Chapter 1

"Stage IV lymphoma."

Dr. Carter' s words hung in the sterile air of his office. He looked at me with professional sympathy, his face calm.

"Without aggressive chemotherapy, you have six months, maybe a year."

I stared at the polished surface of his desk. The diagnosis wasn't a shock. It was a confirmation of the weakness that had been creeping into my bones for months, the same exhaustion that took my mother.

"For the treatment," he continued, his voice gentle, "we need a family member to sign the consent forms. Someone to be here for you."

Family. The word felt foreign. My relatives, the powerful Jensen family of Nashville, were strangers. They took me in after my mother died, but only as a duty. Their world was politics and power, a world where I, the daughter of a simple farmer, was a permanent outsider.

There was only one person. Liam.

My husband.

He was my only family now. I clung to that fact, a desperate, foolish hope.

I pulled out my phone as soon as I left the hospital. His name was at the top of my contacts: "My Husband." I pressed the call button.

It rang once, twice, then went to voicemail.

"Liam, it's Hailey. I need to talk to you. It's important."

I tried again. Voicemail.

A third time. Straight to voicemail. He had rejected the call.

My hand started to tremble. I sent a text.

Can you please come home? I really need you.

No reply.

The sky outside was a flat, gray sheet, matching the cold dread inside me. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I leaned against the cold brick wall of the hospital, my breath catching in my throat. The lymphoma was a quiet poison, and today, it felt like it was finally winning.

I walked home, each step an effort. Our house, a sterile modern mansion in a gated community, felt more like a museum than a home. It was Liam's house. I was just a temporary exhibit.

Hours later, the front door opened. Liam strode in, his face set in its usual cold, handsome lines. He didn't look at me. He was heading for the stairs.

"Liam," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

He stopped and finally turned. His eyes scanned me, from my too-thin frame to my pale face. His lip curled in a sneer.

"What now, Hailey? Are you starving yourself for attention again? Trying to get my grandfather to pity you?"

Before I could answer, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and a flicker of something warmer crossed his face.

"Savannah," he said into the phone, his voice softening. "Yes, I have it. The award for your album. I'm on my way to the dinner now."

He pocketed the phone and grabbed a small, velvet-covered box from the console table-Savannah's award. He turned to leave, his duty to me already forgotten.

"Wait," I pleaded. "Liam, please."

He paused at the door, his back to me. "I don't have time for your games."

And then he was gone. The door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the silent, empty house.