Julian Blackwood always prided himself on his looks, intellect, and again looks. He was smart, agile, and absolutely good at everything he did. Heir to Blackwood Enterprises, he’d practically rule the world. But he was also just a boy. A stupid. Stupid boy who thought his friend from Oxford worshipped him and that he had true friends. Everyone put on an act for Julian Blackwood.

Until they didn’t. Chase Quick, international asshole, shot him and robbed him of his ability to walk. Everyone left. He didn’t blame them. Who would want to stick around with a crippled heir who couldn’t fulfill his destiny?

As Julian sat in his lavish but now suffocatingly sterile penthouse, he looked down at the wheelchair that had become his constant companion. The room was filled with the trappings of his former life—elegant furniture, priceless art, and the kind of luxury that used to define him. But now, it all felt cold and distant. The reflection of his former self stared back at him from the polished surfaces. He could still see the sharp jawline and the confident glint in his eyes, but now, they were tempered with a new, unsettling reality. He used to glide through life effortlessly, but now every movement was a reminder of what he had lost.

He replayed the scene over and over in his mind: the way his friends had dispersed like shadows at dawn, the cold detachment of the doctors and nurses, and the lingering presence of Chase Quick's smirk as he left him for dead. Julian hated how vulnerable he felt—how the people he thought would always be there vanished without a trace.

Just then, the door creaked open and Evangeline Ashford strolled in. Despite her designer attire and impeccable makeup, her presence was unpretentious, a stark contrast to the high society that had turned its back on him. Her platinum blonde hair was tied in a no-nonsense bun, and her piercing blue eyes carried a familiar spark of determination. She had been a constant in a world that had all but abandoned him.

"Out." He grumbled.