I chased Julian Valerius for five years, and the heir to the formidable Valerius family finally agreed to marry me.

Before the announcement of our engagement, I was left for dead after a planned car crash. I called him three times for help, but at Genevieve Lancaster’s urging, he coldly hung up every time.

When I crawled out of a ravine, covered in blood and with permanent nerve damage in my right hand, I finally understood I could never be a part of his world. I decided to let him go.

But just when I walked away, he refused to let go, holding me captive, his eyes bloodshot as he begged me for a chance to atone.

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1

When I dragged my broken body into an underground clinic, I was a wreck of tattered clothes and caked blood.

The doctor looked at me and sighed. He said that a few hours sooner, my hand might have been salvageable.

As the doctor’s verdict settled over me, I stared numbly at the clinic's dim ceiling. Severe nerve damage to my right hand. I would probably never hold a carving knife again.

A single tear escaped, tracing a path down my temple. Despair swallowed me whole. Why couldn't I ever learn to let go?

What was Julian Valerius doing right now?

He was probably pouring an expensive whiskey, toasting the removal of his little "problem"—me. Perhaps he and his Principessa, Genevieve Lancaster, were finally enjoying their time together, uninterrupted.

A bitter laugh escaped me. I was out of their way now.

Just then, my phone rang. It was Julian.

I slowly closed my eyes. It was time to end this.

When Julian stormed into the clinic, his expensive suit was immaculate. He frowned, his gaze imperious as he looked down on me. His eyes were cold, like a master regarding a disobedient pet. "What is this new trick, Ava?" he demanded. "Why didn't you answer my calls?"

"You got hurt just because I missed one call? I told you I was busy. Can you try being considerate for once?"

His words were salt in my wounds, tearing them open anew.

A silent scream tore through my numb heart. Not one question about what happened. Just condemnation. Even the sight of me lying here, broken and near death, couldn't stir an ounce of compassion in him.

But then, why should I be surprised? He had five years of practice finding the words that could pierce my heart.

I gazed at him, desolate, unable to form a single word. Tears welled, making my reflection in his eyes look fragile and helpless.

The sterile white walls seemed to reflect his coldness, and the sharp scent of antiseptic mocked my foolishness.

Julian had never seen me so broken, and the sight made him uncomfortable. "Just lay low and recover. Don't forget our engagement ceremony is coming up. I need to get back and handle that deal."

"That port deal is very important to me," he added. "Don't bother me again."

Without another word—or a single question about my injuries—he turned and left.

A bone-deep chill washed over me as I watched him walk away.

The words caught in my throat. This was the man I had chased for five years.

Tears began to stream down my face, hot and unstoppable. I had thought my devotion, my sheer persistence, had finally touched him. That he had finally seen me.

The port business was important to him. Genevieve Lancaster was important to him. His family, his men—they were all important. But me?

Reality had just dealt me a brutal lesson. Determination didn't guarantee a happy ending. To Julian, my heart was worthless.

Then why agree to marry me? Why give me that sliver of hope?

Eventually, the sun bled from the sky. I curled up on the narrow bed, shivering, my mind replaying that night. Alone. Trapped in the mangled car. I’d drifted in and out of consciousness, convinced I was going to die.

Before I lost consciousness completely, I called Julian. He was the first person I thought of, but he never picked up. I lay there all night, and help never came.

Perhaps I was wrong from the very beginning. Forcing things. Forcing myself into his untouchable world with nothing but my art. It was never meant to be.

I spent five days holed up in the clinic. My body began to heal, but my hand remained a useless appendage.

The doctor suggested I go abroad for more advanced nerve treatment. A bitter smile touched my lips. Where would I get that kind of money?

I left the clinic and returned to my rented studio. The small space was a shrine to him, filled with sketches and wax models I’d designed with him in mind.

I had fallen for Julian five years ago at one of his family’s galas. From that moment, he became my muse, the very soul of my art.

The entire studio was saturated with his style. It felt like I had been living in his shadow for so long I had forgotten my own shape.

The emotions I'd suppressed came rushing back, a suffocating tide. I looked around at the drafts and models of Julian that littered the studio, and I screamed, a raw, ragged sound.

I tore the drawings from the walls. I slammed the wax models to the floor and crushed them under my heel. I destroyed every design I had once poured my soul into, unleashing my fury in a wake of destruction.

Then I collapsed onto the floor and wept until I had no tears left.

Everything was ruined. Everything.

Only one sketch survived the purge—my favorite. It was framed and hung on the wall, forgotten in the blindness of my rage.

The drawing was of the first time I met Julian.

I reached out a trembling hand to touch the glass, but a phantom jolt of electricity shot up my ruined arm.

My face was still wet with tears as I froze, my hand hovering in the air.

So much for being strong.

...

Three days later, Julian found me at the victory party he was hosting for the port deal. His eyes burned with fury as he cornered me, demanding, "Why didn't you answer my calls? Do you have any idea what you missed? Do you know how important this was? Even if you're going to throw a fit, Ava, you need to pick your damn moment!"

