Chapter 1

Natalie's POV

After all these years dancing ballet, I have more scars on my body than trophies on my shelf.

Sprained ankles, torn ligaments, lighting rigs collapsing straight from the ceiling.

Every single accident happened right before my most crucial performances. And every single time, Julian Sterling was the first one to rush to my side.

He was a brilliant orthopedic surgeon. Every time he finished bandaging me up, he would ruffle my hair and gently say, "You're fine. Just be more careful next time."

I believed him for eleven years.

Years ago, my mother took the fall for a fatal accident involving the Sterling family and went to prison. In return, the Sterlings took me in and made me Julian’s fiancée.

I thought it was out of gratitude. I thought all those injuries were just my terrible luck.

Until that night, when I walked past the dressing room backstage and found the door left ajar.

Julian’s voice drifted through the crack. Not loud, but deadly clear.

"All those injuries during rehearsals, those accidents on stage over the years... when did I ever not have a hand in them?"

My feet froze in place.

Another voice came from inside—Sharon Hayes, a scrub nurse from his hospital. She giggled. "You're truly heartless, Julian."

"If I didn't break her wings, how would she stay obediently by my side?" Julian’s tone was as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "Marrying her is just repaying a debt for my family. You know who’s really in my heart."

Sharon let out a soft laugh.

"All the trouble she’s caused me over the years, between the medical bills and the damages, comes out to four hundred and seventy thousand dollars," Julian said coldly. "I have every single cent accounted for."

Four hundred and seventy thousand dollars.

I leaned against the icy hallway wall, the feeling draining from my fingertips.

I remembered every hospital bill Julian had personally signed for me after every injury. I remembered how deeply touched I had been.

He had caused those injuries, only to play the savior and pay the bills himself.

Their conversation continued inside, but I couldn't hear a word anymore.

The old injury in my ankle flared up, throbbing as if someone were driving needles straight into the bone.

I don't know how long I stood there before the door swung open.

Sharon walked out first. Seeing me, she didn't look flustered at all. She simply arched an eyebrow, smirked, and walked away.

Julian followed right behind her. When he saw me leaning against the wall, he frowned. "Why are you standing here? Is your ankle acting up again?"

I stared at him, parting my lips, but no sound came out.

He naturally reached out, taking my arm to guide me toward the green room. "Come on. Let me look at it. Don't be stubborn if it hurts."

Inside the room, he had me sit on a chair, then crouched down. His fingers skillfully pressed against my ankle.

The warmth of his palms seeped into my skin—just like it had every single time over the past eleven years.

"An old flare-up. It's swollen," he said, looking up at me. "I'll reset it and wrap it up. It's going to hurt a bit. Try to bear with it."

He turned around to grab the local anesthetic.

Right at that moment, his phone rang.

Julian glanced at the screen and answered immediately. His voice softened in a way I had never heard before. "What's wrong? ...Rehearsal went sideways? Okay, I'm on my way."

He hung up and tossed the syringe back onto the tray.

"Julian," I called out, my voice trembling. "What about the anesthesia?"

"No time. There's an emergency at the hospital." He turned back, gripping my ankle with both hands. "Hold still. This will be quick."

Before I could even process his words, his hands exerted brutal force.

Crack.

The sickening sound of bone dislocating and snapping back into place echoed through the silent room.

Blinding agony detonated from my ankle, tearing all the way up my leg and ripping through my skull. My body curled violently. My fingernails dug deep into the edge of the chair as a strangled sob broke from my throat.

Julian didn't stop.

With one hand pinning my ankle down, his other hand swiftly grabbed a roll of bandage, wrapping it around and around with practiced efficiency.

His movements were precise, detached—like he was repairing an inanimate piece of equipment.

"Done." He let go and stood up. "Stay off your feet until the swelling goes down. I have to run."

He grabbed his coat and walked out without looking back once. The door clicked shut behind him.

I collapsed on the chair, the pain turning my vision pitch-black.

I wanted to call his name. I wanted to beg him to stay. But my lips trembled, unable to form a whisper.

Just before darkness swallowed me completely, one thought surfaced in my mind.

When he picked up that call, his tone had been so unbearably tender.

And in the eleven years I spent with him, he had never once spoken to me like that.

When I finally woke up, the room was empty.

Outside, the night was pitch black. The fluorescent lights in the hallway hummed, but nobody came.

I sat in the chair, looking at my tightly wrapped ankle, and suddenly burst into laughter.

I laughed until tears streamed down my face.

Eleven years.

I had mistaken calculated abuse for tragic accidents. I had treated a man who methodically dismantled my life as my sole protector.

Four hundred and seventy thousand dollars.

He remembered every penny.

And I would remember, too.

From this moment on, I would never believe a single word that came out of Julian Sterling's mouth.