CRASHING INTO YOU

CHAPTER ONE: SHATTERED  Seven years. That’s how long I’d been with him. Seven birthdays. Seven holidays. Seven winters curled up on the couch watching bad movies and eating greasy pizza because neither of us could cook. Seven years of believing in “us.” I held the cake box tight against my chest as I climbed the stairs to our apartment, the smile on my face stubborn despite the long day I’d had at work. The city air clung to my skin — humid, sticky — but inside me, everything felt light. I had plans tonight. Not a grand celebration, but something sweet. Something ours. The hallway smelled like warm takeout and cheap air freshener. Home. I didn’t knock. I never knocked. It was our place. The door creaked open with a soft click. I stepped inside, ready to surprise him with the cake and wine I’d grabbed on the way home. “Ryan?” I called softly. No answer. I frowned. The lights were on, but the living room was empty. His shoes were kicked off by the couch. A half-empty beer bottle sat on the coffee table. The kind he only drank when he wasn’t alone. I set the cake box down and moved quietly down the hall. I should have turned around. The bedroom door was ajar — just wide enough for the universe to break me in half. I stopped breathing. There she was. Isla. My childhood best friend. Her bare back arched, her laugh breathy and smug, the sound of skin against skin sickeningly rhythmic. Ryan’s voice, low and husky, answered hers. “God, Isla…” I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. I’d always wondered what betrayal might feel like if it ever found me. I thought I’d scream, throw something, maybe slap someone. But in that moment, I shattered so quietly it was almost graceful. The cake I’d brought slid from my hands, thudding to the floor behind me. Neither of them heard it. They were too busy… too far gone. My legs moved before I could think. I turned and ran. Ryan shouted behind me. “Leah?! Wait! f**k—LEAH!” I didn’t stop. My vision blurred. My lungs burned. My heart — the one I’d spent seven years feeding and watering and molding around one man — had turned into glass and cracked inside my chest. I didn’t see the street. I heard a horn. Then tires. Then metal. Then… Black. I woke to the sound of beeping. Sharp. Rhythmic. Clinical. My eyelids felt glued shut. My throat was dry. My whole body ached like I’d been crushed from the inside out. A low voice, irritated and unfamiliar, pierced through the fog. “She’s awake.” I blinked, squinting against harsh fluorescent lights. Everything hurt — my ribs, my hip, my pride. A man stood at the foot of the hospital bed. Tall, broad shoulders under a crisp designer suit, dark hair that looked effortlessly perfect, and a face that belonged in Forbes, not in my room. I stared at him, confused. Then he spoke again, sharper this time. “Since you can open your eyes, let’s skip the theatrics. Are you going to admit what you did, or do I need to involve my lawyers?” What? I blinked again, struggling to sit up, but the pain pinned me to the mattress. “You ran into my car last night,” he continued coldly. “Right after bolting into traffic screaming. Don’t look so surprised — your blood’s still on my bumper. Care to explain what kind of scam this is?” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My throat burned, and my head throbbed with a sharp, dull ache. He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “What’s the play here? Pity? Settlement money? Emotional distress suit?” I stared at him, stunned. “You think I threw myself in front of your car on purpose?” I finally rasped. He looked unimpressed. “You were barefoot, crying, and screaming like a lunatic. It’s not a stretch.” I let out a bitter laugh — or maybe it was just a wheeze. “You really think I planned to get hit by a car just for your money?” He raised a brow, looking down at me like I was nothing more than an inconvenience. “You’d be surprised what people do when they see a black card and a last name like mine.” I didn’t know who the hell he was, and in that moment, I didn’t care. He was rich, sure — the kind of rich that oozed out of tailored suits and casual cruelty — but he didn’t know me. He didn’t know what I’d seen last night. What I’d lost. He didn’t know that I had nothing left. I turned my face away from him and stared at the IV in my arm. My silence was louder than anything I could’ve said. After a beat, he exhaled, clearly annoyed that I hadn’t taken the bait. “Look,” he said. “I’m not heartless. You’re not dead. That’s something.” Charming. “If it turns out this really was an accident…” He paused. “Then I’ll consider covering the hospital bills. Until then, don’t get any ideas.” He walked out without a second glance. The first night was the worst. I cried when no one was looking. When the nurses changed shifts. When the quiet of 3 a.m. made the betrayal louder. Isla never came. Ryan didn’t call. I was utterly, pathetically, alone. Day three, I started to heal — not physically, but in the brittle, numb way a woman does when she realizes she was never as loved as she thought. Day four, I stopped expecting the door to open. Which, of course, is exactly when it did. Damian — I remembered his name now. Damian Black. He stepped inside without his usual air of arrogant detachment. Today, he didn’t look furious. He looked… conflicted. Annoyed, maybe. But different. “I spoke to your doctor,” he said. I said nothing. “You’ve got a fractured wrist, two cracked ribs, and a sprained ankle. No head trauma. Lucky.” Was that his version of small talk? I folded my arms, wincing slightly. He hesitated. “I… may have overreacted. I wasn’t expecting—” He stopped, then sighed. “I don’t like being caught off guard. That’s not an excuse. Just a fact.” Was that an apology? He studied me for a moment. “You didn’t ask for anything. Not even my name.” “I didn’t care to know it,” I said, finally meeting his eyes. He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Fair.” He took another step forward. “I’m here because I want to propose something.” My body tensed. He saw it. “Not like that. Not in the… romantic sense.” “Then what?” I asked warily. He slid a contract envelope onto the bedside table. “A marriage. Between us. On paper only. One year. You get security. I get my inheritance.” I stared at him, stunned. He leaned closer. “I hit you. Maybe you didn’t throw yourself in front of my car, but I still changed your life overnight.” He paused. “Let me change it again.”