chapter 1

To pay for my vegetative fiancé's medical bills, I was carrying a water jug up to the 24th floor, utterly exhausted.

And then, out of nowhere, Jericho Simpson—the man who was supposed to be lying in a hospital bed—appeared around the corner, looking perfectly well.

I ran right into him, and in that instant, I felt a chilling shock.

My body began to tremble uncontrollably.

"What are you doing here?"

Jericho's eyes landed on me. I caught the flicker of panic in his eyes, but it vanished in a heartbeat.

"You look filthy. Why are you dressed like that?"

His tone dripped with disdain and disgust.

I glanced down at myself—my hair was a sweaty, tangled mess, my clothes were worn and stretched out, and my hands were covered in calluses from endless hard labor.

"I'm sorry ... " I said automatically, like I was dealing with a difficult drunk at the bar.

Even though I'd done nothing wrong.

Jericho pinched his nose in disgust. "What's that smell on you? Ugh, gross. Can you just stay away from me?!"

I shrank back.

Three years without seeing him, and his first reaction wasn't relief or excitement—it was disgust.

I felt my blood turn cold.

After a long silence, I finally managed to speak. "Jericho, I thought you were still in the hospital. Why—"

"I was discharged ages ago," he interrupted coldly.

I panicked. "When? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

Jericho looked me straight in the eye, wearing this smug, justified expression. "How else could I test your love if I didn't fake being in a coma?!"

My mind went blank. I collapsed onto the ground.

So that's it ...

I just sat there in a daze, my eyes empty.

Jericho was in a car accident three years ago and ended up in a vegetative state.

He was an orphan with no parents to care for him.

Even though I was just a penniless college graduate at the time, I took on his astronomical medical bills.

If it could keep him alive, I was ready to do whatever it took.

For three years, I did every job I could get my hands on, working five jobs at once and sleeping three hours a day.

During the day, I hauled bricks at construction sites. At night, I worked at a bar. On weekends, I juggled tutoring, waiting tables, and even delivering water.

For three years, I endured unimaginable hardship.

My hands were covered with thick calluses and frostbite scars.

I even broke my left leg once at a construction site.

Yet, I didn't dare ask for compensation, terrified of being fired.

I couldn't even bring myself to spend money on a hospital, so I just went to a small clinic to have my leg set.

Even now, rainy weather makes my leg ache like hell.

There were moments when I felt like I was seconds away from dropping dead.

I wanted to quit so many times, but the thought of Jericho kept me pushing forward.

Everything I did was for him.

I would've gladly given my life if it meant saving his.

But now, it was as if the universe smacked me across the face—Jericho was never in a coma.

He'd woken up long ago, and I'd suffered for nothing for three years.

Could you think of anything more absurd?

I looked at his face—sharper, more striking—as my tears wouldn't stop falling.

Jericho scowled, staring down at me with zero intention of helping me up.

"Stop crying. I have a meeting. Clean yourself up," he said coldly, and then walked straight into the conference room.

From behind the heavy glass, I heard them fawning over him.

Calling him a financial rising star, a brilliant young talent.

Next to him stood a woman with perfect makeup.

I recognized her instantly—Talia Langdon, the campus beauty who'd been trailing Jericho since university.

It seemed Jericho's life hadn't changed one bit, with or without me.

Everything I gave up for him had been nothing but a one-sided act.

"Jericho, you put me through hell with your lies."