Chapter 1

At the height of Jacob Reed's love for me, he severed ties with his family and eloped overseas with me.

He ended up washing dishes, exhausted to the point of coughing up blood. That was when I accepted the million his parents offered and watched as he was dragged onto a helicopter bound for home.

He clung to the cabin door until his fingers were broken, begging me not to break up with him.

I threw the money he had earned into the drain and told him it wasn't even enough to buy me a single box of paints. I said I wanted nothing to do with him now that he was poor.

Seven years later, we met again at a charity gala for the wealthy. I asked him for money and he agreed.

There was one condition. I was to be the wedding painter at his ceremony and personally witness his happiness.

I nodded without hesitation.

He didn't know I needed the money to save a girl who carried his blood, and of which he knew nothing about.

*****

"Okay," I said. "As long as you keep your end of the deal."

In the dim corner, I bowed slightly beside Jacob, finally able to breathe easy.

The terms were so simple. By agreeing, I could save Rosie.

Thank God for that.

But Jacob didn't move. He stared at the top of my head for a long moment before letting out a cold laugh.

"So, it only took you seven years to burn through the whole million?" he said. "What, did you spend it all on paint?"

I held my breath, digging my nails into my palms. I looked up at him, forcing a fawning smile.

"Yeah, the money ran out ages ago," I said. "So I need someone important like you to give me a hand."

After all, it had been seven years, and now he was a CEO and way out of my league.

He suddenly let go of my hand, like he'd touched something filthy.

"Jacob, why aren't you out front drinking? Got some girls lining up for you?"

"Jacob, you're about to get married. Don't let your fiancée catch you messing around—"

Their teasing came to an abrupt halt. Jacob's friends' faces instantly darkened, looking nervous.

"Kelly Price? What are you doing here?"

"Jacob, don't do anything stupid, man!"

"Have you forgotten how she screwed you over last time? Don't fall for it again!"

I dropped my gaze, saying nothing.

Everyone knew how far Jacob was willing to go for me back then.

He had jumped from the third floor of his house to elope overseas with me, broke his leg, and didn't bother getting it treated until the plane touched down.

He worked six jobs a day to buy me top-notch art supplies, so worn out he even coughed up blood, refusing to buy himself medicine.

Meanwhile, it only took me a second to dump him.

No wonder his friends glared at me like they'd rather see me dead when they saw me again.

"You guys are overthinking it. I just asked her to be the painter at my wedding, to paint for me and Danielle," Jacob said.

Danielle Barnes was his fiancée.

I repeated her pretty name in my head, then looked up and gave them an easygoing smile.

"Yeah, just pay me, that's all I need," I said. "What can I get you guys to drink? I'll grab it for you all."

Everyone shot me dirty looks.

They crowded around Jacob and me, bombarding me with accusations, calling me cold-blooded and warning Jacob not to get fooled by me again.

I bowed and nodded, playing along with their insults, acting meek. Across the room, I caught the manager impatiently waving at me, and my nerves started to fray.

Jacob followed my gaze, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he signed a check and dropped it at my feet.

"Start tomorrow. This is your advance," he said.

He waved me off with a dismissive gesture, clearly wanting nothing more to do with me.

Keeping my head down, I clutched the check tightly and slipped out of the crowd.

Rosie's hospital bills could be paid for a while longer.

I was so happy I nearly cried. Even if the manager made me scrub dishes for two extra hours today, I didn't feel the least bit wronged.

The thin gloves tore apart again in no time, and my fingers were peeling, looking like waterlogged, splintered wood.

But I didn't feel any pain. Suddenly, memories of Jacob coming home after washing dishes flashed in my mind. I remembered helping him apply ointment onto his hands.

The ointment was cheap, but it was better than nothing. Yet Jacob stubbornly refused to let me use more than a dab.

"Why would I need this? I'm a grown man," he'd say, covering up his chapped hands and cupping mine in his palms. "It's your hands that are precious. You're a painter."

I got distracted thinking about the old days, and a plate slipped from my hand and smashed right at my feet.

My stomach dropped. I instantly started figuring out how much less I'd get paid this month.