Chapter 1

Introduction:

I loved Ethan for eight years and worked as his behind-the-scenes stunt double for three. Yet I never knew the eight life-threatening accidents I suffered were all traps he had meticulously laid to avenge Chloe.

It wasn't until the eighth time, when I pulled a dummy out of a raging fire covered in my own blood, that I realized what a pathetic joke I was.

He admitted it himself. There was just one more time left. He was going to take my life to pay back the nine days of cyberbullying Chloe had suffered years ago.

I didn't question him. I didn't expose him.

Instead, I quietly accepted a stunt coordinator position abroad and deleted the full three-month action design portfolio I had prepared for him.

In five days, I would vanish from his world completely.

And this time, he would never find me again.

Harper's POV

*BOOM—!*

The shockwave tore off the corrugated metal roof, sending shattered glass raining down with deafening clatters.

"Explosion on the third floor is out of control! The pressure valve blew!" the pyrotechnician's panicked voice screamed through the walkie-talkie. "Ethan is still scouting scenes on the east side of the third floor! The ladder collapsed—he didn't make it out!"

I was standing by the second-floor scissor lift unhooking my harness.

Hearing those words, my fingers tightened, and I ripped off the safety pin, tossing the lumbar support onto the ground.

"Harper! It's an inferno up there! The ceiling tiles are collapsing! Fire trucks are still ten minutes out!"

My coworker Kai grabbed my sleeve in a panic.

"Get out of my way!"

I yanked my arm free, grabbed a thick towel to cover my nose and mouth, and bolted toward the east emergency stairs.

A wall of scorching heat hit me full force. The iron staircase leading from the second to the third floor was already blasted half off its frame.

Without hesitation, I scrambled up the warped steps.

Dense, black smoke billowed across the third floor, reducing visibility to less than six feet.

"Ethan!" I ducked low, feeling my way along the load-bearing wall. "Ethan! Can you hear me?"

No answer. Just the crackle and pop of flames licking at discarded paint cans.

Less than ten paces ahead, through the dancing glare of the fire, I spotted a stretcher pinned under a collapsed prop rack.

It was covered with a silver-gray fire blanket, exposing the hem of black tailored trousers and a pair of custom leather shoes.

I recognized those shoes. Before heading out this morning, I had personally wiped the dust off them for Ethan.

"Ethan!"

I lunged forward, grabbing the scalding iron pipes to shove the rack away. It wouldn't budge, and blisters instantly erupted across my palms. Taking half a step back, I braced my right shoulder against the main beam, engaging my core to heave with everything I had.

With a sickening screech of metal, the rack shifted a foot.

Right then, an overhead steel beam carrying lighting rigs snapped and plummeted straight down!

There was no time to dodge. By pure instinct, I arched my back, throwing my right arm over the head and neck of the person on the stretcher.

*CLANG!*

The jagged metal beam grazed my right forearm before crashing onto the floor. Sharp sheet metal ripped through my sleeve, slicing deep into my flesh. Hot blood gushed down my arm.

Ignoring the searing pain, I gripped the stretcher frame with my left hand, tucked the corner of the fire blanket under my bleeding right arm, and hunched over, dragging the stretcher toward the stairwell inch by agonizing inch.

The acrid smoke stung my eyes until everything blurred into a bloody haze.

Every step drained the last ounce of my strength.

Reaching the broken edge of the stairs, a loose precast slab suddenly gave way beneath my boots. Losing my balance, I pulled the stretcher tight against my chest, taking the brunt of the fall on my back as we tumbled down a dozen iron steps.

The back of my head slammed against the second-floor metal railing. My vision went black for two seconds.

"Harper!" Kai rushed up with two stagehands, scrambling to lift the stretcher.

Pushing myself onto my knees, I looked down. The four-inch gash on my right forearm was split wide open, the pale periosteum faintly visible beneath blackened soot and pulsing red blood.

Gasping for air, I reached out to yank off the fire blanket. "Call an ambulance! Check Ethan—"

The moment my hand pulled back the blanket, I froze.

Ethan wasn't under it.

It was a rubber mannequin dressed in tailored trousers and custom shoes. Its chest had split open, and the sand packed inside was spilling through the tear, scattering over the bloodstained iron plates.

