1 Each winter after my amputation, I could not bear the cold. Stewart would pause his empire to take me to a private island. On nights when phantom pain left me shaking, he knelt by the bed for hours, kissing the scar on my stump until I calmed. Our circle called him devoted, a saint for staying with a broken woman. I believed losing my leg had at least bound me to love. Three years ago, his childhood friend cut my rope on an Alpine peak. Stewart wept all night, then destroyed her family by morning. After that, no one in New York dared cross me. On our fifth island winter, a storm woke me to an empty bed. On crutches, I reached a half-open door down the hall. Windy was there, the woman who should have been begging on the streets. Stewart held her close, voice thick with care. Do not cry, baby. It is only thunder. She pouted, hitting his chest. You spend every day with that pathetic cripple. I am sick of hiding. He kissed her tears away. Sweetheart, just a little longer. I will stay with you tonight. Windy leaned back into his chest, her fingers playing with the buttons of his silk pajama shirt, her voice dripping with disgust. “You actually kiss that hideous stump every night? Doesn’t it make you want to throw up?” The tropical storm lashed against the French windows, a relentless, deafening roar that drowned out my ragged breathing. I should have turned and walked away, but my remaining foot felt nailed to the floorboards. Stewart let out a soft chuckle. “Gemma is like a piece of shattered porcelain right now. If I don’t handle her with kid gloves, how is she supposed to stay quietly in her wheelchair?” Windy rolled her eyes. “But how much longer do we have to play this game?” “The foundation for disabled youth goes public next month. As our primary brand ambassador, she has to stay on her pedestal until the IPO is secured.” “But you give her those heavy sedatives every single day. What if they end up killing her?” Stewart’s voice remained flat, completely devoid of emotion. “The doctor said the dosage is safe. It just keeps her quiet and compliant.” I bit down on the back of my hand, sinking my teeth deep into my flesh until the metallic tang of blood flooded my mouth. He had told me they were vitamins. Two white pills every morning to boost my immune system. He had been so incredibly gentle, cupping my cheek with his warm palm, whispering like he was coaxing a child. “Be good, Gemma. Take these, and the pain will go away.” Three years ago, when I first woke up from the amputation surgery and saw the empty space where my right leg used to be, I had lost my mind. I screamed, thrashing and smashing everything within arm’s reach. When Stewart rushed into the hospital room, I was raising a heavy metal lamp, ready to hurl it. Without a second thought, he dropped to his knees right onto the shattered glass covering the floor. Shards sliced deep into his skin, staining his trousers crimson, but he didn’t even flinch. He just wrapped his arms around me, holding me in a death grip. He kissed my forehead over and over, his voice raw. “Gemma, I will be your right leg from now on. I swear I will never let anyone hurt you again.” I had wept until my body went limp, believing that no matter how dark my life got, this man would always be my shield. What a joke. A wave of intense nausea hit me, rising hot in my throat. I slowly released my hand, staring at the deep, purple crescent of teeth marks bruised into my skin. Inside the room, Windy was still whining. “Stay with me tonight. She took her pills, she won’t wake up anyway.” Stewart didn’t answer, but the rustle of clothes and Windy’s soft, pleased giggles spoke louder than words. Thunder shook the corridor. Using every ounce of strength I had, I stabilized my crutches, dragged my remaining leg, and retreated silently into the dark bedroom. I spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, listening to the muffled, agonizing sounds from the next room until dawn broke. By morning, the rain still hadn’t let up. The door creaked open, and Stewart walked in carrying a glass of warm water, his eyes reflecting the same gentle warmth he had shown me for years. “Awake already, Gemma?” He sat on the edge of the mattress, helping me sit up and placing a plush pillow behind my back. Then, he shook two white tablets from a bottle into his palm and held them to my lips. “The storm must have triggered your joint pain last night. Take your vitamins.” I stared at the