Chapter 3

Stella's POV

When my eyes fluttered open, all I saw was a stark white ceiling.

I turned my head. The room was dead silent. Robert and Evelyn weren't there, and neither was Chase.

There was only a nurse adjusting my IV drip.

Seeing me stir, the nurse let out a sigh of relief. "You're finally awake. The mango triggered severe anaphylactic shock. If they hadn't brought you in right when they did, you wouldn't have made it."

I parted my dry lips, my throat rasping like sandpaper. "How long was I out?"

"Almost two days."

I wanted to ask if anyone had stopped by during those two days, but the words died on my tongue.

Deep down, I already knew the answer.

No one came.

Not a single soul.

After giving me a few routine instructions, the nurse walked out. Staring blankly at the ceiling tiles, memories came flooding back unbidden.

Everyone always called me the textbook model of high-society poise.

Only I knew how much suffocation was buried beneath that pristine, polished surface.

For as long as I could remember, Robert and Evelyn's expectations were bordering on neurotic.

How to walk, how to sit, how to hold a fork—every single movement was bound by rigid metrics.

I had to master every piece of etiquette and skill required of an elite debutante. My friends were vetted, my wardrobe was dictated, and running wild with other kids was strictly forbidden. They even corrected the angle of my smile if it was off by a fraction.

I was carved like an exquisite porcelain doll, polished until every detail was flawless.

Except I had no soul.

I had no freedom, no say, and wasn't even permitted to think about what I actually wanted.

Until I was sixteen, the day I first met Chase.

I had just walked out of the school gates, waiting by the curb for my driver.

A low, guttural roar sliced through the afternoon air as a sleek black motorcycle tore down the street, skidding to a halt right in front of me.

The rider pulled off his helmet, revealing an impossibly sharp, striking face.

Chase tilted his chin at me. "Hey. Which way to the science building?"

I pointed down the path. "Over there."

"Thanks."

His eyes were strikingly bright, his grin dripping with dangerous charm, radiating a wild, untamed energy I had never witnessed in my life.

Watching him roar away on his bike, my chest seized with a sudden, violent jolt.

I had never encountered anyone like him.

He was as free as the wind, as untamed as a wildfire, entirely unbound by the rules that choked me.

He possessed everything I could never have in this lifetime.

I envied him, and for the very first time, my heart skipped a beat for someone.

Only later did I learn his name was Chase Miller, the sole heir to the Miller empire.

And when I found out our families had arranged for us to be married, I lay awake for nights on end, practically vibrating with excitement.

I scribbled his name in secret across the pages of my diary, daydreaming about how we would live, how we would marry, have kids, and spend the rest of our lives together.

I never imagined Chase would despise me.

During our first formal meeting, he looked me up and down with open disdain. "So you're the Mitchell heiress? My supposed fiancée?"

He recognized me as the girl who gave him directions, but his eyes were flat and dismissive, treating me like an unwanted piece of furniture.

He said, "You're just as stiff and boring as the rumors say. Stagnant water. Total drag."

He said, "There's no way in hell I'm marrying someone so dull. I don't like you. Got it?"

From then on, Chase pulled every stunt imaginable to break the engagement—fighting with his parents, hunger strikes, smashing rooms, even running away from home.

None of it worked.

Eventually, he gave up trying to break it off. He kept the title of my fiancé, but continually delayed the wedding, going out of his way to humiliate me at every turn.

I was reduced to following behind him like an unpaid handler, keeping him in check, holding him back, cleaning up his messes.

I genuinely believed that if I just tried hard enough, if I was patient enough, he would eventually see who I really was.

He'd realize I wasn't nearly as cold and rigid as I seemed.

I had just been kept on such a tight leash by my parents that I was terrified of making a mistake, terrified of stepping out of line.

I never anticipated that this time, he would sleep with Chloe and let it blow up in the press just to break me.

I knew he was trying to force my hand into calling off the wedding.

Except now, there was no need to break it off.

My thoughts were abruptly shattered by the buzzing of my phone on the nightstand.

I reached over and saw the caller ID. It was Chase's best friend, Nathan.

I hesitated for five seconds before answering. "Hello?"

"Stella, we've got a problem!" Nathan's voice came in frantic and breathless. "Chase has lost his damn mind! Just to win some stupid prize for Chloe, he signed up to race the Death Run!"