The Scar He Left: Finding True Love

From the back cover

For three years, I was Colton’s hands and feet. I wiped the sweat from his brow and taught him to walk again after the accident that nearly killed him.

He promised me a future.

But the moment his ex-girlfriend, Charlie, returned from Paris, I became nothing.

"She was just the crutch I needed to walk to you," I heard him tell her.

At his recovery party, Charlie shattered his late father’s cherished wooden puzzle box and blamed me. She shrieked that I had poisoned her soup out of jealousy.

Colton didn't hesitate. He didn't check the security footage. He didn't ask for the truth.

He gripped my jaw, his fingers digging into my cheeks, and forced the scalding broth down my throat.

"Eat it! Prove you're not crazy!"

He roared while I choked on blood and blisters, the hot liquid searing my skin. He chose the woman who abandoned him over the woman who saved his life.

I took the severance check, deleted every photo, and vanished into the night.

Six months later, I was accepting an award for my new rehabilitation clinic in Australia, wearing a diamond ring given to me by a man who treats my scars like gold.

Colton stood in the back of the auditorium, looking like a ghost. He had finally discovered that Charlie was a fraud who faked her "spiritual journey" to get illegal plastic surgery.

He came to beg for forgiveness.

But when our eyes met, I didn't feel anger. I didn't feel love.

I turned my back on him and walked into the light.