A week before my wedding to Alistair Sterling, I was at the Seattle waterfront community center I’d designed when I was crushed in an accident—one deliberately orchestrated by his late wife's sister, Bianca Thorne.

She used a plasma cutter to slice through a critical support on the scaffolding. The falling steel rebar pierced my abdomen.

When Alistair and the paramedics arrived, I was trapped under the twisted metal, bleeding out.

But he ran straight past me to Bianca, who was perfectly fine, merely putting on a show of trembling.

He held her tightly as she shivered in his arms, safe and sound.

A paramedic shouted anxiously, "Mr. Sterling, your fiancée is in critical condition! We have to get her into surgery immediately!"

But Alistair blocked the stretcher, his gaze sweeping over me, frigid and dismissive. "It was just an accident. Bianca is terrified—she's the priority. Get her a psych evaluation first."

As they prepared to leave me behind, I used my last ounce of strength to grab his pant leg.

He frowned, prying my weakening fingers away. "Bianca didn't mean it; she just panicked. Scarlett, you're the professional here. You should know where the priority lies."

Then, using my blood-soaked fingerprint, he forcefully unlocked my work tablet.

He used it to delete the final safety log, erasing all evidence of Bianca's unauthorized entry onto the site.

"The next team of paramedics will be here soon. Hang in there."

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1

I didn't make it to the next team of paramedics.

When I opened my eyes again, I was floating in mid-air.

The cold rain poured over the body lying below me, and I wanted to hug myself for warmth.

But my arms passed right through me.

A bitter smile touched my lips.

So, I was dead.

Alistair was right. I was a professional. I knew exactly what it meant to be crushed by tons of falling rebar, to have my abdomen pierced.

Bianca never intended for me to live.

And Alistair—a man revered as Seattle’s top investment tycoon—had dismissed my fatal injury as a simple “accident” with a single glance.

I should have given up on him long ago.

When it came to Bianca, nothing else mattered.

Not even my life.

In the distance, the sirens of another ambulance grew closer.

Firefighters and paramedics leaped out, rushing toward my body in the downpour.

I watched as my own limp, broken form was cut free from the rebar.

Amid the paramedics' shouts, they kept injecting adrenaline, and the defibrillator thudded against my chest again and again.

But nothing could stop the ECG from flatlining.

A paramedic bellowed into his radio, "Shut down the roads! Now! Tell the hospital to prep its best trauma team—the patient is crashing!"

But all three of his calls to the hospital were rejected.

He was furious. "Why? Miss O'Connell is Sterling's fiancée! How the hell does he get to monopolize our best trauma team for a 'psych eval' on a woman without a single scratch on her?"

He choked up, his voice cracking. "Miss O'Connell... she's dying..."

A dead silence fell over the ambulance.

They all knew Bianca Thorne was Alistair's late wife's sister.

The story was that she'd developed severe PTSD after her sister, Sierra, fell to her death while supposedly "saving" her on a stormy mountain climb.

Whenever it was a gloomy, rainy day, she would have an emotional breakdown, and only Alistair's presence could calm her.

And I, his fiancée, had finally reached my limit after he postponed our project's groundbreaking ceremony three times for Bianca's recurring "anxiety." "An episode when it drizzles? Another one when it thunders? Do you really think she sees you as just a brother-in-law?"

Alistair's eyes had turned icy in an instant, and he seemed surprised by his own protective reaction.

He looked away, his tone stiff. "Scarlett, if you can't tolerate Bianca, then maybe you're not the kind of woman I thought you were."

I stared at him, my heart aching until I couldn't breathe.

I forced myself to look up, refusing to let the tears fall.

On the third day of his cold shoulder, I had caved. I was on my way to retrieve the engagement rings we had designed together, planning to surprise him.

But on my way back to the site, Bianca intercepted me, turning the construction site into my grave.

My memories, now untethered from my body, were fractured. I felt a gnawing sense that I’d forgotten something vital.

My spirit drifted uncontrollably toward where Alistair was.

The luxurious VIP suite was so crowded with specialists there was barely room to stand.

"Mr. Sterling, all of Miss Thorne's test results are normal. There's nothing physically wrong with her, you can rest assured."

Despite the experts' repeated assurances, Bianca remained curled up in Alistair's arms, her eyes red as she trembled. "Alistair, it's still raining outside... I'm scared... I'm scared those cold steel bars will fall..."

Just as Alistair was about to speak, his phone rang.

It was a call from my project manager, Ryder. The moment Bianca saw the name on the screen, she let out a sharp scream, snatched the phone, and threw it viciously into a nearby glass of water.

"It's him! That man, Ryder Grant—he's a monster. He's been harassing me, trying to frame me! Help me, Alistair, please, save me…"

Forgetting the phone completely, Alistair’s heart ached as he held the hysterical Bianca, whispering reassurances.