pills, motionless. Stewart’s brow furrowed with concern. “Come on, sweetheart. The doctor got these specifically to help you feel better.” I didn’t argue. I opened my mouth, let the dry tablets rest under my tongue, and took a small sip of water. “Good girl.” He smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear before turning around to draw the heavy curtains. The moment his back was turned, I spit the dissolving pills into my palm, curling my fingers into a tight fist. But as the curtains parted, Stewart seemed to sense something. “Gemma, you’re awfully quiet today.” He spun back around, his sharp gaze locking onto my face. Before I could react, he stepped forward, grabbing my chin with a firm grip and forcing my head up. “Did you actually swallow them?” His eyes searched my mouth. “Open up. Let me see.” My heart missed a beat. I obediently parted my lips, showing him an empty tongue. Stewart stared for a long, tense moment before the suspicion in his eyes slowly melted away. He released my chin, his thumb lightly tracing my cheekbone. “Get some rest. I’ll bring your breakfast up.” The door clicked shut. I opened my sweaty palm, staring at the semi-dissolved sedatives. Unclasping the silver locket around my neck, I slipped the wet chalky remains inside and snapped it shut. When the rain finally cleared, the island was bathed in brilliant sunshine. Stewart decided it was a perfect day for a walk, pushing my wheelchair down to the private beach. The ocean breeze swept over my face, but looking out at the endless waves, my heart felt like a graveyard. “You must be thirsty. I’ll grab you some fresh juice from the pavilion.” Stewart parked my wheelchair under the shade of a large umbrella and walked toward the resort bar. A few minutes later, a server in a resort uniform approached, placing a tall glass on the small table beside me. “Your juice, Miss.” The voice made my entire body lock up. I looked up to find Windy looking down at me, her lips curved into a smug, mocking sneer. A distance away, Stewart turned and saw us. His expression darkened instantly. He marched over, stepping directly between us, his voice a low, furious hiss. “What are you doing out here?” “What is she doing here, Stewart?” I asked, keeping my voice dead and cold. Windy’s reaction was instantaneous. Her eyes welled with tears, and she dropped to her knees. “Please, Gemma, I beg you, just let me live!” She wept so pitifully that several nearby hotel guests began to whisper and point. “Three years ago, you ruined my family because of a misunderstanding! I’ve been hiding on this island, washing dishes just to survive. I know I made mistakes, but why won’t you let me have a fresh start?” Every word was designed to paint me as a bitter, vengeful heiress who was abusing her power to keep a poor girl down. My body began to shake, a violent, involuntary reaction to the trauma of seeing her. Stewart noticed. He dropped to one knee, placing his hand over my trembling knee with the perfect amount of pressure, just as he had done a thousand times before. “Gemma,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Deep breaths. Focus on me. You’re safe.” I couldn’t speak. I just stared at Windy. My mind flashed back to that freezing day on the mountain. The howling wind, my fingers turning blue as I clung desperately to the icy ledge, suspended over a deadly abyss. Windy had stood above me, looking down with a vicious, mocking grin. Then, she had raised her heavy boot and stomped hard on my frozen fingers. “Go to hell, Gemma.” For five years, that face had haunted my nightmares, waking me up drenched in cold sweat. And every time, Stewart would pull me into his chest, kissing my hair, whispering, “It’s over, darling. She paid for what she did.” But the truth was, the “price” she paid was being kept safe right under his nose. In a sudden burst of rage, I shoved Stewart away, forced myself up onto my left leg, and threw my weight forward. My hand cut through the air, landing a resounding slap across Windy’s face. The force spun her head to the side, and a thin trickle of blood appeared at the corner of her mouth. She stared at me, wide-eyed with shock. The beach fell dead silent. The warmth in Stewart’s eyes vanished completely, replaced by a cold, sharp irritation. He grabbed my arm, forcing me back into the wheelchair, his brow furrowing deeply. “Have you lost your mind?” I looked up at him. “I’ve lost my mind?” Stewart exhaled a long, heavy sigh, his face filled with profound disappointment. “She has already suffered. She lost everything, Gemma.” “Look at you now. You’ve become bitter, vindictive, and cruel.” “Don’t let your obsession with revenge turn you into an ugly monster.” I stared at his righteous, hypocritical face. Three years ago, he swore he would make her pay with her life. Today, he called me a monster. I didn’t argue. I simply brushed his hand off my arm and turned the wheels of my chair, pushing myself back toward the villa. Behind me, Windy’s whiny voice drifted over the sand. “Stewart, it hurts so bad…” “Shh, it’s okay,” Stewart’s voice was infinitely tender. