Chapter 1

“Sean, my heart hurts a little. Could you take me to the hospital?” I pressed a hand to my chest and spoke weakly into the phone.

“Jenna, I still have clients to meet at the office. Can you consult a doctor on your own? I’ll catch up with you when I’m done,” Sean replied, sounding tired.

“Okay. Don’t overwork yourself,” I murmured, swallowing the ache that kept pinpricking my heart.

“Mm.”

I hailed a cab to the hospital.

To say I didn’t feel that bad would be a lie. But when I reminded myself that Sean was this busy for me—handling things at the company—I got some comfort.

Leaning against the car window, I watched the scenery blur past in streaks. My feeling was a mixed bag of emotions.

The pain in my chest kept needling me, but stronger than the pain was the understanding and empathy I still felt for Sean.

After getting my examination report, I found a seat and wait for my number to be called.

Then I noticed a familiar figure, when I was about to walk over, the doctor called my name.

After I left the consulting room, I saw the figure again. This time I was sure I wasn’t mistaken—it was Sean.

But hadn’t he just said he was swamped at work?

Was he worried about me, so he came after all?

Warmth rose in my chest, and I walked toward him—

—only to see Sean with his arm around a delicate, pretty girl.

The tenderness and indulgence in his eyes as he looked at her was something he had never once shown me.

I just stood there; a flood of questions crashed in my head.

Who was she? Why was Sean so gentle with her? He never mentioned having a sister.

My body moved before my brain caught up. I strode straight up to them.

“Sean, who is she?” I asked, eyes fixed on him.

He frowned, “Jenna, what are you doing here?” His voice had gone cold.

“I told you my heart was sick and I came to see a doctor. You said you were busy. What—done already?” I forced my voice to stay even, pushing down the sting.

“I just finished. Mia wasn’t feeling well, so I brought her here,” he said, brow creased with the faintest edge of impatience.

“Who is she? It seems you two are quite familiar, your ex?”

“Mia Moore. We grew up together,” the girl said quickly, shaking her head. “Sister Jenna, I’m not his ex or anything.”

She looked fragile, the kind of fragile that makes people want to protect her. But when her eyes flicked to mine, I caught a flash of certain hostility.

“Oh? I thought you were just hiding behind the ‘childhood sweethearts’ label to flirt,” I said, keeping my gaze on Mia.

“Jenna Grant, do you have to talk like this over something so small? I told you Mia felt unwell, so I came with her,” Sean’s face hardened at once.

“She’s unwell—what about me? Did it cross your mind that I might be unwell too?” A crooked, mocking smile tugged at my lips.

“You’ve always been healthy. Mia isn’t like you—she’s been weak since she was a kid,” he said, eyes skittering away.

“And what is she to you, that you’re so partial?” My tone turned biting.

He hesitated, something nervous flickering in his eyes. “I figured… since I was already here with Mia, I could swing by and check on you too. Don’t overthink it.”

Oh. An afterthought. Bitterness rose like a dark tide.

I listened to his explanation, but the cold inside me was like a winter wind—bone-deep and unrelenting.

I laughed, but the sound tasted of disappointment. “So that’s what I am to you— just swing by?”

“Jenna, please don’t be mad. This is all my fault,” Mia said softly, eyes shining. “Sean, go with Jenna. I’m okay.”

Sean’s expression twisted, as if he wanted to say something but the words stuck in his throat. He looked at Mia—hesitated—then turned back, trying placating me with gentleness. “Jenna, you know I didn’t mean it. I just… I just…”

“Just what? Just care about her more?” I cut in; eyes red. The tears pricked, but I refused to let them fall. “We’ve been together so long, and I’ve never seen you this tender with anyone. Sean Turner, you make me feel like a stranger.”

He flinched, then forced a smile and walked over to ruffle my hair. “Be good, Jenna, don’t overthink it. Let’s go home.”

I stared at the fake warmth on his face and swallowed every question and every flare of anger. I pulled a smile across my mouth, stiff and thin.

I did see that Mia’s eyes flashed with hatred when Sean walked toward me—then smoothed into softness the moment he glanced back at her.

Back home, Sean helped me onto the sofa, patting my back and coaxing in a gentle voice. “Are you jealous, honey? Mia Moore stayed at my home sometimes when we were kids. I’ve always treated her like a sister. Her parents are gone—she has no one else.”

“I’d planned to finish work and then catch up with you. But I ran into her crouching on the sidewalk; I didn’t think much and just brought her here. I figured since we were at the hospital, I could see you too.”

I lifted my eyes to his. The eyes that used to make me feel safe now felt like strange.

He acted as if nothing had happened—like the way he’d treated me earlier was all in my head.

“Sean, it’s not that I don’t believe you and her. What I care about is your attitude toward us.” I drew a breath to steady myself. “You keep saying she’s a sister, but at the hospital you looked at her with a tenderness I’ve never once seen before. At that moment, I felt like an outsider.”

His expression shifted.

My eyes burned. I swallowed the tears and forced a smile. “I’m going to shower.”

A fine, needling ache pierced my chest again. I couldn’t tell whether it was my heart—or Sean—that hurt more.

In the bathroom, the tears broke without warning.

My phone rang. I wiped my hands and picked up.

“Jenna, you’re coming tomorrow night. No ditching me again or you’re dead,” my best friend, Sophie Miles, squawked down the line.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be on time,” I rasped.

“What’s wrong? Why do you sound hoarse?” she asked, suddenly worried.

“It’s nothing. A little cold,” I said, keeping my voice even.

“A cold? Make Sean get you some hot water and cold meds.”

It hit me then—through five years together, Sean had been good to me, gentle even. Yet whenever I felt unwell, he always had a reason not to be there. His tenderness arrived late—every time.