Chapter 2

Lucas tossed that bank card onto my dust-covered chest as the aftershock subsided.

Around us, steel and concrete groaned, punctuated by distant cries of anguish.

My right leg was pinned under a massive concrete slab, mangled and bloody, already numb beyond feeling.

"The password is your birthday."

Lucas didn't even bend down. He held Chloe Bennett in his arms as she trembled.

Chloe's face had a layer of scraped skin with a few droplets of blood seeping through.

"Lucas, I'm scared. We need to go. This place is going to collapse again."

Chloe buried her head in the crook of his neck, her voice soft and shaky.

Lucas immediately tightened his arms around her, looking at me with nothing but impatience and disgust.

"Did you hear that, Aria? Five million. That's the settlement for our five years."

"That's enough to get the amputation at the best hospital, get a decent prosthetic, and live comfortably in some small town."

I gasped for breath. My lungs felt like they'd inhaled glass shards; each breath tasted of blood.

I looked at this man I'd loved for five years.

He usually kept his face cold, showing warmth only when he was with me.

I thought that was love.

It turned out it was just because Chloe had gone abroad, and he needed a docile substitute.

Now that the real deal was back and facing a life-or-death test, I—the substitute—had become a burden.

"Are you sure you want to leave? With my leg like this, I might not last until the rescue team arrives."

My voice came out hoarse. I tried to sound calm.

Lucas frowned slightly, as if weighing something.

Chloe sobbed at just the right moment. "Lucas, that slab looks like it's moving again..."

Lucas's expression changed. He gave me one final look.

"If you're lucky, you'll survive. If not, it's fate."

"Chloe is sensitive. Seeing you all bloody will give her nightmares. Don't come near us again."

With that, he carried Chloe away, stepping over the rubble without looking back, running toward the flickering rescue lights in the distance.

That retreating figure was resolute, without a trace of hesitation.

I lay there in the cold pile of broken stones, clutching that blood-stained bank card in my hand.

How ironic.

Five years of love, one leg—traded for five million.

Lucas probably thought he got the short end of the deal. I thought I came out ahead.

After all, seeing a bastard's true colors—that's what the price bought me.

I don't know how long passed before I heard voices from above.

"There's a survivor here! Badly pinned!"

"Stretcher! Now!"

A beam of light hit my face. It was too bright to open my eyes.

I forced the corners of my mouth into a smile and said to the blurry figures, "Thank you. I'm not dead yet."

Before I lost consciousness, I heard someone say, "The leg can't be saved. We need to amputate immediately."

That's fine.

Broken things—whether legs or men—should be cut away cleanly.