I took a bullet for my fiancé. For five years, I was a ghost trapped in my own body.

The day I woke up, I saw him.

Pinning his secretary to my hospital bed.

"Dante, careful," she whimpered. "I'm pregnant."

His hand just tightened on her throat. "Pregnant?" he sneered. "Get rid of it."

"Only Elara will ever be the mother of my children."

"But she's a vegetable!" she choked out. "She'll never wake up!"

"So what?" he spat. "Even in a coma, she's the only one I want."

He swore he loved only me. While he was still buried deep inside another woman.

So, three days later, I stood at the altar.

And gave my vows to his mortal enemy.

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1

Dante and Isabella fucked in my hospital room for what felt like an eternity. When they finally finished, they collapsed onto the sofa, panting.

Every grunt and gasp was a needle plunging into my heart, a sharp, searing pain that spread with every beat.

I stared numbly at the ceiling, hot tears slipping from the corners of my eyes to soak my collar.

I never imagined the man I'd risked my life for would do this to me. In my own hospital room.

"Dante, look, Elara... her hand moved!"

Isabella's gaze landed on my tightly clenched fist, and she shook Dante's arm in terror.

The color drained from Dante's face. He snapped his head toward me, and the moment his gaze caught the wet tracks of my tears, he scrambled forward in a panic.

"Elara?! Elara, you're awake! You're finally awake!"

The next second, he froze. His body was a roadmap of Isabella's scratches and lipstick stains. He frantically yanked the bedsheet over himself, babbling incoherently.

"Elara, it's not what you think. I can explain..."

"Who are you? Where am I?"

I cut him off, my voice a hollow whisper. I let my gaze drift aimlessly around the room, faking a blind, vacant stare.

I saw the tension drain from his shoulders the instant he bought my act. He stepped closer, taking my hand, his voice softening to a caress.

"Elara, it's me, your Dante. You're finally awake. I'm so happy. I thought I'd never hear your voice again."

The first second I woke up, he was all I could think about. I’d pictured him ecstatic, ready to finally make good on his promise to marry me.

Even when I saw him with Isabella, my mind had stubbornly insisted it was a hallucination.

My heart seized in my chest, the pain stealing my breath.

Pretending I couldn't see was the only way to find out how long he planned to keep up this disgusting charade.

Amid his frantic relief, Dante didn't forget to test me. He waved a hand in front of my face.

"Elara, you really... can't see me?"

I suppressed the hurricane churning inside me and slowly shook my head.

Dante let out a sigh of pure relief. He pulled a velvet box from his coat pocket and flipped it open, revealing a diamond ring.

I recognized it. "The Tear of Sicily." He'd had it custom-made five years ago. It was the Moretti family heirloom ring. He was going to propose on the very day of the attack.

He pulled out the ring, his eyes burning with an intense, unwavering affection that made my stomach churn.

"Elara, the assassination attempt five years ago… it interrupted my proposal. Now that you're back, I want to ask you again. Elara, I love you. Marry me."

His tone was so sincere, the love in his eyes so overwhelming, as if he truly meant to grow old with me.

Who would believe that just minutes ago, this same man had been buried deep inside another woman?

The image of them together, just minutes ago, sent a wave of bile rising in my throat.

Seeing my silence, Dante took it as tacit agreement. He took my hand, ready to slip the ring on my finger.

At the sight of this, Isabella's face contorted with rage. She angrily hurled something in our direction. It landed right on my blanket.

My eyes fixed on it. A condom. Used.

A violent wave of nausea washed over me. I threw back the covers and began to dry-heave.

Dante flinched. He snatched the blanket, tossing it to the floor as if it were on fire, and anxiously patted my back. "Elara, what is it? Are you feeling sick?"

The cloying scent of Isabella's perfume on him filled my nostrils. My stomach churned violently, and I couldn't hold it back any longer. I threw up.

After years of nothing but nutrient drips, all I brought up was bitter bile.

Seeing this, Dante grew even more frantic and pulled me into his arms.

"Elara, are you okay?"

I wanted to shove him away, but my body was too weak. I could only shake my head feebly.

"I'm getting a doctor," he said, his voice tight with worry. "You need a full check-up."

The concern in his eyes deepened. He threw on his clothes, called for a doctor, and Isabella tactfully slipped out of the room.

The test results came back quickly, showing I had recovered remarkably well. The doctor said I could be discharged in three days.

Hearing the news, the smile in Dante's eyes widened. He picked up the ring again. Before I could resist, he slid it onto my finger, his tone brooking no argument.

