Leona Carpenter’s mind went completely blank. Her legs felt heavy as lead, too heavy to move. A car tore past her like a streak of black lightning, so close it was almost terrifying. The gust of wind it kicked up sent her crashing to the wet pavement.

She figured the driver would just speed off—there wasn’t a soul around to see what happened. But instead, the car swung around and screeched to a stop right in front of her.

The door swung open, and a pair of perfectly polished black leather boots stepped out onto the road. Long, straight legs strode toward her with purpose, and a black umbrella tilted over her head to block the unrelenting pouring rain.

"You okay?" Vance Martinez’s deep, rich voice cut through the drumming of the rain.

Leona lifted her gaze to the man standing over her. He had sharp, striking features, a chiseled jawline, and eyes so deep and magnetic they pulled her right in, holding a mysterious glint she couldn’t look away from.

Wait… those eyes. Did she know them? She couldn’t quite place it.

Leona shook her head, her voice soft and rough from the shock. "I’m fine, thank you…"

She pushed herself up with effort, but the scrape on her calf and the cut on her foot made her flinch hard, and she stumbled right back down.

Suddenly, a strong, muscular arm curled around her waist, hauling her steady against a solid, warm frame.

Before she knew it, she was pressed right up against Vance’s chest, wrapped in his crisp, masculine scent. Her hands landed instinctively on his chest, and she could feel the hard, firm muscle under his dress shirt— and her heart immediately started hammering against her ribs.

Her palms burned with embarrassment, and she tried to scramble back. Instead of letting go, he just lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

She frowned, her gaze turning icy. "What do you think you’re doing? Put me down!"

She’d dated Michael Hansen for three years, and they’d barely even held hands more than a handful of times. A stranger this forward? It made her skin prickle with discomfort.

Vance held her gaze, his expression calm and unshakable. "You’re hurt. You need to get to a hospital right now."

"I-I can walk on my own." Being this close to him made her jittery; his cool, commanding aura wrapped around her, and it only amplified her nerves.

"Don’t move," he ordered, his voice firm and authoritative, and all the protests died right in Leona’s throat.

Once she was settled in the car, a cold chill went through her and she sneezed. Vance reached over to turn down the AC, then noticed she was still shivering, and draped his wool coat over her shoulders. "Don’t catch a cold."

"Thank you." The coat held his scent and warmth, and it stirred something weird and unnameable in her chest.

Vance caught the pink rising in her cheeks, and a flicker of amusement glinted in his dark eyes. "I should be the one thanking you."

"What do you mean?" Leona blinked, confused.

He held her gaze steady, his voice low and sure. "Thank you for letting me apologize. For giving me a chance to make this right."

The car ate up the road quickly, and before long they pulled up to a hospital nearby. Leona insisted on walking on her own two feet, so Vance matched her slow pace as she limped toward the emergency entrance.

When she came back out, she found him with his back to her, talking on his phone. The second he spotted her, he hung up and walked straight over. "Here’s my number. Hit me up if you need anything at all."

"I don’t need anything else," Leona said politely, declining the business card he held out. The accident was over, and she liked to keep things simple—no unnecessary messy ties with strangers.

She paused, then held out his coat to him. "Here’s your coat. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning, of course."

Vance glanced at the coat in her hands, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You need it way more than I do right now."

His simple line warmed her chest all of a sudden, unexpected. She wondered if she was just extra raw and vulnerable today, to get this worked up over a stranger’s small kindness.

"Thank you, but I’m fine. I really need to go." She turned down his offer of further help—she had urgent matters waiting for her back at the Hansen house.

Vance watched her slender figure retreat down the sidewalk, a determined glint burning in his eyes. "We’ll meet again soon."

Leona Carpenter stepped across the threshold of what was supposed to be her and Michael Hansen’s marital home, her chest feeling heavy as she scanned the hollow, empty rooms. She already knew she’d be the only one walking through that door tonight.

Her gaze snagged on the bold fall wreath nailed to the entry door. Without a single flicker of hesitation or regret, Leona stepped forward and wrenched it down.

Every surface in the house was strung with vibrant autumn decor, and every piece just rubbed her raw anger in deeper. She cleared it all away methodically, one by one, until her eyes finally landed on the framed wedding photo of her and Michael.

Leona stared at it in silence. The raw ache in her gaze faded, leaving nothing but cold indifference in its place. She grabbed a pair of scissors and drove the blade straight through the middle of their grinning faces.

Once every trace of their marriage was erased, Leona sank alone onto the couch and sat there from dusk till dawn. Just as exhaustion was starting to blur her vision and make her head spin, she finally heard a key turn in the lock.

Once upon a time, her heart would’ve leaped right out of her chest to greet him. This time? She stayed right where she was, calm as anything, on the couch.

Michael walked in without a shred of guilt on his face. He dropped tiredly onto the opposite end of the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Go get me a cup of coffee."

Leona let out a dry, bitter laugh. "Michael. We’re done."

Her words came out hard, unshakable—there was no mistaking the finality in them.

Michael’s dark eyes locked with hers, unreadable as ever, like he was turning something over in his head.

