Chapter 1

I stayed by Kendra Tate's side for three years, managing every single detail of her life.

Yet whenever she stepped out with her new boy toy, she never bothered to hide it from me.

Everyone mocked me behind my back for being so generous, laughing that I was willing to share my woman.

What they didn't know was that our relationship had been a business transaction from the start.

On the final day of our three-year contract, Kendra wrapped her arm around Ashton Bailey and made a lavish announcement. "Meet my fiancé. The true love of my life."

The very next day, I was doxxed online as Kendra's secret side piece.

Terrified that Ashton would be hurt by the rumors, Kendra publicly declared that I was the homewrecker who had seduced her.

A brutal wave of internet hate followed. Netizens boycotted my dance performances, and during one show, an angry mob attacked me backstage, nearly costing me my leg.

When I tried to explain myself, Kendra only glared at me with cold impatience.

"Know your place, Shawn," she snapped. "Don't you dare drag Ashton into your mess."

I silently packed my bags and drafted a text to an overseas dance academy.

"I've made up my mind. I accept the offer. I can relocate and start in two weeks."

"Sounds wonderful. Let me know if you need any help settling in. I'll be waiting for you."

The reply popped up on my screen just as the front door swung open.

Kendra walked in with rumpled clothes and the faint, unmistakable scent of men's cologne clinging to her skin. Her tired expression made it obvious how she had spent the previous night.

"Get some rest, baby," she murmured into her phone, her voice dripping with tenderness. "Call me if your stomach hurts again. I'm always here for you."

She hadn't taken her eyes off her screen since entering the penthouse.

Back when we were first together, Kendra would frequently disappear without a word, leaving me searching the streets for her all night.

When she finally showed up back then, she would look me up and down with sheer disgust.

"Shawn, stop embarrassing me," she had sneered. "Do you honestly expect me to babysit you twenty-four-seven? You make me sick."

A sharp pang stabbed through my chest, and I forced a bitter smile.

I supposed that was the difference between loving someone and using them.

Whatever Ashton said on the other end of the line made Kendra break into a bright smile.

She glanced up at the dining table, noticing only a single container of takeout oatmeal. Her brow furrowed instantly.

"What are you doing?"

She was used to coming home to freshly cooked, hot meals.

I used to cook two portions every single day, terrified she might return home hungry or get sick from greasy takeout.

I calmly deleted the confirmation text from my phone.

"Eating breakfast. Reviewing hospital paperwork."

Kendra gave a distracted chuckle at another message on her phone and said nothing.

I knew she didn't care about what I was doing anyway. Her question was nothing more than a superficial formality.

She walked over to the armchair on the balcony and reached for the morning paper, only to find an outdated issue from two days ago.

Her head snapped toward me, her tone laced with irritation.

"Can you stop being completely useless? If you can't even handle simple chores, what good are you to me?"

Her words trailed off when her gaze finally landed on my knee.

It was swollen twice its normal size, the skin bruised a dark, gruesome purple.

I tried to pull my leg back under the table, but the movement sent a jolt of agony through my nerves, making cold sweat break out across my forehead.

"It just looks a little inflamed," Kendra said dismissively after a brief glance. "Disinfect it properly. It's not a big deal."

I kept my eyes fixed on my phone screen and swallowed the last bite of oatmeal.

"Okay."

Yesterday, a swarm of Ashton's rabid fans ambushed me in my dressing room, screaming that I was a shameless homewrecker trying to ruin their idol's happiness.

During the shove, my knee crashed hard against a solid marble ledge.

The pain had nearly blacked out my vision on the spot.

The orthopedic surgeon told me the severe impact caused traumatic myositis ossificans, requiring immediate surgery.

Had the impact been any worse, I could have faced permanent nerve damage or even amputation.

Thinking about it still made my blood run cold. For a professional contemporary dancer, losing a leg was worse than death.

Kendra undoubtedly knew where my injury came from.

Perhaps realizing that throwing me under the bus had gone too far, she walked over and knelt beside my chair.

She reached out and took my trembling hand. "I'll drive you to the clinic later, alright?"

"I had to give Ashton a proper status in public," she added, sounding entirely righteous. "You just have to endure a little unfairness for now."

So because Ashton's reputation mattered, my mother and I deserved to be told to drop dead by thousands of strangers online?

Before I could speak, a whiny male voice echoed from her speakerphone.

"Kendra… my stomach is cramping again."