The Game of Breaking Bones

The laughter from inside the suite cut right through the heavy wooden door.

Julian's friends held crystal champagne flutes, their voices dripping with contempt and flattery.

"Julian, that trick was absolutely brilliant. Slapping on a fake cast, pretending to be crippled, hiding out in the slums. And that girl -- what's her name, Lily? -- that orphan actually believed you gave up a billion-dollar fortune for her. She's been washing dishes at some hole-in-the-wall restaurant every day just to support you."

Julian let out a soft laugh. His slender fingers brushed a strand of hair behind Victoria's ear, and his eyes held a tenderness I'd never once seen. It was a look he would never, ever show me in that basement apartment.

"If I didn't find some gullible fool to take the fall, how was I supposed to fool the old man? She didn’t deserve to make me break my leg."

Victoria nestled into his arms with a coy pout, her voice dripping with contempt.

"So are you going back to that moldy little apartment tonight? I can't bear to let you go. That cheap cooking-oil smell on you makes me sick."

Julian pressed a kiss to her forehead, his voice low and indulgent.

"Just a few more days. Once my father officially announces my return to the family tomorrow, I'll get rid of that nuisance. I'll stay with you tonight. I'm not going back."

I stood frozen outside the door. My stomach dropped.

Three years of memories hit me all at once.

I remembered him carrying me on his back through a torrential downpour to the clinic when I had a raging fever, dragging that "broken leg" behind him, refusing to let go even when he stumbled into a muddy ditch.

I remembered working three jobs a day to afford his medical bills -- taking the night shift cleaning toxic residue at a chemical plant until my lungs were damaged, coughing through entire nights.

I remembered him holding me, whispering: Lily, I've lost everything for you. You're all I have left.

All of it was a lie.

I pulled out my phone, opened our pinned conversation, and typed a message.

*Julian, what time are you getting off work tonight? I made your favorite pasta.*

The typing indicator appeared at the top of the chat.

Half a minute later, his reply came through.

*The shop's got a rush order tonight. Boss wants me to pull an all-nighter. Go to bed early, don't wait up. I'll earn some overtime pay and buy you a new outfit tomorrow.*

Through the crack in the door, I watched Julian finish typing, then casually toss his phone onto the sofa. He turned, scooped Victoria into his arms, and carried her toward the suite's private bedroom.

The door slammed shut, sealing away the flirtatious laughter inside.

I turned and left. The corridor carpet was soft, but every step felt like walking on the edge of a blade, a sharp pain shooting up through my feet.

Back in our rented basement apartment -- barely a hundred square feet -- the air reeked of mildew from never seeing sunlight.

On the table sat the plain pasta I'd made by hand, now congealed into a sticky lump.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the stack of overdue bills on the table. They were the only evidence of the life we'd built over three years.

To pay for his leg treatment, I'd borrowed from loan sharks and survived on bread and canned soup every day. He'd cried, swearing he'd give me a better life someday.

I'd believed him. I'd ripped my heart out of my chest and placed it in his hands.

In his eyes, I was nothing but a decoy to fend off his family's matchmaking.

My phone screen lit up. A message from Mr. Pemberton, the Holloway family's butler.

*Miss Holloway, your father is asking when you'll be bringing your fiance home. The Holloway Group share transfer documents are ready.*

Three months ago, the Holloway family -- the wealthiest in the city -- had found me and confirmed I was their long-lost daughter.

To protect Julian's pride, I'd hidden my identity, planning to surprise him on this anniversary with the truth.

My fingers trembling, I typed a reply.

*Don't add his name to the share transfer. I'm coming home tomorrow.*