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” I didn’t look back. I only felt that even under the blazing sun, the world had never felt colder. By nightfall, a category-four hurricane made landfall. The wind shrieked, throwing sheets of rain against the reinforced glass, cutting off all power and communication to the island. At two in the morning, I tumbled out of bed. Without the sedatives, the brutal combination of withdrawal and phantom limb pain hit me all at once. My stump was spasming violently, and sweat soaked through my nightgown. I desperately needed water, but my body refused to cooperate. My hand trembled as I reached for the glass pitcher on the nightstand, sending it crashing to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. As I fell, the jagged glass sliced deep into my palms, and blood pooled onto the floor. Just then, the door swung open. Stewart and Windy stood in the doorway, wearing matching silk pajamas. In the flashes of lightning, they looked like a perfect, mocking portrait. Seeing the blood and glass, Windy’s eyes lit up with malicious glee, and she rushed forward. “Oh my gosh, Gemma! Are you okay? Let me help you!” She knelt beside me, her voice dripping with fake concern. Stewart turned back to the hallway to grab the first-aid kit. The second his back was turned, Windy’s worried expression shattered. She reached out, her fingers wrapping around the sensitive skin of my stump, her manicured nails digging mercilessly into my flesh. “You were so brave this afternoon on the beach, wasn’t you?” “Look at you now, crawling on the floor like a pathetic, filthy dog.” In a blind panic of pain and adrenaline, I swung my arm, shoving her away with all my might. “Ah!” Windy let out a theatrical shriek, throwing herself backward directly onto the pile of shattered glass. The sharp shards sliced into her forearms, and blood seeped through her skin. Clutching her arm, she looked toward the door, tears streaming down her face. “Stewart, it hurts…” Stewart rushed back into the room, holding the first-aid kit. Without casting a single glance in my direction, he scooped Windy up in his arms, his face pale with worry as he inspected her cuts. Once he saw they were merely superficial, he slowly turned his gaze to me. “I let it slide this afternoon because I thought you were just emotional,” he said, his voice trembling with a quiet, lethal rage. “But she was just trying to help you, and you did this. Gemma, how long are you going to keep acting like a rabid animal?” Windy clung to his chest, trembling. “Stewart, I’m scared… she’s going to hurt me again…” Stewart’s gaze drifted down to my right leg. He gently set Windy aside and walked over, stopping right in front of me. “Since you can’t seem to control yourself, you need to learn how to sit still.” With a blank, robotic expression, his hands reached down to the quick-release buckle of my prosthetic leg. My eyes went wide, and I clawed at his hands. “Stewart! No! Don’t you dare! Leave it alone!” Click. With cold precision, he unlatched the prosthetic and pulled it away. He was stripping away my last shred of dignity, ripping it from my body like a trophy. I bit my lip so hard it bled, my voice a raspy whisper. “When the storm passes, I’m going back to New York.” Stewart let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Gemma, your trust funds and foundation accounts were frozen yesterday. Do you honestly think anyone in your family is coming to save you?” “You can’t even walk out of this room. Just be a good girl and stay put.” He wrapped his arm around Windy and walked out, locking the heavy mahogany door from the outside. I collapsed onto the bloody, glass-strewn floor. I sat there in the dark for a long time, and then, a low chuckle escaped my lips. The chuckle turned into a laugh, until tears streamed down my