The air fell dead silent.

The stagehand holding a bottle of water turned deathly pale. His eyes darted away as he shrank back half a step, not daring to look up.

"Harper..." Kai stared at the mannequin, then at the blood soaking my clothes, his lips trembling. "Th-this is a stunt sandbag from the props department..."

I stood there, a high-pitched ringing filling my ears. I glanced down at the dummy still leaking sand, then shifted my gaze to the trembling stagehand. "Where is Ethan?"

The stagehand swallowed hard, his trembling finger pointing toward the detached building outside the soundstage. "Ethan... Ethan went to the VIP lounge in Area A half an hour ago... Mr. Hayes told us to switch the walkie-talkies to Channel B to make the call..."

Without a word, I dropped the singed, damp towel and turned to leave.

It was only two hundred yards from the abandoned warehouse to the VIP lounge.

My stride was steady. My right arm hung limp at my side, dark red blood dripping from my fingertips, leaving an unbroken trail of crimson dots on the concrete.

The second-floor hallway was lined with thick plush carpet, swallowing every footstep.

The door at the far end was ajar by a couple of inches. Through the gap came the clinking of ice cubes against crystal glasses, followed by bursts of unrestrained, mocking laughter.

"Hahaha! The eighth time! Ethan, I lost this round again. I'll wire the five million straight to your account later!"

That was Zachary Hayes's voice.

"You guys should've seen Harper on the security monitor. Total idiot. She jumped straight into the fire without even fastening her gear, rolling down the stairs clutching a hundred-and-thirty-pound sandbag like it was her baby! She nearly got herself killed!"

Another trust-fund brat, Liam, chimed in with a sneer, "Who told her to get so full of herself three years ago? Going to the judging panel to report Chloe for using a stunt double to win Best Action Actress? If Ethan hadn't stepped in immediately to suppress the trending topics and blacklisted her, Chloe would've been bullied online into severe depression! This is only the eighth time. We're letting her off easy!"

"No kidding. The first time, the harness bearing came loose and broke two of her ribs. The third time, the prop blade wasn't blunted and stabbed through her left shoulder. The fifth time, the high platform collapsed... Over the past three years, eight 'accidents' big and small, and she actually believed every single one of them was a set mishap. Still playing the tough girl in front of Ethan, too."

Zachary clicked his tongue, lowering his voice with a chuckle. "Seriously though, Ethan, you've been playing the devoted boyfriend for three years. Don't tell me you've gone soft on her? I checked the feed earlier. Her right arm looked pretty mangled by that sheet metal. Lost a ton of blood."

Inside, smoke drifted through the crack.

I stood rooted in the shadows, peering through that narrow opening.

On the leather sofa, Ethan sat with his long legs crossed, leaning back against the cushions. His bespoke white dress shirt was immaculate, the cuffs folded back twice to reveal his luxury watch. He kept his eyes lowered, idly flicking open a silver lighter.

*Click.*

A flame flared up, illuminating his chiseled, indifferent profile.

*Snap.*

The lid closed, extinguishing the light.

Ethan didn't even bother looking up. He picked up his tumbler of whiskey and took a slow sip. "A fire like that won't kill her."

"Back then, Chloe endured nine days of internet hate. She said she wanted nine of Harper's lives in return. There's still one left. What's the rush?"

Another burst of laughter erupted in the lounge.

A draft blew through the hallway.

I slowly looked down at the wound on my right forearm, cut deep enough to bare the bone.

The bleeding had slowed. Coagulating crusts were fusing the charred fabric to torn flesh. The slightest twitch sent a tearing agony shooting up my arm.

Three years.

Over a thousand days and nights.

The knife scar across my chest. The broken ribs that kept me awake on rainy nights. The two surgical pins still embedded in my left knee...

All this time, I thought I was just an unlucky stunt double. And every time I was wheeled out of the operating room to find Ethan keeping vigil beside my bed, I had felt so incredibly blessed.

Turns out, there were never any accidents.

He was the one who handed over the blade. He cut the harness cables. He set the fire.

Even the fleeting tenderness that had kept me gritting my teeth through countless nights of agony was nothing more than an execution ground he had painstakingly orchestrated to settle Chloe's score.