Chapter 1Fade to Nothing

The night before my engagement party, my stepsister’s reckless driving left me broken.

Joey Sterling, my once-gentle fiancé, lost his mind.

He locked Ailsa away, pulling every string to make her pay for what she’d done. He burned through his fortune and called in every favor to keep me alive, but it was no use.

I slipped into a vegetative state. In the last moment of consciousness, I saw Joey kneeling by my hospital bed, his face a mask of tears.

“Elara,” he choked out, “I’ll wait for you. I’ll always wait for you.”

Three years later, I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was Ailsa, her hand resting on a swollen belly as she flaunted a diamond ring on her finger.

“Joey and I are getting married soon,” she purred.

“So be a good girl, stay quiet, and get the hell out of our lives.”

She flicked a wad of cash at my face, the bills scattering across my lap.

I picked them up, one by one. Then, under Ailsa’s disbelieving stare, I shoved them into her mouth. As Joey rushed to her side, pulling her protectively into his arms, I swallowed the coppery taste of blood in my throat and slapped him across the face.

“You’re disgusting, Joey.”

* * *

The force of the slap snapped Joey’s head to the side, a raw, red mark blooming on his cheek.

His eyes were a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. He reached for me, his hand hovering in the air for a moment before falling uselessly to his side.

After a long, heavy silence, all he could manage was a hollow, “I’m sorry.”

I wanted to scream at them to get out, but the words wouldn’t form. My breath came in ragged gasps.

Panic flared in Joey’s eyes. He shot up, calling for a doctor.

The physician who arrived assumed Joey was my next of kin and began to speak, but Ailsa suddenly clutched her stomach, crying out in pain.

In an instant, Joey abandoned the doctor’s report. He swept Ailsa into his arms, barking orders and summoning half the medical staff to her side.

“Elara, just wait for me,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

Then he was gone, leaving me in the sterile silence of the room.

A dark drop landed on the pristine white sheet.

It wasn't a tear. It was a grim reminder of my borrowed time.

The doctor had barely finished explaining my prognosis when my father, Arthur Gabriel, walked in carrying a bouquet. Trailing behind him was Ailsa’s mother, Miranda.

After a few empty pleasantries, Miranda slid a stack of photos onto my bedside table, her smile saccharine sweet.

“These are some of the most eligible young men in the city, Elara. See anyone you like?”

I kept my eyes down, refusing to acknowledge her. She shot a wounded look at my father.

He took his cue, his voice stern. “Your sister is getting married. It’s time for you to stop dwelling on the past and find someone to settle down with.”

A flicker of triumph lit Miranda’s eyes. “Love doesn’t wait, dear,” she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “It’s a shame you and Joey didn’t work out, but you can’t interfere with their happiness now.”

That was it. I snatched the photos and threw them in her face.

“My mother is dead,” I snarled, my voice raw. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do? Played the homewrecker for so long you’ve started to believe you’re the lady of the house?”

For a moment, even Miranda’s practiced mask slipped, a flash of pure hatred in her eyes before she dissolved into crocodile tears.

“Elara!” my father roared, his hand raised to strike me.

For the first time in my life, I fought back. I grabbed his wrist, my grip surprisingly strong. My voice was ice.

“A story about you cheating on my dying mother, or one about you striking your sick daughter… which do you think the tabloids would prefer, Dad?”

We were locked in a standoff. Finally, he backed down, his face turning a shade of purple as he stormed out, dragging Miranda with him.

“I can’t believe three years in a coma turned you into this monster!” he spat as he left.

Only when they were gone did I allow myself to collapse. A violent cough wracked my body, and I spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. My eyes landed on the bouquet they’d left behind—a cluster of yellow roses, now trampled on the ground.

With my mother gone, no one remembered my allergy.

Leaving the hospital, the doctor’s words echoed in my head. I was diagnosed with stomach cancer right before the wedding, three years ago. They said I wouldn’t live to see twenty-five. I’d been on my way to tell Joey, to call everything off, when Ailsa’s car slammed into me.

I had missed the window for effective treatment. Now, the clock was ticking. I had two weeks left.