Chapter 1

I ended up marrying the guy who bullied me all through high school.

When we met for a blind date, he acted like he didn't know me, and I just played along.

With my age catching up, my parents breathing down my neck, and his credentials looking pretty good, I figured it was a good deal.

I thought that we should just treat each other as strangers.

After we got married, he was really good to me.

He was so gentle and thoughtful that sometimes I'd just zone out, wondering if this was really the same guy who pushed me down the stairs all those years ago.

He remembered what I liked to eat, cooked up midnight snacks when I was working late, and would hold me and comfort me when I couldn't sleep.

But the more he did, the more it felt like some twisted irony.

Then, one weekend, his phone died, and he asked me to set his alarm for him.

When I unlocked his phone, I accidentally opened his notes app.

The pinned note was from three years ago.

It was just one simple sentence, but it made my whole body tremble.

*****

Anthony Garza was busy in the kitchen.

The exhaust fan hummed softly in the background.

The air was filled with the aroma of ribs.

I set down my design sketches and walked into the kitchen.

He was wearing a simple white T-shirt and the gray apron I'd bought him, his features softened by the warm yellow glow of the kitchen lights.

He heard my footsteps and turned around.

"Tasha, you're up?" he asked.

His voice always had that deep, magnetic quality, like the lingering note of a cello.

I nodded.

"Hungry? It'll be ready in a minute," he said with a smile.

His eyes held a glimmer, like scattered starlight.

I leaned against the doorframe, watching as he expertly tossed the pan, thickened the sauce, and plated the mouthwatering ribs onto a white porcelain dish.

It was our first year of marriage.

He treated me so well.

Honestly, there was nothing I could fault him for.

He remembered every little thing I liked.

He knew I couldn't stand onions, ginger, or garlic, but I was crazy about cilantro.

I had a sweet tooth and needed my food to have a kick, couldn't go a day without something spicy.

I liked to have a glass of warm water in the morning, and hot milk before bed.

He remembered every anniversary, our wedding day, my birthday, and even the day we first met for that blind date.

Whenever I worked late, he'd leave a light on and cook up a plate of steaming hot midnight food for me.

When I was doubled over with cramps, sweating and in pain, he'd press his warm hands to my stomach and awkwardly rub my belly, doing his best to comfort me.

When I woke up from a nightmare, he'd hold me tight in his arms, kiss my forehead again and again, and softly whisper, "Don't be scared. I'm right here."

All my friends envied me.

They said I married for true love.

They joked that a guy like Anthony was the kind of man I would only get if I had saved the entire world.

I'd just smile and keep quiet every time.

My friends had no clue.

This man, so gentle and attentive, spoiled me rotten, made me feel like a princess every single day, was the devil who ruined my life and sent me straight to hell ten years ago.

I would always remember that winter in my second year of high school.

The snow was falling thick and fast.

The stairwell in the school building was freezing and damp, no heating at all, just that bone-chilling cold.

Anthony came with his crew, trapping me at the landing on the fourth floor.

Back then, he was tall and lanky, drowning in a loose school uniform, his whole face radiating that fierce, untamed defiance.

He had an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, tilted his head at me, and flashed that cocky, bad-boy grin.

"Tasha, I heard you snitched to the teacher about us picking on that nerd," he said.

I clenched the straps of my backpack, my nails digging into my palms.

"I didn't," I said.

"Still won't admit it, huh?" he smirked.

One of his buddies suddenly stepped forward and shoved me hard.

I staggered, slamming into the icy wall, pain shooting through the back of my head.

Anthony let out a mocking laugh and slowly closed the distance between us.

His shadow engulfed me, blocking out everything else.

He lifted his hand, pinched my chin, and forced me to meet his gaze.

His fingers were icy cold, and his grip was so tight it made my jaw ache.

Anthony said, his voice low and dangerous, "You know what?

"I hate it when people lie to me."

He carried a faint scent of tobacco, mixed with that crisp, youthful smell unique to teenage boys.

But all I felt was suffocated.

Fear wrapped around my heart like a bunch of icy snakes, squeezing tighter and tighter.

"I really didn't..." I stammered.

My voice was shaking so badly I could barely get the words out.

"Still denying it?" Anthony said coldly.

His eyes went cold in an instant.

Anthony sneered, "Fine, you can take the fall for that nerd."

He released his grip on my chin.

Before I could even process what was happening, he swung his leg and slammed his foot right into my knee.

Pain exploded through me, sharp and blinding.

I stumbled, my body pitching forward as my balance slipped away.

My whole body went flying down the stairs, totally out of control.

The world spun wildly around me.

The last thing I saw was Anthony looming over me, his eyes looking down with icy detachment.

He stared with cold contempt, like I was just some worthless bug.

I didn't even remember what happened next.

All I knew was that I spent a whole month in the hospital.

My left knee was fractured, and it never fully healed.

Whenever it rained, the pain would flare up, sharp and deep.

That incident became a nightmare that haunted me throughout my entire high school years.

Anthony was the king of the school. Nobody dared mess with him. Plus, his family had money and connections.

He didn't even get a slap on the wrist.

All he did was stand up at a school assembly and give some half-hearted apology, just going through the motions.

After that, I always made sure to avoid him whenever I saw him.

It was like we lived in two completely different worlds.

We never crossed paths again until three years ago, when we met for a blind date.

The second I saw him sitting across from me at the restaurant, I wanted to bolt.

Ten years had passed, and he'd changed a lot.

He'd shed that teenage awkwardness and rebellious vibe, his gaze was deeper, his features sharper and more defined.

He was dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, with an expensive watch strapped to his wrist.

He'd become the kind of guy who was handsome, rich, and carried himself with a calm, grown-up confidence.

But I recognized him right away.

Those eyes hadn't changed at all from ten years ago.

When he saw me, he just froze for a moment.

Then he slipped right back into that polite, distant smile.

"Hello, Tasha," he said.

He offered his hand across the table.

I stood frozen in place, unable to move.

He didn't seem to care, smoothly withdrawing his hand without missing a beat.

The whole blind date, I felt like I was sitting on pins and needles.

But he acted like the ideal blind date, charming, polite, and totally at ease.

He was witty, and his manners were impeccable.

He never mentioned anything about our history, as if we were total strangers meeting for the first time.

I just played along.

I didn't know if he actually remembered me or not.

Maybe, to him, I was just another ant he stepped on without a second thought when he was young and wild, not even worth mentioning.

After the blind date, I figured that was it.

But to my surprise, he suddenly started pursuing me.

Every single day, he'd send fresh flowers, text me right on time, and show up with gifts that were always spot-on.

He took me to art shows, concerts, and somehow scored a table at that private restaurant I'd been craving for ages but could never get a reservation for.

He never missed a beat. He was smooth as hell.

My parents were over the moon about him, pushing me non-stop to make a decision.

My mom said, "Tasha, you're not getting any younger.

"Anthony's got everything going for him, guys like him are one in a million.

"He's so good to you, what are you waiting for?"

I also wondered what I was still hesitating for.

I was twenty-eight already, way past the age of believing in fairy-tale romance.

Marriage, to me, was just about finding someone I could team up with for the daily grind.

Anthony was the best fit.

As for everything that happened before, I decided to let bygones be bygones.

I had to move forward with life.

That was what I kept telling myself.

So, I agreed to marry him.