Chapter 1The Shorn Sacrifice

My boyfriend, Liam, shaved my head for his childhood friend. Dolores was losing her hair to chemotherapy, so he demanded I give her mine.

“Dolores’s allergic to the synthetic ones on the market,” he’d said, his voice flat. “You’ve been growing your hair for a decade. It’s perfect for a wig.”

I refused. So his friends pinned me down, holding my arms and legs while he took an electric razor and scraped it against my scalp until my long, glossy black hair was nothing but a butchered mess.

Dolores, sitting in her wheelchair, pointed at me and burst out laughing. “Liam, look at her! She looks so ridiculous, like a plucked frog.”

A smile touched Liam’s lips as he nodded in agreement. “See? Was all this fuss really necessary?”

But he knew. He knew that a choppy, uneven haircut had once been the reason I was bullied for six long years. Back then, he had been the one to stand in front of me, arms spread wide, my protector. Now, he was the one holding the blade.

His friends chimed in, one after another. “Come on, don’t hold it against a sick person.”

Liam turned, his voice sharp with impatience. “Don’t bother. Just let her go. She’s acting like it’s the end of the world over a few strands of hair. It’s not like it won’t grow back.”

So I turned and walked away. And I never looked back.

Later, I heard that to win me back, Liam Foster knelt his way up a nine-thousand-step cathedral staircase, ruining his knees in the process.

* * *

The pressure on my limbs vanished. I was free.

“Liam, look at her! She’s hilarious, like a little toad,” Dolores shrieked from her wheelchair, pointing a slender finger at my now-bare head. His friends roared with laughter, slapping each other on the back.

Liam glanced at me, his expression casual. “Dolores’s allergic to store-bought wigs. Your hair was long enough, so it was the perfect solution.”

His words were a distant hum. I couldn’t hear them over the sound of my own heart shattering. I reached up, my fingers finding only a few stray wisps of hair, and a fresh wave of agony washed over me.

Just two hours earlier, Liam had called to tell me I had to come to Dolores’s birthday party. I didn’t get along with Dolores, not really. But it was a request from Liam, and Dolores was, after all, a cancer patient. So I went, gift in hand.

I never imagined the “party” was a trap. A setup for them to hold me down and forcibly shave my head.

Looking at Liam’s cold, indifferent face, I remembered the rare moment of affection he’d shown me just a couple of days ago. He’d brought me a set of expensive, high-end hair care products.

“The air’s been dry lately,” he’d said. “Make sure you take good care of your hair.”

I was so surprised, so flattered by the gesture, that I’d used them that very night. Only now did the sickening truth dawn on me. He wasn’t asking me to care for my hair for my sake. He was preparing it so Dolores’s new wig would be as comfortable as possible.

Suddenly, Liam started walking toward me. For a fleeting, foolish moment, I thought he felt a pang of guilt, that he was coming to apologize.

Instead, he pinched the last remaining lock of hair from my shoulder with a look of distaste and snipped it off without a second thought.

He turned to his friends. “Can’t you guys do a clean job? Why leave this bit behind? I treat you all to dinner, and you can’t even do one simple thing right.”

The group erupted in jeers and laughter.

“Our bad, our bad! Hey, look, you think Ava’s gonna cry?”

“Dolores’s the one who’s sick, swallowing all that medicine every day, and you don’t see her whining.”

The barbs flew, one after another, but Liam’s expression never changed. His friends had never liked me. I was an outsider, a charity case who didn't fit into their wealthy, pedigreed world. I was never invited to their gatherings, and when I once asked Liam if he could take me with him, he just brushed me off. “We run in different circles, Ava. Don’t try to force it.”

Seeing my blank stare, Liam’s gaze finally settled on me. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Ava, you’re not actually mad, are you? Lighten up. Think of it as doing a good deed.”

My eyes filled with a grief so profound it ached. “I just have one question. Was this your idea, or was it Dolores’s?”

Dolores wheeled herself between us, two perfect tears tracing paths down her pale cheeks. “It was my idea. If you have a problem, take it up with me. Don’t make things difficult for Liam.”

Instantly, Liam’s face hardened as he glared at me. “Dolores’s a patient. Can you stop upsetting her? She’s like a sister to me, we grew up together. What’s the big deal with you, her future sister-in-law, donating a wig?”

His casual dismissal was a physical blow. My eyes stung. How could someone change so completely?

Years ago, when my parents forced me to cut my hair short to sell it for my brother’s new toys, I was relentlessly bullied for my ragged appearance. It was Liam who had stood in front of me, grinning defiantly.

“From now on,” he’d declared, “I’ve got your back. And your hair.”

The memory drained the last of my strength. My voice was quiet, hollow. “Liam, as of today, we’re done.”

I looked him in the eye. “You can wire me the money for the hair. I’m under no obligation to donate it to her.”