"Don't be scared, Bianca. Ryder won't bother you again. I won't let anyone hurt you..."

Bianca buried her face in his chest, arms wrapped tight around his neck, laughing through her sobs. "Alistair can't leave. You have to stay with me forever. You're mine. Only mine. Scarlett tried to steal you from me. She's crazy, she deserved to be crushed..."

"Yes, yes, she's crazy. We'll just ignore her." Alistair rubbed her back, soothing her gently until she finally cried herself to sleep.

Back in his temporary office, he pulled the drenched phone from his pocket, the screen completely black. He wearily pinched the bridge of his nose.

He was about to use the internal line to ask where I was.

A surgeon burst in. "Mr. Sterling, we have a new admission—severe abdominal penetration from a construction accident. The situation is critical. We need your authority as the foundation chairman to authorize a high-risk experimental surgery, immediately."

Alistair started to rise, but his movement froze.

He asked, "What's the media's reaction?"

The doctor swiped open her phone screen. "Reporters have been waiting outside all day. We expect negative press about this accident for the next two days."

He nodded and sat back down.

"Find another solution. Tell them I have a patient here to look after. Cancel all my meetings for the next two days."

The doctor hesitated, then lowered her voice. "But... this is the only surgery that can save her... She's the only one seriously injured in that accident."

Alistair's voice turned cold. "Can't this hospital save a life without my authorization? Get out. For the next two days, unless it's about Bianca, do not disturb me for anything or anyone."

She seemed to want to argue, but in the end, she said nothing and turned to leave.

I huddled in the corner, blinking.

Something warm trickled from the corner of my eye.

It felt like blood, or maybe tears.

As I lay pinned beneath the steel, I had thought, Alistair... the wedding... just as you wished, it's canceled now.

For the next two days, Alistair barely left Bianca's side.

He catered to her every whim, taking care of her meticulously.

Occasionally, late at night, he would take out my dead tablet and trace his fingers absently over the black screen.

I knew what he was thinking.

The old me—the one hopelessly in love with him—had never let two days pass without contacting him.

Even after every fight and cold shoulder, I was always the one to give in and apologize within half a day.

This loss of control was irritating him.

He pressed his temples, which were throbbing with a dull ache, and opened a drawer. He saw the aromatherapy candle I had specially prepared for his migraines, sitting there untouched.

He immediately pressed the intercom button.

"Has anyone been looking for me these past few days?" he asked irritably.

His assistant replied, "Sir, you canceled all your appointments. No one has been looking for you."

This was his own order, but for some reason, a strange tightness constricted his chest.

He slammed the phone down.

He tossed his waterlogged phone and my dead tablet into a drawer and slammed it shut.

As he passed his assistant's office, he stopped, borrowed her phone, and sent me an email.

"Scarlett, your tantrum has a limit. It was a minor incident. You didn't even bleed, so what's the drama? And now you're pulling a disappearing act? Fine. If you have the nerve, don't ever contact me again."

I floated beside him, a bitter smile on my face.

My devotion was the source of his arrogance.

He was always so certain that I would never leave him.

But this time, I really couldn't contact him anymore.

When the sky cleared in the afternoon, Bianca dropped her act, reverting to her usual pitiful tears.

"Alistair, I really didn't know that my being so scared would make you make a decision like that. Let me go apologize to Scarlett. I'll do anything if she can forgive me."

Alistair answered distractedly, "It's fine. It looked scary, but you didn't have a scratch. You didn't do it on purpose, Scarlett will understand."

"But... but what if she wants to press charges and call the police on me?"

Alistair smiled and stroked her hair. "Don't worry, I already deleted that day's log from her tablet. This has nothing to do with you anymore."

Bianca happily nuzzled his hand, her eyes filled with adoration. "I knew you were the best to me, Alistair."

Meeting her fervent gaze, Alistair flinched as if burned and snatched his hand back.

"Bianca, I'm marrying Scarlett soon. If you want, you can still be my family. From now on, you'll call me Alistair, and Scarlett will be your sister-in-law. We'll take care of you together."

Bianca bit her lower lip, a flash of malice in her eyes, but she quickly nodded obediently.

Outside the room, two investors were chatting. "Mr. Sterling is so devoted. That woman was just a little scared, and he mobilized the entire hospital for her. They look so good together."

"I know, right? I heard the victim from that construction accident a couple of days ago had her organs crushed. Not a single family member by her side. Talk about two different worlds."

Alistair frowned, his heart giving an inexplicable, violent thud. He heard himself say, "The woman in the hospital room is not my fiancée."

He paused, then added, "My fiancée is Scarlett O'Connell of O'Connell Architecture."