardenia mixed with musk, sickly sweet.

"Calla, why are you sitting all the way over there?" Clare said, looping her arm through Calla's like they were old friends. "Come on, Mason saved you a seat right next to him."

Her wrist swept right past Calla's gaze.

On her wrist was a bracelet.

Calla's pupils contracted for a split second. She could feel Mason's gaze on her, burning into the back of her neck like it was real.

"No, thanks," she said, pulling her hand back, her nails digging half-moons into her palm. "I'm nearsighted. If I sit too close, I can't see anyone clearly."

Clare's smile froze on her face.

Calvin jumped in to smooth things over. "Come on, let's drink! It's been five years. What's the point of holding grudges?"

After a few rounds, someone finally brought it up. "You two were the golden couple back then. How did you guys break up out of nowhere?"

The air went dead silent.

Clare's eyes sparkled. "I'm curious too. Calla, what was it like getting kicked out by the Spencers?"

Everyone turned to look at Calla. Mason kept his head down, sipping his drink, the rim of his glass hiding his face.

That was his silent acquiescence.

Calla smiled. Her smile was flawless, like a perfect cell cultured in a lab, pure, sterile, untouched by any imperfection.

"The threshold was pretty high," she said. "Falling from it really hurt."

Under the table, her left hand gripped her right wrist, the scar rising beneath her fingertips, a reminder that she'd survived the pain once so that nothing could hurt her now.

"Oh, right," someone suddenly said, "that kidnapping happened right around the time you two broke up, didn't it?"

Mason's hand froze on his glass.

The amber liquid rippled, like a flicker of shattered light in his eyes.

Calla stood up. "I'm going to the restroom."

She walked quickly, her high heels tapping out a hurried rhythm on the marble floor. It wasn't an escape. It was a strategic retreat.

Cold water splashed over her face. In the mirror, her features looked calm, but her ears were burning red. She stared at that flush, as if it had betrayed her.

The scar beneath her sleeve itched. On her deathbed, her mother had slipped the bracelet onto her wrist and said, "Calla, you should marry someone who truly cherishes you."

Three months later, Mason's mother, Hannah, took it off right in front of everyone and tossed it to the butler. "Get rid of it. It's tainted."