Chapter 1

After thirty straight days of torture at the kidnappers' hands, the once fiery and spoiled Miss Sinclair became the quietest Mrs. Fletcher anyone had ever seen.

She didn't smash Thomas Fletcher's antique vase and demand to know why he hadn't answered a single one of her ninety-nine calls for help.

She didn't storm the Sinclair family either and ask why her parents, worth billions, refused to pay a single cent to ransom her, all for the sake of their precious fake heiress.

Just like they wanted, she became gentle and obedient. No more trouble. No more tantrums.

Even after losing the hearing in her left ear and ending up in the hospital, when the doctor said a family member needed to sign for surgery, she only said calmly, "I'm widowed. I'll sign it myself."

That very night, Thomas appeared outside her hospital room, cold and severe.

His eyes landed on the gauze at her temple, and he frowned. "Stella Sinclair, why didn't you call me when you were hospitalized?"

She looked up at him as if he were a stranger and said evenly, "Didn't Mr. Fletcher put me on his Do Not Disturb list?"

The sharp smell of disinfectant filled my nose, cold as a lump of ice. I leaned against the hospital bed as a shrill ringing went on and on in my left ear, like a rusty saw grinding through my nerves day and night.

The doctor in a white coat stood at the foot of my bed with a clipboard in hand, tapping the pen against the paper.

"Ms. Sinclair, the perforation in your left eardrum is severe, and there's nerve damage as well." The doctor pushed up his glasses, his gaze falling on the empty cup on my nightstand.

He added, "You missed the best treatment window, but if we do a repair surgery now, we may still be able to save some of your hearing. You'll need general anesthesia.

"Why hasn't your family arrived? This consent form has to be signed by an immediate family member or your spouse."

I lowered my eyes to my knees under the white blanket. Beneath it, my legs were so thin they were little more than bones. "No family." My throat was dry, and my voice rasped like sandpaper. "I'm widowed. I'll sign it myself."

The doctor froze. His pen paused on the paper, leaving a tiny blot of ink. He parted his lips as if to say something, but the hospital room door was suddenly shoved open. The door hit the wall with a dull thud.

A gust of cold air from the hallway rushed in, carrying that familiar clean aquatic scent into the cramped private room.

Thomas stood in the doorway in a perfectly tailored black suit, his tie loosened halfway, irritation written all over his face. He strode to the bedside, his dress shoes thudding heavily against the cheap vinyl floor.

He looked down at me, his gaze sweeping over the gauze at my temple before his brows knotted tightly. "Stella, what kind of stunt are you pulling now?

"You were missing for a whole month, and now you're even faking a hospital stay just to make me come back and see you?"

The doctor stood awkwardly to one side, glancing between us before clearing his throat. "Sir, the patient needs quiet..."

"Get out." Thomas didn't even turn around when he spat out those two icy words.

The doctor's face stiffened. He set the clipboard on the nightstand, turned, and hurried out, closing the door behind him.

Only the two of us were left in the room.

The ringing in my left ear got even louder. I didn't look at him. I just reached out my bony hand and picked up the black pen from the clipboard.

The barrel felt cold, and my knuckles had gone a sickly pale from how hard I was gripping it.

"I'm talking to you," Thomas stepped forward and slammed a large hand over the clipboard, stopping me from signing.

He said, "Why didn't you contact me if you were hospitalized? Charles Linwood said you didn't even send one text. How long are you planning to keep up this little push-and-pull act?"

I raised my head, my gaze moving past the hand pressing down on the papers to his handsome but indifferent face.

Back then, the slightest furrow of his brow would send me rushing over to ask if he felt sick or if work had worn him out. I used to spin around him like a tireless top.

But now, looking at him looming over me like that, all I felt was sour nausea twisting in my stomach.

I set the pen down, slipped my other hand under the pillow, and pulled out my old phone, its screen cracked like a spiderweb. The screen lit up, glaring against my face, and I opened the call log.

The whole screen was filled with missed calls in red. Day one, fifteen calls. Day seven, thirty. Day fifteen, fifty. Ninety-nine in total. I turned the screen around and held it up for him to see.

Thomas's gaze landed on the dense cluster of red numbers, and his pupils tightened. He instinctively reached for the phone in his pocket.

"Mr. Fletcher must be busy," I looked at him and gave him the faintest smile. My voice was still as dead water.

"How would I dare interrupt you while you were celebrating Julia's birthday? After all, didn't you put me on your Do Not Disturb list a long time ago?" I added.

Thomas froze. He looked at me, a flicker of shock flashing through his eyes before anger swallowed it. "You went through my phone, Stella?

"Julia has a weak heart. She was in the hospital for a follow-up that month, and I only had your number blocked for a while because I was afraid you'd call and start cursing her out again like before.

"Are you really going to keep harping on something this petty?"