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.