Hate Grew Cold That Winter

For the sake of her childhood friend, Kelly threw me overseas for three years.

I had just broken my leg, was penniless, couldn't speak the language—I could only survive by scavenging through trash.

I called her more than once, begging:

"Kelly, I really can't go on like this."

All she left me with was cold indifference:

"If it weren't for you, would Hudson have gotten hurt? Once you fix that spoiled rich boy attitude of yours, I'll bring you home."

Winter was brutal. Just as I was about to die on a street covered in snow, a wealthy heiress named Summer bought me.