Chapter 1

Ronan Stone, the movie king, stunned everyone at the awards ceremony by suddenly announcing his relationship.

Trending topics blew up instantly.

Paparazzi snapped him after the ceremony, holding a bouquet at the airport, waiting for someone special.

Meanwhile, as his wife, I was in Verof, trapped beneath the ruins left by shelling.

My phone screen was cracked, and with only one bar of signal, a bunch of messages started pouring in.

I saw my own message. [Let's get a divorce.]

Ronan only replied with one word. [Okay.]

*****

When I woke up in the ruins, my left leg was dead weight. I couldn't feel a thing.

Dust and smoke had me gasping for air, making every breath a struggle.

My ears were ringing, and I could see dust swirling in the thin slivers of light.

I was pinned under a concrete slab, stuck between two concrete panels, immobile.

All around me were scattered bricks and mangled rebar.

A dust-covered rag doll dangled from a twisted piece of rebar nearby, gently rocking with the lingering tremors of the blast.

I fixed my gaze on it, and out of nowhere, memories of my own childhood doll flooded back, pink dress, golden hair, eyes that blinked open and shut.

My grandma said my parents gave it to me for my third birthday.

But after that, my parents were gone.

The doll stayed back home, and I hadn't seen it in ages.

I lay in the ruins of Verof, my mind wandering to a childhood rag doll.

I managed a small smile, but the tug at my lips sent a jolt of pain through me.

I felt warm liquid seeping from my brow, sliding past my temple, and dripping into my ear.

I fumbled out my phone from my pocket.

The screen was shattered, but it was still barely usable.

The battery was down to 20%.

I stared at that single, flickering signal bar, having no idea who I should call.

I wondered if I should call the rescue team or my colleague.

I was smack in the heart of the war zone, and the conflict was still going strong. I couldn't let them risk their lives for me.

Should I call Ronan?

I stared at the shattered photo on my phone screen.

It was a picture I'd secretly taken of Ronan.

Back then, we were newly married. He was sitting on the couch in comfy clothes, reading a script.

His profile was striking, prominent brow, long lashes, and those thin lips curved into a gentle smile.

The screen was broken, and the crack split right across his eyes.

The last time I messaged him was five days ago.

I texted: [Let's get a divorce.]

Once it went through, I shut off my phone and went straight to that small town in the middle of the fighting.

I didn't wait for Ronan's reply.

Lying here in the rubble, I had no idea how much longer I'd survive.

I pulled up WhatsApp and saw only his reply to my message.

It was only one word. [Okay.]

I gripped my phone in my hand, the shattered screen pressed against my palm, the broken edge biting into my skin.

A shell landed not far from me.

The impact made the concrete slab above my head tremble, dust raining softly down.

I closed my eyes.

They said that when one was about to die, his whole life would flash in his mind.

I'd heard that before, but I'd never experienced it myself.

Now, it was happening to me.

Instead of my life flashing before my eyes, all I saw was one person.

It was Ronan.

I first met him two years ago, in fall.

Being a war correspondent might sound cool, but it was a hard job.

Most of the year, I was out in Tstoryn, and the rest of the time, I was back home, catching my breath, writing stories, and running around for all kinds of random interviews.

That year, I'd just come back from Sytak, and the office made me take two weeks off.

They said I looked so pale that I could play a ghost in a haunted house without makeup.

I didn't have anywhere to go, and I didn't have any friends I could reach out to anytime.

My friends and coworkers back home were busy with their jobs and families. I was always the one off traveling for work. Their priorities were elsewhere.

I went back to my dorm and slept for three days straight.

When I finally woke up and looked out at the darkness outside my window, the loneliness washed over me.

So that night, I packed my bags, threw on my backpack, and set out for Creekville, planning to hike up a snowy mountain and catch the sunrise.

When living life solo, I needed to find something to anchor myself.

The high altitude up in those mountains was brutal, altitude sickness, hypothermia, and a bad fall. Any of it could get you in serious trouble.

I met Ronan on that mountain trail.

The weather was perfect, sunlight filtered through the pine trees, and the ground was covered in thick, soft needles that made every step feel cushy.

As I rounded a bend, I suddenly heard someone shouting up ahead. "Is anyone there? Help me!"

I took off my headphones and followed the sound.

Off the side of the trail, a few yards down, someone was lying there, a hiking pack sprawled next to them.

The slope was steep. It looked like he'd missed his footing and slid down.

I crouched at the edge of the path, peering down at him.