It had been a month since Alistair Brennan left for Monaco with Kiera Byrne, the young woman who had supplanted Aurelia Rossi in his affections. In all that time, Aurelia had been silent.

Only then did Alistair realize something was wrong.

He finally carved out a moment to call his Consigliere, Finnian. "How's the wound on Aurelia's leg? Is she still angry about the skin graft for Kiera?"

A long silence stretched over the line before Finnian spoke, his voice low. "Miss Rossi was discharged a month ago. She also left the penthouse."

Alistair’s mind flashed back to the day of the ballroom explosion. As he’d clutched Kiera, he’d seen Aurelia’s eyes, and in them, a look of utter despair and finality.

It wasn’t sadness, not even close.

It was a goodbye.

————————

1

In the tenth year of living under Alistair’s protection, I received a job offer from a design firm in Seattle.

My friends' voices still echoed in my ears, their incredulous attempts to change my mind.

"Lia, are you serious? You’re leaving the moment your residency is finalized? Why?"

"Yeah, why? Alistair treats you like a queen. A whole decade! He’s been completely devoted!"

"We all saw those ninety-nine proposals! It was unbelievably romantic! You never said yes, but he never gave up! If that's not true love, what is?"

"Is it because of that Kiera? Come on, she's just the daughter of some associate Alistair recently took under his wing. I heard she has some tragic backstory; he's just feeling sorry for her. How could she possibly compare to you?"

"Exactly, Lia, don't be foolish. That's ten years of history! Alistair cares about you so much! There's no way some naive girl could change that."

Love?

I lifted my eyes, gazing through the one-way glass of the private club's booth to the roaring underground boxing ring below.

By the side of the ring, a familiar figure in black slowly straightened up.

He took the towel from one of his men, turned, and dabbed the sweat from the young girl's temple with an easy familiarity.

Alistair Brennan.

Kiera sat beside him, smiling up at him, her eyes curving into happy crescents. From that angle, she did look a lot like I had at her age.

Alistair wore a relaxed, even indulgent smile, one I hadn't seen in a long time. Lately, his gaze held little more than weariness and impatience when it landed on me.

My friends followed my gaze and fell silent, their voices fading as an awkward silence fell over the table.

"Maybe it's just a coincidence."

"But Alistair, he…"

I tore my eyes away, my expression impassive. I took a sip of champagne, letting the cold bubbles fizz on my tongue.

"I'm tired," I cut in, my voice leaving no room for argument. "I'm heading back. My decision about Seattle is final."

I stood, grabbed my clutch, and managed a faint smile. Before they could say another word, I was gone.

The night air should have been warm, but it felt chilling as it blew against my skin.

Ten years…

I still remembered the day Alistair had pulled me from the ruins of what I once called home, a casualty of a firefight between rival families. I had cowered in a corner, not even daring to lift my head.

With endless patience, he taught me etiquette, showed me the splendors of the world, and gave me the best of everything. He spoiled me like a Principessa, showering me with such luxury that I almost forgot the girl I once was.

Those ninety-nine proposals, each one grand and meticulously planned, were the stuff of every girl's dream.

It wasn't that my heart was unmoved. It was just that I always felt an undercurrent of unease, as if this happiness were a fragile dream. I told myself to wait a little longer, until I was more worthy of him, until our love was indestructible.

When did it all start to change?

Perhaps it was a year ago, when he brought Kiera home. He ruffled her hair and said half-jokingly, "Lia, look! I found your little stand-in. Funny, right?"

Or maybe it was the first time Kiera deliberately broke my favorite picture frame. I got angry, but Alistair just frowned at me.

"Aurelia, she's just a child. She doesn't know any better. Let it go. It's just an old frame. If it's broken, I'll buy you a new one."

Or maybe it was when I smelled a strange perfume on his collar, or saw suspicious messages on his phone.

He never explained. He just tried to placate me with more expensive jewelry, then lost his temper.

"Can't you just be more understanding? I'm tired. I don't have the energy to coddle you every day."

Or maybe it was during the ninety-ninth proposal, when he held my hand, his eyes under the starry sky seeming so distant.

"Lia, we're almost at a hundred. You'll say yes then, right?"

But the hundredth time never came.

Instead, one night he came home drunk, slinging his arm around my shoulders with a cruel, flippant laugh.

"Aurelia, I'll be honest. I had that iris tattoo on your collarbone—the one for you—changed to a rose for Kiera. Even the best dish gets boring if you eat it for ten years. You just be a good girl and wait. After I've had my fill of this fresh little thing, we'll get married."

Boring.

The word stabbed straight into my heart.

My last hope was shattered a week ago, on my twenty-fifth birthday.

I waited all night, but he never showed up.

All I received was a series of blurry photos from an anonymous number. In them, Alistair had his arm wrapped tightly around Kiera’s waist as they disappeared into a hotel.

For the first time in ten years, Alistair had missed my birthday.

In that moment, something inside me snapped.

I stopped walking. I took a deep breath, then slowly let it out.

I looked up through the gaps between the skyscrapers. The night sky was a deep, endless dark.

