ana

, the physical pain a dull throb compared to the gaping wound in my heart. The doctor's questions about the sedative wer

ff, flashed in my mind. He' d left me there, pushed our car off the road, hoping no one would find me. It wasn't the paparazzi. I

ouldn't recall, leaned in. "Your condition is

been ripped apart? My baby, gone. My career, ruined. My husba

asked, the name feeling foreign on my t

couldn't reach him. We contacted yo

powerless. Britton had made sure o

and menacing, pulling me from the wreckage, pushing me towards the edge. It wasn't Britton. It was

me to die. He had driven the car, his hands on the wheel, while I bled in the passe

ther sedative. I flinched. "No," I said, my

be a victim. I refused to let him win. I would not let my story en

icrophones, type furious articles, sign important documents.

g jawline, a silent observer from my accident. My rescuer. Cruz Pennington. He had been the one to pull me

s voice a low rumble. "Ar

gton," I replied, a bitter edge t

his eyes. He didn't offer platitudes or

with you about the acciden

gaze fixed on Cruz. He had been there.

ok my head, a subtle message. Not yet. I needed to get

b of betrayal was vast and deep. I had lost everything, but in t

d. "You're a stain on this family." She would revel in my downfall. She wou

es, his calculated betrayal. Baylee, her feigned vulnerability, her ruthless ambition.

and more beautiful than before. The pain was still there, a constant companion, but now it was a

m and steady. "You're a fighter," he said, his voi

felt like an eternity, a tiny spark of something other than despair

t exactly what that means." My hands still ached, but I felt a new kind of p