"Elara, the gods must have sent you back to me. They saw how much I suffered waiting. We'll go to the church in three days, the day you're discharged. Next month, I'm going to throw you the grandest wedding Chicago has ever seen."

I swallowed down my disgust and managed a soft, "Mm."

I was going to the church, all right. But the groom wouldn't be him.

Dante started to say more, but I lay down and turned my back to him.

"I'm tired. I want to rest. You can go."

A flicker of disappointment crossed his face, but he left without another word.

The moment the door clicked shut, I grabbed the phone from the bedside table and dialed a number from memory.

A deep, cool voice answered on the other end.

"Who is this?"

"It's me. Elara. Ten years ago, you asked me to marry you. Does that offer still stand?"

The man on the other end was silent for a beat, clearly stunned. When he spoke again, a raw, suppressed excitement thickened his voice.

"Elara... you're awake? That offer... as long as I'm alive, it always stands. But... are you really ready to leave Dante Moretti?"

I didn't answer his question. I just stated calmly:

"Then come to the church in three days. And marry me."

The next day, Dante arrived early, insisting on taking me out for some fresh air.

I hadn't seen the sun in five years. I had no reason to refuse. He pushed my wheelchair into the hospital garden.

The moment the daylight hit my skin, I felt truly alive. The sunlight painted my gray, muted world in vibrant colors.

But Dante, still believing I was blind, sighed with a hint of regret.

"It's a shame you can't see this beautiful scenery. Or me."

A bitter, self-mocking smile touched my lips, my gaze turning to ice.

He had no idea. Not only did I remember everything, but I'd also seen every glistening drop of sweat on his skin as he moved on top of Isabella.

Just then, Isabella materialized, holding a bouquet of black roses and blocking our path.

She bowed respectfully. "Don, I've come to visit Miss Elara."

Her tone was deferential, but her eyes, when she looked at Dante, were full of naked lust.

With that, she strode right up to Dante and, standing on her toes directly in front of me, pressed her lips to his.

Dante didn't push her away. He wrapped an arm around her waist, cupped the back of her head, and deepened the kiss with raw possession.

The sight was a fresh sting, throwing me back to the day he knelt in the pouring rain, swearing to the heavens that he would never, ever betray me. Maybe he did love me then. But it was also true that he didn't love me anymore.

It didn't matter. I would be gone soon. They could have each other.

They were so lost in each other that Isabella "accidentally" slammed into my wheelchair. The coffee cup in her hand tilted, and scalding liquid splashed across my calf.

My skin instantly erupted in an angry red welt, the searing pain forcing a sharp gasp from my lips.

Hearing the sound, Dante abruptly pushed Isabella away and rushed to my side.

"Elara, your leg... I'll get you treated right now."

"I'm so sorry! It's all my fault, I'm so clumsy... Please, punish me, Don, it was all my fault..."

Isabella bowed her head, feigning terror, but I saw the triumphant flash in her eyes.

Dante didn't waste a second. He swept me into his arms, carried me back to the room, and barked for a doctor to bring some burn cream. He only seemed to relax after the wound was tended to.

But he was still fretting about a scar, insisting on getting the best ointment money can buy.

"Elara, your skin is so delicate. Even a small wound takes forever to heal. Wait here, I'll be right back."

So he did remember. The gunshot wound on my right leg, from when I saved him, had left a gruesome scar. Even after five years, it was still starkly visible.

But what was this small burn compared to the wound he had personally carved into my heart?

Just as he left, the door opened again. Isabella sauntered in on her high heels, her eyes brimming with contempt.

"You can see, can't you, Elara? When Dante and I were fucking by your bed, and just now in the garden. You saw everything."

I was a little surprised. I hadn't expected her to see through my act so quickly when Dante, the man who was supposed to have loved me for years, remained completely oblivious.

Seeing my silence, the mockery in her eyes intensified.

"Do you have any idea how he doted on me during the one thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five days you were in a coma? We slept together countless times. Two-thirds of them were in this very room. A few times, when you looked like you were about to wake up, he'd get even more turned on, fucking me until I passed out. He even... got me pregnant."

She caressed her flat stomach, her gaze turning venomous.

"Elara, don't say I didn't warn you. Dante doesn't love you anymore. If you want to keep your dignity, you'll disappear. Otherwise..."

She never finished her threat. Dante was back.

He returned with a pharmacy bag. The first thing he did was kneel and carefully apply an ointment to my leg, not sparing Isabella a single glance, as if she were nothing but air.

Seeing him so focused on me, the warmth I once felt at his touch was gone, replaced by waves of pure revulsion.

Oh, Dante. You shouldn't have. After I took a bullet for you, you never should have betrayed me.