Chapter 1
The fifth winter Pedro Pierce and I are together is the winter I am diagnosed with cancer. It is also the winter he brings her back, the one he's never gotten over.
I don't try to hide it. I just hand him the doctor's report. He takes a long drag from his cigarette before he finally speaks, "I'll give you one million dollars. That should be more than enough for stage-two breast cancer."
He adds, "We shouldn't see each other anymore. My fiancée is a really sweet person, and I don't want to put her through any drama."
I say nothing. I just watch him pack his bags, leave our apartment, and start planning his wedding.
While he is picking out flowers and invitations, I am shaving my head and fighting for my life in chemo.
A year passes. I am in full remission, feeling stronger than I have in years, when I bump into him on the street.
He grabs my arm, his eyes instantly turning red and glassy. "Emma, where have you been?" he pleads. "I've been looking for you everywhere."
He launches into a story about how the whole thing with his old flame is a huge misunderstanding, and then he asks the question I never thought I'd hear. He asks if we could start over.
Deliberately, I pull my arm from his grasp. "I'm afraid not," I say flatly. "I'm married now. In fact, we just had a baby."
*****
The exact moment Pedro Pierce decided to dump me, I was holding a piece of paper that confirmed I had breast cancer.
Unlike the heroines in the books, I didn't hide it. I just held the report out to him.
"Are you sure about this?" I asked, my voice surprisingly steady. "Because I have cancer. And it's pretty serious."
His icy gaze flickered with surprise. He instinctively glanced down at the paper.
There, in stark black print, it read: [Stage II Breast Cancer. Immediate hospitalization recommended.]
He clearly hadn't prepared for this plot twist. The air between us grew thick and still.
After all, he was Pedro Pierce, heir to one of the most powerful families in Westminster Hills. Getting rid of a plain-looking nobody with no connections like me would be effortless for him.
But my getting seriously ill became a moral complication for him.
He frowned, the silence stretching on before he finally spoke, "Look, I'll raise the offer. One million dollars in total. Consider it severance. It's sufficient for your medical expenses."
This was the same guy who, in high school, used to hide in an empty classroom and cry because he missed his mom. Now, he was just a man with a blank expression, throwing money at the woman he had spent the last five years with.
I almost laughed. After everything we had been through, I didn't even dare to call myself his girlfriend.
I took a deep breath and took the credit card from his hand.
I just looked at him calmly.
"Do I need to sign something?" I asked.
"What?"
"An NDA," I clarified. "Do I have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before I can touch the money?"
A faint smile touched his lips as he replied, "No need. Let's just keep this clean."
He really was good at making a clean getaway.
I nodded and slipped the card into my pocket, watching as he opened a drawer and removed his watch and some personal documents.
He had clearly been planning this for a while because his expensive clothes had been gone for weeks.
The soft lamplight caught the sharp line of his jaw, and for a dizzying second, I saw the shy, sweet boy from high school saying goodbye.
But that boy was long gone. Pedro wore a cold mask. "I deleted you," he said flatly. "My fiancée might get the wrong idea."
"If you need anything, call my secretary. He'll take care of it."
He paused at the door to put on his shoes, the very pair I had bought him for his birthday, the ones he used to love.
As an afterthought, he added, "And about your situation. I'll ask around for a doctor. Charlotte knows a lot of specialists."
Charlotte Rivers was the girl he had finally won back.
I let out a hollow reply. "Thanks."
The door slammed shut, and the apartment fell into a deafening silence.
It dawned on me that this was the kind of day where a person should probably cry.
But when your luck is this far down, sometimes you don't even have the energy for tears.
I tried to summon them, but my eyes stayed stubbornly dry.
Screw it. I grabbed some clothes and went to take a shower. I stood in front of the mirror afterward, staring at the stranger looking back at me.
The face wasn't stunning, but it wasn't ugly, either. I had these narrow eyes that Pedro used to love.
"Emmy," he once said softly. "Your eyes tell so many stories. Looking at you makes my heart ache."
He wasn't wrong. I had stories.
My dad was a gambling addict, and my mom was a junkie. After they died, I clawed my way up on scholarships and social assistance until, by some bizarre twist of fate, I ended up entangled with Pedro.
To this day, I still didn't get it. What kind of messed-up luck did I have to end up dating Pedro?
Five years passed. I could barely remember how I survived them.
Every day felt like a dream. The bookworm, the nobody, had somehow landed the guy every girl in school dreamed about.
Now, the dream was over. The woman in the mirror had lost her magic. All that was left was a sick girl with one million dollars and a 2,000-square-foot apartment.
I couldn't even put a name to the emptiness I felt.
The silence in the apartment was crushing.
I turned on the heat and picked up my phone. Charlotte had posted a new picture.
The caption read: [After all this time, you were still here waiting for me.]
The photo was a beautifully composed shot of a man and a woman kissing.
Even in the dim light, I recognized Pedro's profile, the one that used to take my breath away.
The comments were a chorus of squealing ex-classmates.
[OMG! My OTP is finally canon! My life is complete!]
[Congrats you two! A match made in heaven! Wishing you forever!]
[Pedro, you better treat our school belle like the queen she is!]
Then, one comment that broke the rhythm.
[Wait, didn't Pedro have a girlfriend? That super smart girl Emma something?]
I refreshed the page. The comment was gone.
In its place was a new reply from Pedro himself, right under Charlotte's post: [Baby, I'm all yours.]