face. My parents had no other children. When I was ten, I had begged them for an older brother because I was lonely. To make me happy, they had adopted twelve-year-old Stewart from an orphanage. He became the golden heir of the family, my rock, my protector. Then my parents died in a car crash, and shortly after, I lost my leg. One by one, Stewart had forced my uncles and senior executives out of the family firm, seizing total control. He had explained, “Gemma, they’re greedy vultures. I’m just protecting your legacy.” How incredibly naive I had been. I had been blind to the monstrous ambition hidden beneath his gentle smile. My family was gone. But so what? I was still alive. And as long as I was breathing, that was enough. The next morning, the hurricane began to weaken. Stewart had to leave early to deal with a corporate PR emergency at the resort’s business center. The bedroom door clicked open, and Windy walked in. She sauntered over to the nightstand, raising her foot to kick my untouched glass of water to the floor. It spilled everywhere. “Thirsty? Why don’t you lick it off the floor?” she sneered, looking down at me. I didn’t answer. I just stared at her, my eyes flat and emotionless. Windy stepped closer, let out a dry laugh. “Do you seriously think you’re still the high-and-mighty princess of the family?” “Gemma, tell me… do you really believe I was the one who ruined your leg?” My gaze sharpened. Seeing my reaction, her grin widened. “I was hanging off that cliff by a thread myself. How on earth would I have had the strength to kick you off?” She leaned down, her breath hot against my ear. “It was Stewart. He paid one of the guides to slice your backup safety rope before we even started the climb.” My pupils dilated. “You really are a pathetic fool.” Windy laughed, savoring my silent horror. “Your parents’ fatal crash, your useless stump… it was all orchestrated by the ‘brother’ you loved so much. You brought this on your family.” “You’re lying,” I choked out, my voice raw. No matter how much Stewart might have hated me, my parents had raised him as their own. They had showered him with love. How could anyone be that cold-blooded? “If you’re trying to turn me against him, you need a better lie,” I sneered. “Believe what you want.” Windy stood up, humming a tune as she turned to leave. She was so blinded by her own triumph that she didn’t notice the spare phone slipping out of her pocket and landing softly on the thick rug, right beneath the edge of my blanket. Late that night, the rain started pouring again. When Stewart opened the door, I was already back in bed, eyes closed, pretending to be in a drug-induced slumber while trying to stop my body from shivering. He walked over and tucked the blanket around my shoulders. Moments later, he stepped out onto the balcony, leaving the sliding door slightly ajar. Through the howling wind and rain, I heard him speaking to his assistant on the phone. “I don’t care how much that bastard in Australia is asking for! Pay him whatever it takes to keep his mouth shut!” Stewart’s voice had lost all its warmth. It was razor-sharp and cold. The assistant must have said something on the other end. Stewart let out a vicious laugh. “The man is a greedy pig.” “Remind him that he was the one who physically cut Gemma’s rope on that mountain. I only provided the funds; his hands did the deed.” “If this goes south, I have a dozen ways to clear my name. He doesn’t. Tell him to choose his next words very carefully.” The call ended. Only the sound of the wind remained. In the dark room, I pressed my hand against my mouth, tears flowing silently down my face. It was true. The man who had held me and cried, the man who swore to be my right leg, was the very monster who had pushed me into the abyss. My entire life had been a carefully constructed lie, and I had played the fool perfectly. But as the grief washed over me, a strange, cold clarity settled in my mind. Taking advantage of the rumbling thunder, I pulled out the spare phone Windy had dropped. With trembling fingers, I dialed a number I knew by heart. The call connected instantly, and a man’s anxious voice came through the speaker. “Gemma? Thank God! The island’s been dark for two days. Are you safe? Did Stewart…” “Tristan,” I interrupted, my voice flat and steady. “Find the lead guide from our Alps expedition three years ago.” “I need the forensic analysis of that cut rope.”
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