Chapter 1

When my childhood rival broke her leg, my boyfriend didn't just comfort her.

He forced me to take off my prosthetic and perform a clown dance to make her laugh.

The friction tore my stump open, and the infection was so painful I nearly black out.

But he just shielded her eyes as if my mangled limb was an eyesore, letting his friends dismantle my prosthetic while they cheered.

Before I lost consciousness, I heard his voice, soft and tender as he cooed to her.

"It's gross, don't look. It's just a fake leg anyway. She can build a new one whenever she wants. Don't feel guilty."

When I woke up in the hospital, I looked at my prosthetic―ruined for the 99th time.

The anger I'd suppressed for years finally boiled over, but then I saw his latest social media post.

He had filmed himself throwing the red wedding gown I spent months hand-stitching into a dumpster.

His caption read: "Rosalie doesn't like red, so out it goes."

At that moment, something inside me died.

I picked up my phone and booked a "faked death" service for five days later.

1.

I rolled my wheelchair into my studio, only to find my workspace covered in cheap bunny stickers.

The high-end prosthetic I'd spent two months crafting for a client had been ripped from its display case.

Rosalie Shaw was holding it like a toy gun, swinging it around.

When she saw me, she pointed the broken limb at me and mimicked a gunshot. "Bang!"

Fury surged through me, my eyes fixed on the damage.

Rosalie's eyes immediately welled up with tears, and she fumbled to "fix" what she'd broken.

"I'm so sorry, Silvia! Jude told me I could play with anything. I didn't know you'd be mad. I'll put it back!"

She intentionally fumbled, cutting her finger on a sharp edge of the carbon fiber and collapsing dramatically.

Jude Sterling rushed into the room, his face twisted with frantic worry.

He held her finger to his lips for a few seconds before screaming at me.

"It's just a piece of plastic, Silvia! If Rosalie wants to play with it, let her. Why do you have to be such a killjoy?"

"Get the first aid kit now! Rosalie has a clotting disorder. If she keeps bleeding, it could be life-threatening!"

My heart felt like it was being squeezed by cold, rusted pliers.

I remembered when I lost my leg in that car accident saving him.

He used to stay by my side every night, cleaning my wounds without flinching, promising to never let me be hurt again.

Now, I couldn't tell if that was ever love or just a mountain of soul-crushing guilt.

Back then, if anyone touched my prosthetic, he would defend me with everything he had.

But everything changed when Rosalie came back. Or maybe, he just reverted to the man who always put her first.

The client who came to pick up the prosthetic saw the mangled parts on the floor, and the hope in his eyes turned to cold ash.

"Miss Knight, is this the masterpiece you promised my daughter?"

I tried to force a smile to explain, but Jude cut me off, framing me before I could speak.

"Silvia, just because you lost your own leg, do you have to be so bitter that you destroy someone else's hope? Rosalie tried to stop you and you hurt her. Doesn't your conscience hurt?"

Jude looked at me with pure disgust, and the client's expression darkened.

I stared at him, unable to breathe, the weight in my chest becoming unbearable.

He knew better than anyone how much my work meant to me, yet he threw me under the bus for her.

The client, seeing his young daughter's disappointment, exploded in rage.

He began grabbing tools and parts, hurling them at me.

Jude didn't even look my way; he was already shielding Rosalie, pulling her into his chest.

Something sharp hit my forehead. A warm trickle of red began to run down my face.

While I bled, Jude was busy whispering sweet reassurances to the woman who had started it all.

"Miss Knight, my daughter trusted you because you're a cripple yourself. I see now that you deserved to lose that leg."

The client's words were like a jagged blade in my heart, leaving me numb.

For the first time, I felt a wave of regret for ever pulling Jude out of that wreckage.

Jude eventually knelt down with some gauze, his touch gentle but his words like ice.

"Rosalie can't stand the sight of red. As her future sister-in-law, you can handle a little sacrifice. You're stronger than her, anyway."

"Besides, this was just an accident. You survived a literal amputation; you can survive a little scratch."

There it was again. "Sister-in-law."

Because of that title, I had endured endless humiliation for his "little sister."

I had stayed for him, believing she was just family to him. How wrong I was.