“Stay with me,” I had whispered shakily, my hands gripping his arm. “You’re going to be okay.”
With nothing but sheer willpower, I pulled him upward, dragging him inch by inch. My skin tore. My muscles screamed. And somehow—I saved him.
When we were finally out of danger, my body gave in. I collapsed next to him and slipped into blackness.
By the time I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital bed, bandaged and sore. Relief hit first—Lucien was alive. That was all I cared about.
But then I heard his voice.
Soft. Grateful. “I knew you’d come for me.”
I turned my head and saw him lying beside Vanessa, her fingers laced with his. And I understood. She had stolen my moment—my truth. She had taken credit for saving him.
And he believed her.
I could have spoken then. Could’ve told him it was me. But who would he believe? The nameless girl in the next bed… or the woman he loved?
So I swallowed the truth and buried it deep.
Years passed. Vanessa left him. Somehow, life brought Lucien back into mine. Without her in the picture, he noticed me. We grew close. We laughed together. Talked late into the night. I dared to believe—just for a second—that maybe he had started to love me.