Unending love

My ten-year-old brother was dying from a bee sting, his breath catching in his throat. I was terrified, but relief washed over me when the ambulance arrived. Help was here.

But the paramedic wasn't looking at my brother. She was staring at the watch on my wrist, a gift from my fiancé, Graham. When I told her his name, her professional mask shattered.

"Graham is my man," she snarled. She was his psychotic ex-girlfriend.

She kicked her medical bag shut and let my brother die on the grass, calling him a "bastard." Then she and her brother beat me unconscious.

I woke up strapped to an operating table. With a scalpel in her hand, she whispered, "After I'm done, do you think he'll still want to look at this face?"

She carved up my face and then, with chilling satisfaction, destroyed my ability to ever have children, ensuring I could never give Graham the family she believed was hers alone.

She took everything from me-my brother, my face, my future-all because of a delusion.

When Graham finally burst in, he didn't recognize the bloody mess on the table until he saw a tiny scar by my eye. The man I loved vanished, replaced by something cold and merciless. He looked at me, then at her, and I knew the law would never be enough. Our revenge would be absolute.

Chapter 1

Holly Stevenson's POV:

The last time I saw my brother smile, a bee was buzzing lazily around the dandelions at his feet. He was ten years old, all knobby knees and a gap-toothed grin, and he thought chasing it was the greatest adventure in the world. I told him to be careful, the way I always did, the words a constant, loving hum beneath the surface of our lives ever since our parents were gone. He just laughed, that bright, bell-like sound that was the entire soundtrack of my world.

Then he screamed.

It wasn't a playful shriek. It was a sound of pure, sudden pain that sliced through the warm afternoon air. I was on my feet before my mind even caught up, Graham's heavy, custom-engraved watch bumping against my wrist. He was supposed to be here with us, but a last-minute deposition had chained him to his desk downtown.

I ran. Joel was on the ground, clutching his small hand, his face already starting to puff up, turning a blotchy, alarming red. The bee, its life's work done, lay on the grass beside him.

"It hurts, Holly," he wheezed, and the sound of his breath, thin and tight, sent a spike of pure ice through my heart. Anaphylaxis. The doctor had warned us after he' d had a reaction to a wasp sting years ago. It was severe. Life-threatening.

My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone, my fingers slipping on the screen as I dialed 911. The dispatcher's voice was a calm drone in my ear, a stark contrast to the frantic hammering of my own pulse.

They were here in minutes that felt like centuries. The ambulance screamed to a halt on the access road, and two paramedics jumped out. A man I barely registered, and a woman. She was tall, with sharp features and blonde hair pulled back so tightly it seemed to stretch the skin over her cheekbones. She had an air of brisk competence that made my shoulders sag with relief.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice clipped and professional as she knelt beside Joel.

"A bee sting," I gasped, pushing my tangled hair out of my face. "He's severely allergic. Anaphylaxis. He needs epinephrine, right now."

She nodded, her eyes scanning Joel's small, struggling form. "We've got it. Just stay calm." She started to open her medical bag, her movements efficient and sure. For a single, fleeting second, I allowed myself to breathe. He was going to be okay. Help was here.

Then she paused. Her gaze wasn't on Joel anymore. It was on my wrist. On my watch.

It was a beautiful timepiece, a matching one to Graham's, a gift from him on our one-year anniversary. His initials were engraved on the back, intertwined with mine. It was my most treasured possession.

Her eyes, a pale, washed-out blue, flickered from the watch to my face. The professional mask she wore cracked, just for a second, and something cold and ugly peered out.

"Who gave you that watch?" she asked.

The question was so bizarre, so out of place, that I just stared at her. Joel was gasping for air beside her, his skin taking on a bluish tint, and she was asking about my watch.

"My fiancé," I stammered, confused. "Please, my brother isn't breathing."