In my fifth year on the night shift, cleaning a luxury hotel in New York City, my ex-husband, Jasper Stephens, bought the place.

Wearing handmade custom brogues, he crushed the six-year-old hearing aid I had just dropped—a device yellowed with age.

With a sickening crunch, my world plunged into absolute silence.

I frantically reached for it, but he kicked my hand away. The back of my hand instantly flared red and started to swell.

Jasper Stephens loomed over me, his thin lips moving, his eyes gleaming with vengeful satisfaction.

I read his lips: "Aurora Dawson. Five years ago, in that wildfire, you were quite the survivor, weren't you? Ditching me to save your own skin. Look at you now—a pathetic, mute wreck."

A ripple of suppressed snickers went through the people gathered around us.

Jasper raised an eyebrow, pulled a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills from his wallet, and tossed them contemptuously at my feet.

"Go on, pick them up. You need the money more than anyone, don't you?"

I lowered my eyes and numbly reached for the cash.

My quiet compliance only seemed to stoke his fury. He lunged, his hand clamping around my neck. "Stop playing dead! Speak!"

He didn't know.

The thick smoke from that fire had already ravaged my voice.

And I hadn't run away.

I had carried his unconscious body on my back for miles, stumbling along a rugged mountain path until the sheer exhaustion stole my hearing—and with it, the sound of him ever saying he loved me again.

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1

A wave of suffocation washed over me. My vision tunneled to black as my fingers weakly clawed at his searing wrist.

A nervous voice from the crowd cut in, "Mr. Stephens, please, let's not cause a scene..."

He abruptly let go. I collapsed to the floor, clutching my throat and coughing violently.

He beckoned to the hotel manager, Mr. Hansen.

"Tonight, the entire top-floor executive lounge is hers to clean. Alone."

Mr. Hansen looked troubled. "Mr. Stephens, this..."

"What? Does my word mean nothing here?" Jasper shot him a cold glance. "Or has this hotel grown so fond of a mere cleaner?"

Mr. Hansen’s expression immediately shifted, his face splitting into a sycophantic grin. "Of course not! Aurora, what are you waiting for? Thank Mr. Stephens for this opportunity!"

I pushed myself up from the floor and bowed deeply to Jasper.

My forehead almost touched my knees.

It was the deepest, most subservient bow we were taught to perform.

Jasper, however, recoiled half a step, as if my deference had seared his skin.

He gritted his teeth, muttered, "Boring," and turned on his heel to leave.

The woman in the sequined dress hurried after him. "Jasper, don't let someone like her get to you..."

Their voices faded down the hall.

Once the corridor was empty, I crouched and gathered the scattered bills, one by one.

Just then, my phone vibrated. A text from the hospital:

"Ms. Dawson, your account balance is insufficient. Please remit payment within three days to hold your bed for chemotherapy."

I stared at the words for a long, hollow moment, until the screen timed out and went dark.

Jasper returned, materializing at the end of the hall, watching me with cold eyes.

"Next Saturday is Camilla's and my engagement party in the Hamptons. We're short a server. A thousand an hour. You in?"

I clutched the bills in my hand and signed back: I'll do it.

A complex, disgusted look twisted his features.

"Are you that desperate for money?"

I nodded.

"Suit yourself," Jasper clipped, turning to go. He paused at the door. "Dress presentably. Don't embarrass me."

The door clicked shut.

My phone vibrated again.

This time, it was my landlady, Mrs. Gable: "Aurora, next month's rent is due. If you don't pay up, I swear I'm throwing all your stuff out on the street."

I neatly folded the cash I’d gathered from the floor and tucked it into the inner pocket of my uniform.

Then I picked up my mop and got back to work.

Just like five years ago, when I knelt in our little log cabin in California, wiping the mud from Jasper’s boots.

Back then, he had said, "Aurora, once my company goes public, I'll buy you a penthouse in Manhattan. You can paint all day and never have to work another day in your life."

Now, his company had gone public.

And I was on my hands and knees, scrubbing a floor that wasn't mine.

When I got back to my rundown apartment in Brooklyn, an iron chain was padlocked across the door.

I leaned against the cold wall and slowly slid to the floor in the dim hallway.

I took out my phone and opened the encrypted photo album, my eyes falling on the single picture inside.

Against the fiery backdrop of the California wildfire, I was carrying an unconscious Jasper on my back. My face was blackened with soot, my clothes torn to shreds by grasping branches.

The photo was taken by a passing park ranger on his phone. He’d offered, "Miss, let me get you some help."

I told him not to, that I could handle it.

The truth was, I was at my absolute limit.

My ears were bleeding, my throat felt like it was being seared with hot coals, and the dead weight on my back threatened to crush me with every agonizing step.

But I didn't let go.

Because the man on my back was my entire world.

Later, the ranger sent me the photo with a message: "Your boyfriend is a very lucky man."

He didn't know that this photo had become my only solace.

Proof that I hadn't abandoned him.

Proof that I had carried him for miles, until I saw the glorious headlights of the ranger's truck.

But when I finally stumbled into the community hospital in Red Creek Town, I saw Camilla—my so-called friend—throwing herself into the arms of a newly awakened Jasper, crying pitifully.

"Jasper, you scared me to death! When I rushed back into the fire to save you, I thought we were going to die together..."

Jasper stroked her hair, his voice weak but impossibly gentle.

