Chapter 1

My old wrist injury flared up at the French Open finals.

But Lucas sent the medical team to Serena. She'd only sprained her ankle.

After seven years together, his constant favoritism finally killed our relationship.

He had sex with her in our bed.

Then came the acid. A thug threw it at us. He didn't hesitate. He shoved me aside to protect her.

I was done. I posted about calling off our engagement.

My longtime rival Griffin called. "Want to switch fiancés? How about me?"

Stella's POV

France, Roland-Garros Stadium.

On the clay court, I was drenched in sweat, my right hand trembling uncontrollably as I gripped the racket.

A Grand Slam final. Match point. My old wrist injury had flared up.

Piercing pain shot through my nerves, making it nearly impossible to hold the racket.

During the mid-match break, I looked toward the family viewing section, my face pale.

It was empty.

My boyfriend of seven years, Lucas Luton, hadn't come.

Not only had he not come. The top-tier medical team he'd promised to accompany me hadn't shown up either.

"Your wrist needs immediate ice and physical therapy. Where's your medical team?"

My foreign coach asked anxiously.

I lowered my eyes, pulled out my phone, and dialed the number I knew by heart.

The phone rang for a long time before being answered. Lucas's characteristically cold voice came through.

"Is the match over?"

"Lucas, my old wrist injury flared up."

My voice trembled slightly.

"Why didn't the medical team come to France?"

A pause. Then he answered, his tone almost casual.

"Serena sprained her ankle skiing the day before yesterday and has been very emotionally unstable. I wasn't comfortable leaving her alone in the country, so I had the medical team stay to take care of her."

I felt like I'd plunged into an ice cave.

Serena, Lucas's mentor's daughter.

"She just sprained her ankle, and I'm playing in a Grand Slam final!"

I bit my lip hard.

"Lucas, you promised me that if I won this championship, we'd get engaged."

"Stella, can you not be so selfish?"

Lucas's voice turned cold.

"Serena has been frail since childhood and can't handle shocks. You're in great physical condition. What's the big deal about getting through one match without the medical team? We'll talk about the engagement later. I need to accompany Serena for her checkup. I'm hanging up."

The dial tone cut through me like a dull knife.

I took a deep breath, forced myself through the excruciating wrist pain, and walked back onto the court.

But no miracle occurred.

The severe injury caused me to make frequent mistakes. I ultimately lost 0-2, missing the most important championship of my professional career.

At the awards ceremony, I held the runner-up plate in silence for a long time.

Back in the locker room, my phone vibrated.

It was a message from Serena.

A photo.

In the photo, Lucas was bending down, gently putting ice on Serena's swollen ankle.

His profile was impossibly gentle. A tenderness I'd rarely seen in seven years.

The caption read: "My ankle hurts so much, but with Lucas here, it doesn't seem to hurt anymore."

I stared at that photo for a long time, until my eyes felt dry and sore.

I didn't cry.

I used to get angry. I used to argue. Every time I saw Lucas's special care for Serena.

But now? I just felt a deep sense of powerlessness.

Seven years.

I fell in love with Lucas at first sight when I was eighteen. To pursue him, I gave up the opportunity to study at a top tennis academy abroad and stayed in his city.

Lucas was famously aloof in our circle. Cold and noble.

Everyone said he had no heart, but like a little sun, I pestered him relentlessly until I finally warmed this block of ice.

I thought I was special.

Until Serena returned to the country.

With just one phone call from Serena, Lucas could abandon me when I had a high fever.

With just one word about being scared, Lucas could miss my birthday party.

Now, even the most important final of my professional career, even the medical team I desperately needed. He could strip it all away without hesitation, just to treat Serena's sprained ankle.

I closed my eyes and turned my phone face-down on the table.

So in Lucas's heart, my dreams, my pain, my seven years of youth. None of it compared to one cry of pain from Serena.

I stood up and carelessly stuffed the runner-up plate into my tennis bag.

The pain in my wrist continued, but what hurt more was a heart that had gone completely cold.