Chapter 1

After my stepmother died, I found her thick ledger.

Every single expense she had spent on me over the years was documented inside, down to the exact cost of a toothbrush.

Countless times, she had slammed that very notebook violently against my body.

"Once you turn eighteen, you will pay me back every single penny!"

Yet she died just one month shy of my eighteenth birthday.

With dark vindication, I flipped open the pages.

Until I reached the very last one.

Tucked hidden within the binding, two jagged words were scrawled.

"Run now!"

My hand holding the page trembled, a sickening chill shooting straight up my spine.

Instinctively, I read those two words again.

Before I could even process them, the door behind me swung open.

"Zoe, there you are."

Keeping my composure, I casually flipped back several pages. Ethan slid his arms around my waist from behind with practiced familiarity.

I pointed at the ledger. "I guess this counts as her personal effect too. Should we burn it?"

According to local custom, all personal belongings of the deceased were meant to be burned.

I had used the excuse of helping clear out her room just to hunt down this ledger.

Ethan idly flipped through the pages.

For some reason, my chest tightened with an inexplicable rush of nerves.

He pressed a gentle kiss to my earlobe. "Zoe, everything in here is about you. You decide. If looking at it makes you unhappy, we’ll just throw it into the fire with the rest."

I closed the ledger and turned in his embrace, wrapping my arms around his waist.

My voice was muffled against his chest, carrying a faint, subtle lightness.

"Then I’ll keep it. It has the traces of me growing up."

I let out a soft sneer. "A blessing in disguise, I guess."

A large hand rested gently on the crown of my head, his warm, doting voice murmuring by my ear.

His warm breath sent an involuntary shiver through me.

"Alright. Whatever Zoe wants."

I tightened my grip around Ethan, comfortably burying my face against his warm chest.

The only obstacle standing between my love for Ethan was gone. Finally, I could be with him without any reservations.

Those two frantic words flashed across my mind, but on some strange whim, I didn't mention them to him.

In my heart, I was certain it was just my stepmother's final, desperate attempt to drive a wedge between Ethan and me.

She could never stomach the idea of her precious son being with me.

Even in death, she had schemed to make me leave him of my own accord.

I rarely dreamed.

Despite my relentlessly packed schedule, for seventeen years, no matter how exhausted I was, I could always sleep straight through the night without a single dream, waking up the next day to rush between endless private classes.

Perhaps her death had been too sudden, keeping my brain trapped in a state of wired hyperarousal.

Or perhaps that ledger, finally laid bare before me, had cut too deeply.

I dreamed of winter break when I was sixteen. Outside the window, thick snowflakes danced heavily through the air. My tutor had let me off early, granting me a rare moment to catch my breath.

Shouldering my violin case, I had pushed the front door open with light, cheerful steps.

My father wasn't home at that hour, and my stepmother would be lounging lazily in her bedroom as usual.

I had to seize this rare window of opportunity to be alone with Ethan.

From a distance, I spotted him lying on the recliner by the floor-to-ceiling window. I crept closer, reaching out to cover his eyes, only to find them softly shut, his breathing steady and gentle.

Everything around us fell into a profound stillness. With every rhythm of his breath, my heart pounded faster and faster.

By the time I came to my senses, our faces were mere inches apart.

The deep, torrential love buried inside me surged uncontrollably. Throwing caution to the wind, I closed my eyes and leaned in to kiss him.

"Ah! What the hell are you doing?!"

The moment that shrill, grating voice pierced the silence, a heavy object cut through the air and slammed brutally against my legs.

Wincing through the pain, I jerked upright, pressing my lips into a tight line to mask the panic in my eyes as I glared at my stepmother.

My voice sounded strained, parched with anxiety. "I... I just came to check on Ethan."

I bent down to pick up the heavy object—that detestable, maddening ledger.

My footsteps were frantic, desperate to toss it onto the coffee table and make a run for it.

I never expected that after only two steps, she would completely lose her mind, lunging forward to yank my hair, slapping me violently across the face twice.

"You little tramp! Filthy whore! Slut! You're just like your mother! What were you trying to do to my son?!"