es was the last so

dly intent. One second, Olivia Reed, my fiancée, was laughing, her hand in mine as we crossed the street, talking about the fin

no time

st a

and onto the safety of the sidewalk. I saw the surp

me the

world shattered into a kaleidoscope of pain a

as a frantic plea, a silent

ase, take care

ready growing frail, to the woman I was about to marry. I trusted

three ye

, a neurosurgeon with sharp eyes and a surprisingly gentle voice. Sh

in of scar tissue, the bone structure beneath it shattered and poorly healed. The

didn't recognize, haunted by the ghost of the man I used to be. During that tim

w Ol

her face a perfect mask of tragic grief. She spoke of her fiancé, the

voice thick with emotion. "I pray for him to wake

ooled me, lying there paralyzed in my hospital bed. A p

al facial reconstruction," she said. "W

man reborn, ready to put this tragedy behind us. I spent months in grueling physical therapy, learning to w

ok a cab to the house I had bought for us, the home I had designed myself. My heart hammered in

alked through the familiar rooms, but they felt different. Colder. Her

upstairs. A woman's l

amiliar. Mark Stevens. My bes

I stopped just outside the master bedroom, the

ended for the

They were kissing, a deep, passionate kiss that spoke of lo

other?" Olivia murmured against his lips, her voic

or her expensive medication? That we let the old woman waste away in that cheap n

sweet, gentl

ad kil

d down his chest. "That house, the company... it's all ours now. We just have to

ting on the ashes of my family. The sound of their pleasure was a

ed, a strangled gasp of agony escaping my throat. It wasn'

oom, the mov

?" Mark's voice wa

the door. He had heard me.