The anesthesia had long worn off, and the pain from my wound left me shivering, a bitter taste rising in my mouth, as if I had swallowed a gallon of tears.

“Zoe, I really messed up.”

The chair by my bed creaked as someone sat down. That voice—Hudson Grant’s—was unmistakable. Over the past five years, I had memorized his every expression, every breath. I could read his mood from the smallest gesture.

But now, all I felt was disappointment. I didn’t even want to glance at him.

Hudson spoke softly, just like he always did. “I’m sorry, Zoe. Whitney just got back today, and she said she has no family...