Chapter 2

I gave the cab driver an address, then scrolled through my contacts until I found a number I hadn't called in years.

When the line went through, I said, "Three years ago, you asked me to move abroad and join your team. Does that offer still stand?"

After receiving a firm confirmation, I squeezed my eyes shut. "Great. But I need you to help me fake my death."

The moment I hung up, calls from Donovan and everyone else started flooding my phone. I ignored every one of them, but then their text messages began pouring in one after another.

Thea: [Violet, where are you? Donovan is going out of his mind looking for you.]

A message from my brother, Neil Sanford, appeared right after hers. It was a video file. The moment I tapped it open, my fingers curled into tight fists.

In the video, Donovan had a long, ugly scrape running up his forearm. He was limping badly, his clothes caked with dirt and grime, leaving him looking completely disheveled.

Neil: [Donovan got hit by a car while searching for you. Mom and Dad almost fainted from shock. Where are you, Violet? Stop scaring us like this.]

I drew in a deep breath, my grip tightening around my phone before slowly relaxing. With a faint tremor in my fingertips, I finally texted back an address.

The moment the message went through, I shut off my phone and began climbing the long flight of stone steps leading up to the hilltop chapel, taking them one at a time.

When I woke up from my coma two months ago, Thea had shown me a video. It was a recording of Donovan climbing these very same chapel steps, pausing at each one with his head bowed in prayer before continuing upward.

He had never been religious or particularly spiritual, yet during the three years I had lain unconscious in a hospital bed, he had come here again and again, praying with such desperate devotion that he would beg God for a miracle to bring me back.

When I finally woke, Donovan, who had barely left my bedside for three years, disappeared for an entire day. When he finally returned, exhaustion was carved deep into his features.

I asked where he'd been, and his eyes lit up with an almost surreal intensity. He explained, "I went back to fulfill my vow. To thank God for giving you back to me."

My lashes fluttered as I looked at his torn pants and swollen legs. Tears immediately filled my eyes, and I threw my arms around him.

"Donovan, let's get married," I said, my voice soft yet unwavering.

I had been so completely consumed by happiness that I failed to notice the subtle stiffness that passed through him the instant the word "married" left my lips.

It took me nearly an hour to climb the hundreds of steps. The leg that had undergone major surgery after the crash had begun throbbing with a dull, familiar ache.

I rested my hands on my knees, catching my breath before stepping into the quiet chapel, where Donovan had kept a prayer candle burning.

The instant I pushed the door open, my fingernails dug into my palms. Beneath the candle that was meant to honor the baby Donovan and I had lost, the memorial plaque bore Cheryl's name.

The handwriting was unmistakably Donovan's, so familiar to me that seeing it there felt like a knife twisting straight through my heart.

Every breath I drew felt like inhaling razor-sharp needles, sending waves of pain through my entire body. The crash three years ago hadn't merely left me in a coma. It had also taken away the tiny life that had just begun growing inside me.

And now, the woman responsible for all of it was sitting here in my child's place, receiving blessings beneath that eternal flame.

I raised a trembling hand, ready to smash the candle, when hurried footsteps suddenly echoed behind me, followed by an anxious voice.

"Violet!"

I froze and turned around, my eyes bloodshot and filled with tears. Donovan rushed into the chapel and immediately threw himself between me and the candle.

"Don't touch that."

My eyes widened as a sharp burn spread behind them.

"Why?" I demanded, my voice raw and hoarse, even shocking me with how broken it sounded. "The child who was supposed to be remembered here was yours too."

A flicker of anguish crossed Donovan's face. His lips parted, but no words came.

Another voice came from the doorway, breaking the deadlock. "Don't blame Donovan. This was your father's and my idea."