Catalina’s eyes narrowed, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

“You?” she asked, her voice tight, disbelief dripping from every syllable.

Isabella tilted her head, her glossy hair falling like a sheet of gold over one shoulder. “Yes. I pulled him from the wreckage. I kept him alive until help came. If it weren’t for me…” Her perfectly manicured fingers brushed Frederick’s sleeve possessively, “…he wouldn’t be standing here today.”

Frederick — Frederick Raynold, billionaire, tycoon, man who once swore he’d never love again until he met Catalina — merely frowned. His gaze slid between them, searching for some thread of familiarity that wasn’t there.

Catalina’s chest ached. She...