I took out my phone, opened the offer email from the Seattle design firm, and typed a single word in the reply box.

Accepted.

It was time to wake up from this ten-year dream.

I slid the last stack of documents through the window at the immigration office.

The staff member quickly flipped through them. "Everything is in order. You should receive a decision within a month by email."

I nodded. "Thank you."

I turned to leave.

"Where do you think you're going?!"

A sharp, accusatory voice cut through the hall.

I stopped and turned.

Alistair stood a few meters away, his face grim.

Kiera clung tightly to his arm. When she saw me, she shrank behind him as if startled.

But I caught the triumphant glint in her eyes.

I opened my mouth, but Alistair cut me off, his voice cold and impatient, as if my plans were his to command. "Good, saves me the trouble. There's a charity auction in Monaco at the end of the month. I'm taking Kiera."

He glanced at Kiera, his tone softening.

"She's a bit sheltered, so I'm taking her to see the world. You've been to plenty of those events; you must be tired of them. You're sitting this one out."

I was stunned.

Just a week ago, he had been holding me from behind in his study, his chin resting on my head as we flipped through the auction catalog. He had even pointed to a blood diamond and said, "This one suits you. I'll use it for the hundredth proposal."

He had forgotten so quickly.

I looked at his distant face, all the words I wanted to say catching in my throat.

I just nodded, my throat too tight to speak.

"Wait." Alistair's tone was husky, a command. "We're leaving together. The car is outside."

The familiar black, bulletproof Bentley was parked by the curb. I habitually reached for the passenger door.

Alistair’s movements faltered, and his brow furrowed.

"Alistair!" Kiera chirped, pointing to a shiny charm engraved with a 'K' hanging from the rearview mirror. "Look, it's still here!"

Her voice was sweet, with an undercurrent of gloating.

My hand froze mid-air. I stared at the childish charm, so out of place in the car's staid luxury. That charm had been mine. It felt like an icy grip had seized my heart. A hot rush surged to my eyes.

I had sat in that seat for nearly ten years.

Alistair glanced at me, a flicker of unease in his eyes, but his voice brooked no argument. "Kiera gets carsick and she doesn't like sitting in the back. You can ride back there for now."

Sit back there.

The words were a dull ache spreading through my chest.

I said nothing. I just nodded, retracted my hand, and opened the back door.

The interior was completely transformed.

Pink wool seat cushions. The air thick with a cloyingly sweet fragrance. The seat pockets stuffed with Kiera's snacks.

Every trace of me had been erased, replaced by another girl's garish, glaring taste.

The Bentley slid into the stream of traffic.

From the front, their quiet conversation drifted back.

"Is it hot in Monaco now?"

"Not too hot, not too cold. I brought that white velvet evening gown for you, it'll be perfect."

"You're the best! We have to stay in a suite with a sea view, then."

"Alright. Whatever you want."

Every word was a knife twisting deeper in my heart.

I turned my head, my eyes fixed on the streetscape gliding past the window, my nails digging into my palms.

Amid the heartache, the present blurred with the past.

Years ago, in this same car, the first time Alistair took me to Italy, he had pointed excitedly at the unfamiliar scenery. He held my hand tightly, stuffing the plane tickets, hotel information, and itinerary into my hands.

"From now on, wherever you want to go, we'll go together, side by side."

Back then, I was the only one in his world.

A screech of tires—then a deafening bang.

Several black SUVs slammed violently into our side.

The world spun. Gunshots and the shriek of tearing metal devoured everything.

The Bentley careened out of control, spinning, skidding, and then lurching to a stop.

I was trapped in the mangled back seat. A sharp pain tore through my body. I couldn't move, and every breath sent a fresh wave of agony through my chest. The thick, metallic smell of blood and gunpowder flooded my nose.

From the front came groans and panicked movements.

Then Alistair's voice, raw and trembling with fear.

"Kiera? Kiera! Answer me! Where are you? Don't be scared, don't be scared! Look at me, I'm here! Get the backup vehicle! Now!"

He had forgotten.

There was someone else in the back.

Aurelia Rossi.

Using what little strength I had left, I squeezed, inch by painful inch, through a gap in the mangled car door, fighting the tearing pain that wracked my body.

Blood blurred half my vision. Every movement brought me closer to fainting.

I finally broke free, collapsing onto the cold, rough pavement, gasping for air, my whole body trembling.

I forced myself to lift my head.

The glaring sun flooded my vision.

Alistair was carrying Kiera, moving with excruciating care as if she were the most precious, fragile thing in the world. He stumbled as he ran in a panic toward the backup bulletproof car that had just pulled up.

He didn't once look back at the car, now little more than a twisted wreck.

He didn't remember the person in the back seat.

I lay on the road, my face caked with blood and shards of glass. I watched as the door of the bulletproof car slammed shut, cutting off the two figures. The roar of engines and the crackle of gunfire filled the air as the motorcade sped away.

Warm blood trickled from my forehead, dripping onto the asphalt.

The family's private clinic was in chaos.