"Camilla, thank you. I'll take care of you for the rest of my life."

I couldn't hear what they said after that.

A sedative was pushed into my veins, and my world dissolved into darkness.

When I woke up, I was in an observation room in the emergency department.

The doctor explained that I had inhaled too much smoke. It had caused permanent damage to my vocal cords, and I might never speak again.

He also mentioned that the auditory nerves in both my ears were damaged and recommended a hearing aid.

Finally, he told me the second-degree burns on my face would require expensive skin grafts.

I asked the doctor where Jasper was.

The doctor paused. "You mean the man brought in with you? He was moved to a private room yesterday. His fiancée is with him."

Fiancée.

The word was a needle to the heart.

I ripped out my IV line and, dragging a leg that was still bleeding, shuffled step by step to Jasper's room.

The door was ajar.

I saw Camilla gently feeding him soup.

I heard her say, "It's a good thing I got there in time... I can't believe Aurora. Running off on her own is one thing, but to not even call for help?"

Jasper was silent for a moment before his voice came, cold and distant. "Don't mention her name."

"Okay, okay, I won't," Camilla said, dabbing at the corner of her eye. "I'll take care of you from now on. When you're better, we'll start over, okay?"

Jasper didn't speak.

But his hand reached out and took hers.

I stood frozen outside the room as the admissions paperwork in my hand fluttered to the floor.

A passing nurse paused beside me. "Are you a family member of the patient?"

I opened my mouth, but only a dry, rasping sound came out.

The nurse frowned. "If you're not family, please don't block the doorway."

I turned and walked away.

And I stayed away for five years.

Before my phone screen went dark, I deleted the photo.

Keeping it was pointless now.

Some truths were destined to be buried with me.

Just as he would never know that the unique scar on his wrist wasn't from the fire. It was from me, from the shard of glass I’d used to cut him free from tangled barbed wire while carrying him down the mountain.

The engagement party was held on the sweeping lawn of Jasper's seaside estate in the Hamptons.

When I arrived, Camilla was slipping into an expensive haute couture gown.

It was pure white silk, with an intricate, jeweled clasp at the back that glittered dazzlingly under the lights.

She saw me and waved with a saccharine smile. "Aurora, come help me. Is this clasp a little loose?"

I walked over and, with my eyes downcast, reached out to adjust it.

The moment my fingers brushed the cold jewels, Camilla cried out and stumbled, knocking a glass of red wine from a nearby table. The contents splashed in a perfect arc across her pristine gown.

"Oh!" She covered her mouth, her eyes instantly welling with tears. "Aurora, I know you hate me, but you can't ruin my dress..."

A hush fell over the guests as every head turned in our direction.

Jasper stormed out of the house, his face a thundercloud the moment he saw the garish red stain on Camilla's chest.

"Aurora Dawson!" He seized my wrist, his grip so tight I felt my bones might snap. "Did you do that on purpose?"

I shook my head, my hands starting to form an explanation.

But he wasn't looking. He dragged me toward the cliffs behind the estate.

"Since you love causing trouble so much," he snarled, shoving me toward the cliff's edge. I scrambled back in fear, but he blocked my retreat with his foot. The sea wind whipped my clothes around me. "Why don't you cool off right here!"

In the next instant, I was teetering on the very edge of the cliff.

The cold sea wind battered me, making it hard to keep my balance.

I struggled to take a step back, only to see Jasper standing a few feet away, glaring down at me with cold indifference.

Camilla was nestled at his side, whispering, "Jasper, let it go. I'm sure she didn't mean to."

"Didn't mean to?" Jasper sneered. "I know exactly what she's like. She can't stand to see anyone else happy!"

I stood in the wind, trembling from head to toe.

My hand shot out, grabbing a nearby rock to steady myself.

But Jasper's shoe came down, pressing hard on the back of my hand.

"Did I say you could move? Just stand there. When the party starts, you can come out and do your job."

Camilla tugged at his arm. "Jasper, the guests will be here soon. This doesn't look good..."

"What's the problem? She's just a cleaner. Who's going to care if she falls?"

He wrapped an arm around Camilla's waist, and they walked away.

I stood on the cliff's edge, watching their retreating figures.

The sun was bright, the lawn was a vibrant green, and the white of her gown was so brilliant it hurt my eyes.

It was just like our wedding day five years ago.

The same beautiful weather. The same kind of lawn.

He had held my hand and said, "Aurora, I will love you forever."

Later, forever shrank to three years.

Shrank to a wildfire.

Shrank to this: standing on the cliff of his estate, waiting for his engagement party to begin so I could serve drinks to his guests.

I don't know how much time passed before I heard Arthur, the butler, call out from a distance, "You there. Time to get to work."

I opened my eyes and saw him standing a short distance away, expressionlessly tossing a server's uniform in my direction.

As I walked toward him, my legs were so weak I could barely stand.

Arthur frowned. "Get changed. Quickly. The guests have all arrived. Mr. Stephens has instructed you to be in charge of the beverage station. No mistakes."

I nodded, took the uniform, and headed for the staff changing room.

As I passed the master dressing room, I heard Camilla's bright laughter from inside.

"Jasper, do you think these diamond earrings match the gown?"

"They do," Jasper's voice was unnervingly gentle. "You look beautiful in anything."

"And... more beautiful than Aurora?"