Leona’s lips tugged into a sardonic smirk. "Why the confused look? You already made your choice, didn’t you? When you left me stranded at the altar, and even when Aila crawled back into your life?"

Michael grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the coffee table, fished one out with that familiar, practiced motion, lit it, and took a long, deep drag. After a minute of dead silence, he spoke in a cool, even tone. "Breaking up is better for both of us. You’ve always misunderstood Aila, way too deep for that to ever change. Staying together would only hurt her more."

Leona stared at him, and this time she laughed out loud, no holding back. "I honestly have to wonder—Is there anything you wouldn’t do for Aila Ellis?"

Michael stubbed his cigarette out hard in the ashtray, a flash of impatience glinting in his eyes. "For three years, I tried to move on from her. But you can’t help who you fall for. I hope you can forgive me. Just don’t take this out on Aila—she didn’t do anything wrong."

That’s when Leona completely lost it, cackling like she’d just heard the funniest joke in the world.

Three years of waking up next to him, three years of day in and day out trying to make this work. She’d poured every piece of herself into fixing what was broken, stupidly believing love could change a man, that her heat could eventually thaw the ice around his heart.

For him, she’d given up so much—even turned her back on her own family. And after all that? All she got was this: you can’t control your feelings.

Michael watched her like she’d lost her mind, a brief flicker of something that looked almost like pain crossing his face. "This card has a hundred grand on it. Enough for you to live comfortable back home in the countryside."

So that was it. Three years of giving him everything she had, and he priced it at a hundred thousand dollars.

But what did he know? To Leona Carpenter, a lousy hundred grand meant nothing.

"Michael, I was with you for you—nothing else. I don’t give a single crap about the Hansen fortune, or that stupid, coveted title of Mrs. Hansen!" Leona’s face was set like stone, her gaze holding nothing but cold indifference and unshakable resolve.

"I don’t want your apology, and I don’t want your money! Get that through your head: We will never, ever get back together." With that, she stood, held her head high, and walked straight for the door with purpose.

Michael watched her walk out, that determined stride of hers, and for a split second his chest tightened so sharply it knocked the breath right out of him. Before he even knew what he was doing, his hand lifted half an inch, reaching for her.

I walked out with nothing but one thing – that stupid men’s blazer was somehow still in my arms.

I limped down the sidewalk, sun blazing down overhead, but I still felt ice cold right down to my bones. Fumbling for my phone, I pressed call on a number I knew by heart. "Kendra? Can you come get me?" I asked.

Twenty minutes later, Kendra screeched to a stop right in front of me in her cherry-red sports car.

One look at the white bandage wrapped around my leg and she ripped her sunglasses off, worry written all over her face. "Babe, what the hell happened to you?"

"Kendra, can I crash at your place for a while?" I asked weakly, slumping back against the passenger seat. I told her everything that went down with Michael Hansen, my voice totally flat, like I was just reciting some stranger’s story, not mine.

"That whole Hansen family are a bunch of freaking idiots! And who the hell does Aila think she is, even daring to compare herself to you?!" Kendra’s anger rolled off her in waves, her foot slamming heavier on the gas as she ranted a mile a minute. "If it wasn’t for you, how the hell would Michael even gotten where he is today? Is he just blind and stupid? Or just a shameless asshole who’s never satisfied? All these years, how much have they stolen from you, out in the open and behind your back? The second Aila waltzes back in, you get tossed aside like trash. That family really invented being shameless, I swear."

I answered her totally calm. "Kendra… the perfect life with loving parents and a happy marriage? It just wasn’t ever meant for me."

Kendra’s brow furrowed a little. She remembered my messed up childhood, and a flash of pain crossed her eyes. "Babe, don’t be sad."

"If I know it’s not for me, I don’t have to crave it anymore. I don’t have to be heartbroken over it either," I said softly, letting out a tired breath before closing my eyes. "I’m so worn out. I’m just gonna nap for a minute."

Kendra picked up that something was wrong right away. She pressed a hand to my burning skin and cursed under her breath before slamming on the gas straight for the hospital.

The whole ride there, she ripped the Hansen family a new one – not a single one of them got let off the hook.

Let’s be real, the Hansens were barely scraping by on the wrong side of town once upon a time. Without all my plans and my advice, what shot did Michael ever have at becoming the big shot he is today? They sucked up to me nonstop when I was useful, but the second Aila came back, they couldn’t kick me to the curb fast enough. They traded the real thing for fake, thinking they’d get along just fine without me. We’ll see how that goes.

When my fever finally broke, I woke up in the harsh white glow of a hospital room. The smell of disinfectant hung thick in the air, and I grimaced.

As my head cleared, I automatically scanned the room – and my gaze locked on a familiar silhouette sitting right next to my bed.

My breath caught. I tightened my hand around the blanket, my voice coming out rough and raspy. "Uncle…"

"How you feeling?" Uncle Matthew stood up, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. When he felt no more fever, he breathed a sigh of relief and handed me a mug of warm coffee. "Still sore or anything?"

I shook my head fast.

"Kendra told me everything," Uncle Matthew said, his face soft with sympathy but tight with anger as he looked at my pale, exhausted face.

He let out a heavy sigh, anger simmering just under the surface. "What are you planning to do now?"