Alistair practically roared as he grabbed the head physician who had rushed over. "Save her! Save her first! Use the best medicine, the best doctors! Now!"

His eyes were bloodshot, his hands trembling. All his fear and panic were locked on the person being wheeled into the emergency room.

Just as the chaos began to subside, I saw a look of dawning horror cross Alistair's face. Aurelia.

His heart seized. He fumbled for his phone, about to order a man back to the ambush site, but his fingers were stiff and clumsy.

Then, he turned and saw me. I was staggering toward him from the end of the corridor, moving slowly, as if every step was on broken glass.

The blood on my forehead had dried, leaving dark streaks on my pale face. Dust covered my clothes. I looked battered and frail.

I saw a flash of pain in Alistair's eyes. He rushed toward me, grabbing my arm. "Lia. Are you okay? Where are you hurt? Just now, I…" His words became a panicked, incoherent jumble as a wave of delayed terror washed over him.

"Kiera passed out! I didn't forget you! I swear I didn't mean to!"

I lifted my eyes, but my gaze was empty. It landed on his face but seemed to see nothing.

I gently pulled my arm free without answering.

That silence made Alistair even more frantic. His gaze dropped to my leg and froze. I followed his eyes to the long, ugly gash on my calf, the skin peeled back in a mess of flesh and blood. It was surrounded by a large area of bruises and abrasions, blood and dirt mixed into the wound. And above the wound, the tattoo on my collarbone—the iris he’d had changed into a garish rose—seemed to mock us both.

He knew how easily I scarred, how even a small cut could leave a permanent mark. For ten years, he had protected me so carefully, barely letting me get a single scratch.

"Doctor!" Alistair's voice was sharp as he grabbed a passing physician. "Treat her. Use the best of everything. I don't want to see a single scar, you hear me?"

He pressed my shoulders urgently, trying to steady me.

"Don't be scared. It's okay. Modern medicine is very advanced. It won't leave a scar."

I looked at the fear and confusion in his eyes and felt a momentary daze.

The emergency room door opened, and a nurse peeked out. "Mr. Brennan! Miss Byrne is awake! She's very unstable and has been crying for you!"

Alistair froze for a second, then immediately turned, the worry in his eyes instantly shifting.

The nurse added in a low voice, "The wound on her cheek is deep and severely infected, with extensive tissue damage. Even after debridement, it will be difficult for it to heal properly… it might leave a permanent, indented scar and could even affect her facial muscles."

Kiera's broken sobs drifted out from inside, raw and desperate.

Alistair's expression flickered. He glanced toward the emergency room, then abruptly turned back to my leg. His eyes were filled with a terrible struggle.

Then, as if he had made up his mind, he walked over and stopped in front of me, his voice dry and tense.

"Aurelia… Kiera's face is injured. The doctor said she needs a small piece of healthy skin for a graft."

I snapped my head up, staring at him in disbelief. I shook my head, taking a step back.

"Just a small piece," Alistair said urgently.

He couldn't meet my gaze, his eyes darting toward the emergency room as if Kiera's cries were a physical pull.

"She's still young. Her life is over if her face is ruined! Lia…" He paused, the next words seeming to scorch him, but he forced them out anyway. "Consider this settling a debt. For saving your family. For the ten years I've kept you."

Settling a debt.

Those words pierced me, tearing me apart.

I stared at the man before me, so familiar yet so strange. I saw the anguish on his face as he worried for someone else. I saw my own torn leg, the wound he had just sworn would not leave a scar.

A bitter tide of hurt and despair rose in my chest, swallowing me whole.

I opened my mouth but couldn't make a sound.

Finally, moving slowly, I gave a slight nod.

Alistair seemed to let out a breath of relief, but at the same time, he looked as if he'd been stung.

He quickly looked away and shouted at the doctor, "Quick! Arrange the surgery! Use the best anesthetic! Don't let her feel any pain!"

Then, he rushed into the emergency room to comfort the crying girl.

I was wheeled into the operating room. As I closed my eyes, a single tear slid down my cheek.

My last thought before the anesthesia took hold was that this was good, in a way.

A piece of skin.

To repay ten years of his kindness.

When I woke up, the anesthesia still hadn't fully worn off. My head felt heavy and muddled.

A deep, throbbing ache came from my leg.

I turned my head with difficulty.

In the clinic room, Alistair sat on the sofa opposite me, his attention completely focused on the slender figure in his arms.

Kiera's face was wrapped in gauze. She leaned against his chest, sobbing softly.

Alistair held her carefully, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm on her back, soothing her in a gentle voice. "Don't cry. It's all over. The skin graft was a success, it won't leave a scar. I'm here with you."

His voice was so soft, so focused, as if Kiera were his entire world.

I slowly looked away. My fingers trembled as I lifted a corner of the blanket.

Thick gauze was wrapped around my thigh.

At the edges, the exposed skin was red and swollen.

I had always been terrified of scars.

Now, I really had one.

The pain in my heart was like having a piece of flesh ripped out.

But now, everything was even.

A piece of skin.

For ten years.

We were quits.