His words were like hail, but they only bounced off the numbness in my chest.

There was so much I wanted to scream, but all that came out was a quiet, "Congratulations on the deal."

Julian's expression softened slightly. "You saw the news, then? I didn't see you there. You should have waited for me."

I hadn't seen any news. I had just guessed. With his resources, that port deal was a sure thing.

I gestured to the well-dressed guests mingling around us. "Look at them. The jewelry… it's beautiful, isn't it?"

A sad smile touched my lips. This was probably the last time I would ever step into a world like this. I watched the crowd, my eyes lingering on the glitter of a necklace or the sparkle of a bracelet on a woman’s wrist.

One of those pieces had been mine. My design.

Julian rubbed his temples and reached for my hand. "Ava, I know I've been neglecting you. I've been busy. But you know how important that port was. Stay tonight. Get dressed up, stay by my side."

"I'm busy," I replied, my gaze calm and steady on his. "Julian, let's end this."

He laughed, a short, humorless sound. "End this?" Then his voice softened to that gentle, unyielding tone he always used. "Be good, Ava. I'll take you home after the party, alright?"

I tilted my head, considering him for a moment. "No. We're over."

He tried to pull me into his arms, the familiar move that had always made me surrender.

But the moment his hand touched me, the horror of the crash flooded back. I screamed, shoving him away with all my strength.

Every head in the vicinity turned to stare.

The fragile composure I'd fought for shattered in an instant.

I crumpled to the floor, clutching my head. Resentment, agony, despair—everything I had swallowed for his sake came rushing back. My entire life's work had evaporated in a single night.

And I could have been saved. If I had reached the clinic just a few hours earlier; if he had answered my call; if he had just been patient enough to listen…

Julian froze, his shock palpable. He seemed afraid to take another step.

"Ava, it's me. It's me," he said cautiously, his usual arrogance gone. "What happened?"

It took every ounce of my will to pull myself together. I walked out of the banquet hall. Julian followed close behind. "I need to be alone," I said, my back to him.

Back in my small studio, I sat alone, my thoughts a tangled mess. One moment, I wanted to sob; the next, I felt nothing at all.

I thought I was over it, but one look at him made the grief raw all over again.

The studio was brightly lit. I'd started sleeping with the lights on; the darkness reminded me too much of that endless night, of the searing pain, of the one man I had reached for in my desperation being the one who had shattered my future.

I hated Julian, but I knew he was under no obligation to save me. I had no right to blame him.

But I couldn't help it. He was my fiancé. We were about to announce our engagement. He could have given me three seconds to speak instead of cutting me off with a clipped, "I'm busy." Or called back when he realized I never came home. I had never stayed out all night. He had to know something was wrong.

He knew exactly where I was; I'd told him I was on my way to pick up a custom-cut gemstone.

The shredded paper scattered across the floor was a monument to my own foolishness. My persistence was a joke.

When I was young, I insisted on studying jewelry design. No one took me seriously, so I carved out a path for myself, eventually making a small name.

But fate had played a cruel joke. Everything I'd built was temporary, and now it was all gone.

I tossed my design tools into the trash and stuffed the few remaining drawings into a portfolio, planning to discard them the next day.

That night, a well-connected friend sent me a message. Julian had hinted at an engagement at the party.

He probably didn't know about my hand yet.

What future did I have if I couldn't hold a carving knife?

He had celebrated his victory and announced his engagement, but he hadn't named his bride. Everyone was congratulating him, but all eyes were on Genevieve Lancaster, who stood glowing by his side. They looked like a perfect power couple.

And I sat in my little studio, surrounded by the paper ruins of my own folly.

The next day, news of the impending union between the Valerius and Lancaster families was the talk of the city.

"Valerius Heir to Marry Genevieve Lancaster, Uniting East Coast Powerhouses."

Every comment below the headline was congratulatory.

That afternoon, Julian came to my studio. It was the first time he had ever set foot in it.

Just as well. We needed to set things straight.

I opened the door. When he saw the mess inside, he froze. "What happened to all your work?"

"I can't design anymore."

"What? Are you kidding me? What happened? Why did you block me?" He stared at me, his displeasure obvious, scolding me as if I were a misbehaving pet. "Stop fooling around, Ava. Our engagement ceremony is next month."

"I know I've neglected you lately, but you need to be more mature. Pull yourself together and come home with me."

He acted like this was all just another one of my little dramas.

I laughed, and tears immediately welled in my eyes. "Home? What home? The one you share with Genevieve Lancaster? The news of your engagement is plastered everywhere. Why would I go there?"

He frowned, his eyes turning cold and distant. "I announced our engagement last night. It was supposed to be a surprise for you. You weren't feeling well, you left early… so of course people misunderstood. I admit I handled it badly, but I'm fixing it. This has nothing to do with Genevieve. She's a victim here too."