Five years ago, when we first met, Barnaby Heath was the CEO leading his company's team-building trip to that Southeast Asian black-market district.
And me? I was nothing more than a lot about to be auctioned off in an underground club.
An iron shackle chained to my ankle, I stood on that stage, staring out at the crowd in terror, not knowing whose plaything I was about to become.
The moment my eyes met Barnaby's, a flicker of amusement passed through his gaze. Then he raised his hand, lazy and unhurried, one finger pointed straight at me.
"That one. I want her."
That day, he took me away and became the only light in my dark world.
He wasn't just my boyfriend. He was my salvation. I'd poured every ounce of love I had into him, and I truly couldn't bear to let go.
While I was lost in those memories, a familiar voice pulled me back.
"Caroline, why are you sitting on the floor? It's cold down there. Come on, get up."
Only then did I realize that the moment I'd walked into the hospital room, my knees had buckled. I was crumpled on the ground.
I stared at Barnaby's lips, still swollen and red from kissing her, and spoke slowly, one word at a time.
"Barnaby, are you hiding something from me?"