Chapter 1
Back in my reckless youth, I used my wealth to keep a man.
When he finally rose to power, the first thing he did was exact his revenge.
He crippled my hand and disfigured my face, then cast me off to a remote border town, condemning me to two long years of living hell.
Two years later, while I was still crawling through the dirt, I saw him again—now standing far above me.
Looking down at me, he asked why I didn't tell him I loved him anymore.
I cowered, shaking my head, consumed by pure terror. "Never again," I promised. "I'll never say it again."
*****
I was wiping down a table in a greasy spoon when news about Ethan Pierce came on the TV.
The diner was a loud, chaotic mess in the early evening.
A drunk had thrown up all over the floor, and shattered beer bottles littered the tabletop.
My hands—clumsy and uncooperative—accidentally caught a jagged piece of glass as I scrubbed with a grease-stained rag.
Right amid the racket and the sudden bite of pain, a barely audible name drifted from the TV speaker, "Ethan..."
Dazed, I wiped the sweat from my eyes and looked up.
There he was, taking me completely by surprise. I stared, frozen, at the small screen mounted on the wall.
I hadn't seen that face in two years. It felt like an eternity had passed.
The boy who had once crawled at my feet, groveling in the mud to pick up scattered bills, was gone.
In his place stood a man with sharp features and a towering presence, his face hardened into something cold and razor-sharp.
Through the roaring din of the diner, snippets of the report came through.
Ethan was coming to Southvale next week.
He'd bought a local plot of land near the Southvale Sanatorium, planning to turn it into a tourist resort.
Two years ago, to punish me for the way I'd humiliated him, he had his men drag me here and plunge me straight into a nightmare.
They threw me off a cliff. I barely survived, left with a ruined face and a useless hand.
My grandmother, Eleanor Parker, was left in a vegetative state and had been lying in that sanatorium ever since, her threadbare life hanging by a string paid for by my meager wages.
Looking at his face on the screen felt like a venomous snake coiling around my throat, slowly squeezing the air out of me.
The rag slipped from my fingers, hitting the floor. Cold sweat instantly drenched my back.
Suddenly, a jolt of raw terror hit me as a terrible realization sank in.
My whole body began to shake violently, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. Dropping everything, I turned and sprinted for the door.
Behind me, my boss, Diane Foster, shrieked in shock and fury. "Where the hell do you think you're going? You're not getting a dime for this shift!"
Her voice barely registered. A sharp, roaring rush whistled in my ears—I couldn't tell if it was the wind or something else entirely.
It sounded just like the night two years ago when Eleanor and I plummeted down the mountain. The same deafening ringing, muffling everything around us.
At the top of that peak, Ethan's driver, James Walker, had spoken in a dead, emotionless tone, "Mr. Pierce says debts must be paid."
Debts must be paid.
Ethan probably had no idea that Eleanor and I had survived that fall.
Fumbling with trembling hands, I pulled a few thin bills from my pocket.
The sanatorium wasn't far—a short walk or a quick bus ride would get me there. But panic won out. I bit the bullet and hailed a cab instead.
I couldn't let Ethan find Eleanor lying in that sanatorium when he arrived next week.
The cab lurched to a stop outside the sanatorium. I scrambled out, practically throwing the door open, and bolted straight inside.
I was moving too fast. The second I burst through the main doors, I slammed headlong into a man coming the other way.
"Sorry—" I stammered, pulling back to rush past him, but a low, raspy voice above me stopped me dead in my tracks. A chill shot down my spine. "Watch where you're going."
It was Ethan.
The news had said he wouldn't be in Southvale until next week, but here he was, standing right in front of me.
Terror slammed into me like a tidal wave, threatening to swallow me whole.
My knees buckled. I choked on a ragged breath and stumbled backward, completely rattled.
I couldn't bring myself to look up. Keeping my eyes locked on the floor, all I saw was his pale, elegant hand reaching toward me—toward my shoulder, or maybe my face.
He said something else, but I couldn't process the words over the deafening roar ringing in my ears.
Instinct took over. I threw my arms up to shield my head, knocking his hand away. "I'm so sorry! It's all my fault!"
It was all my fault. Humiliating him all those years ago was my fault. Showing my face in front of him today and ruining his mood was my fault.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I gasped, my shoulders trembling as I kept my head buried, braced for the blow to fall.
He stood there for a beat, then suddenly leaned down, bringing his face close to mine.
My panicked eyes met Ethan's as he scrutinized my features. The face that had haunted my nightmares for the past two years forced its way back into my reality.
Yet, there was no anger in his expression. No hatred, either.
Only confusion.
I flinched back another two steps, the truth dawning on me in a sudden flash: He doesn't recognize me.
When I fell off the cliff two years ago, branches and jagged rocks had torn my face to shreds.
The surgeons had managed to piece me back together, but I looked drastically different now.
Crisscrossed with deep scars, I barely resembled the person I used to be.
Ethan's brow furrowed, his confusion shifting into the pitiless look you give a crazy person. "Are you alright?"