Westbrook Rehabilitation Center was the most expensive private facility in the city.

Locked down, access-controlled. Without family consent, not even a fly got out.

Julian actually delivered me there.

While we were processing the intake paperwork, Sienna stood at his shoulder.

She wore a tailored designer suit and four-inch stilettos, and she moved like she'd been shot in a perfume commercial.

Once upon a time, I had been the most luminous swan under a stage light, bringing down the house with a single pointe.

Now I sat in a chair like a broken doll.

"Miss Ellsworth, this place will suit you beautifully." Sienna stepped forward and looked down at me. "Julian went to so much trouble to arrange the best suite. Really."

She put a small, deliberate weight on his name—like a claim.

I looked at her, cold.

"You don't need to stake your claim in front of me. I don't rifle through trash I've thrown out."

Sienna's color changed. Then she pressed her fingers to her mouth and laughed, playful.

"Such a sharp tongue. A shame. All that fight doesn't change the fact you can't stand up."

"You—" My hands went white on the armrests of the chair.

Julian stepped between us.

"Enough, Sienna. Step out."

Sienna pushed out a little pout. "Julian, I'm only worried about Miss Ellsworth—"

"Out."

Sienna stamped her heel and left.

The room emptied down to just me and him.

The air was so heavy it was hard to breathe.

He crossed the room, crouched, reached toward my leg.

"Dr. Calloway here is the best rehabilitation specialist in the country. He's going to—"

I jerked the chair back, hard, out of reach.

"Is the performance over? If it's over, leave."

His eyes dimmed. He stood.

"I know you hate me. But your condition can't wait. Cooperate with the treatment."

I gave one dry laugh.

"I'm not your problem anymore. Go worry about your new girl, Mr. CEO."

He looked at me for a long moment, then turned for the door.

"I'll be here once a week to see you."

"Don't bother. I don't want to look at your hypocrite face."

I cut him off without mercy.

The door closed.

I sat alone in that big, cold suite, watched the gray sky through the window, and finally let the tears come.

Then I pulled out my phone and called Dr. Calloway.

"Dr. Calloway. That high-risk experimental nerve bypass you mentioned last time—I want to do it."

There was a beat of silence.

"Clara. That procedure has a success rate under ten percent. If it fails, you could be brain-dead on the table. Are you sure you've thought this through?"

I looked at my own legs, which had forgotten they were part of me.

"I'm sure. I'd rather gamble than keep existing like this."

"Even if I die on the table, at least I'll go with some dignity."

Life at the rehab center was harder than I'd imagined.

Day after day of electrostim therapy and acupuncture, and my legs still would not wake up.

Dr. Calloway was a gentle man. He was patient with me.

"Clara, your muscle atrophy isn't severe. If the surgery works, there's a real chance you'll walk again."

I smiled at him, tired.

"Don't sugar-coat it. I know my odds."

That afternoon, I was in the therapy room stretching my legs on a resistance machine.

The door opened.

Sienna walked in. Two bodyguards in tow.

"Oh—still grinding away on a lost cause?"

She walked right up to me and looked down at the sweat on my forehead with open distaste.

I stopped. I looked at her, cold.

"What do you want? You're not welcome here."

She laughed, soft, dragged over a chair, and sat down.

"I came to see how pathetic Julian's ex really is."

She took out a gold-embossed invitation card and dropped it across my legs.

"Julian and I are getting engaged next month. If you manage to stand up by then—you're welcome to come raise a glass."

I looked at the red card. It was bright enough to sting.

I didn't blow up. I calmly brushed the invitation onto the floor.

"Congratulations. A snake and a rat—what a perfect match. Keep an eye on him, won't you? Don't let him wander off again."

Sienna's face went chalk. Then she surged up and slapped me across the face.

The sound cracked through the therapy room.

My cheek swelled. Blood beaded at the corner of my mouth.

"Who the hell do you think you are? Talking to me like that."

She jabbed a finger at me.

"You can't even stand. Julian was done with you. If you hadn't been clinging to him like a leech, he'd have dropped you ages ago."

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I looked at her.

"You're pathetic. Do you actually think he loves you? He's using your father's name."

"Liar!" she shrieked.

"Julian loves me. He was willing to ship you off to this wasteland to let you die—for me."

Her words drove into my chest like a blade.

I closed my eyes to hide the despair in them.

"Are you done? Then leave."

Sienna leaned in and dropped her voice.

"Do you really think Dr. Calloway is going to do that surgery for you?"

My eyes snapped open. Fixed on her.

"What are you saying?"

She lifted her chin, smug.

"My father is Dr. Calloway's mentor. One word from me, and he cancels you."

"You'll spend the rest of your life exactly like this. Sitting."

She swept out with her goons.

I sat in the chair, cold all the way through.

Her words rang in my head like a spell.

If even Dr. Calloway pulled out—the only door left was the one I'd already been heading through.

I wheeled my chair like a woman possessed, straight for Dr. Calloway's office.

I slammed through his door. He was reading a chart.

"Clara? What's wrong? You look—"

I grabbed the lapel of his white coat. My voice wouldn't hold steady.

"My surgery. Is it still happening?"

He paused. His eyes wouldn't quite meet mine.

"Your indicators need a little more observation. The risk is substantial—"

My heart dropped through the floor.

"It's Sienna, isn't it? It's her father. Isn't it?"

I was yelling.

Dr. Calloway sighed and touched my shoulder.

"Calm down. Professor Harrington has spoken to me, yes. But from a pure clinical standpoint—the success rate, as things stand, is—"

"Excuses. All of you—excuses!"

I shoved him off. My tears broke loose.

"You all want to see me die. All of you are pushing me."

I wheeled out of his office.

Nurses in the corridor stared. I didn't care.

I just needed out of there. Out of that suffocating, shining place.

I pushed my chair hard and kept pushing until I found myself by the ornamental lake in the back garden.

The water was black and deep. A mouth ready to swallow anything.

I looked at the reflection in the surface. A haggard woman, hollowed out, no life left in her.

The Clara who used to own a stage was already dead.

I was a body without a soul.

I unclipped my safety strap and, with everything I had left in my arms, tipped myself out of the chair into the cold water.

The water closed over my head. I couldn't breathe.

I didn't fight it. I let myself go down.

Let it end. I was tired.

My mind was going gray when a hand locked around my arm and hauled me up.

I broke the surface gasping and coughing, sucking down air in great rough heaves.

"Clara! Have you lost your mind?"

Julian. Raw, furious. Voice half-cracked.

I opened my eyes. He was soaking wet, eyes red as blood.

"Let me—let me go..." I tried to twist free.

He crushed me against his chest. His grip was unrelenting, like he was trying to press me into his own bones.

"I will not let you die. Do you hear me? I will not."

There was a tremor in his voice. Something he wasn't letting out.

I went limp against his chest and closed my eyes.

*Julian, what do you even want from me? You don't want me—so why are you saving me?*

When I came around next, I was in a hospital bed.

Dr. Calloway was examining me. He saw me open my eyes and exhaled.

"You scared the hell out of everyone. You nearly died."

I stared at the ceiling.

"Why did you save me?"

He sighed.

"Mr. Blackwood pulled you out. He was in the water a long time, looking for you. He almost drowned."

I laughed, short and bitter.

"He was putting on a show. For whom? Was he worried he'd take a manslaughter charge?"

The door opened. Julian walked in.

He'd changed clothes. His face was still bloodless.

Dr. Calloway stepped out quietly.

Julian crossed to the bedside and stood over me.

"What are you trying to do? Threaten me with death?"

I turned my face to the wall.

"I just don't want to suffer anymore. Let me go. Let yourself go."

He seized my chin and turned my face to his, hard.

"Let you go? Not a chance. Your life belongs to me. You don't get to choose when it ends."

I looked up and saw something unhinged in his eyes, and I didn't recognize him at all.

"Do you love me or don't you?" My voice was small.

He froze. His eyes flickered.

"I don't want to talk about that right now."

"Because you don't."

I gave a cracked little smile.

"You love yourself. You keep me around because you like controlling things."

"You don't—" He yanked his hand back like I'd burned him. "Don't be ungrateful. I—for you—"

He stopped. He didn't finish.

"For me what?"

He took a long, steadying breath and rebuilt the cold on his face.

"Nothing. Rest. I'll be back tomorrow."

He left the room fast. Like someone fleeing something.

I watched the door swing shut.

He was hiding something from me. I could feel it.

But I had no idea what.