After I Saved My Boyfriend, He Chose My Half-Sister

The smell of bleach woke me up.

I blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital room. Pain hit me a second later. It was a deep, burning ache that started at my hips and ran all the way down to my toes.

I peeled back the white blanket. Two long, ugly lines of metal staples mapped my shins. My left knee was swollen to the size of a melon. The doctor’s words from yesterday echoed in my head: *Both tibias shattered. The left kneecap is completely pulverized.*

Three weeks ago, an SUV had run a red light and barreled toward our car. I didn't even think. I yanked the steering wheel toward myself, taking the full impact on my side of the car to protect Jasper.

Five years together. I gave him my legs without a second thought.

The door clicked open. I looked up, expecting Jasper Henderson. I wanted his warm hands. I wanted him to hold me and tell me we were going to be okay.

Instead, his personal assistant, Mark, stepped into the room. He pushed an empty wheelchair toward the bed.

"Where is Jasper?" I asked. My throat felt dry.

Mark didn't look me in the eye. "Mr. Henderson asked me to bring you back to the penthouse, Miss Stewart. He is waiting for you there."

Warmth flooded my chest. He was waiting at home. He probably set up the bedroom for my recovery. He probably wanted to cook for me, just like he did when we were broke in college.

"Help me into the chair," I said.

Every tiny movement was agony. The metal staples pulled against my skin. Sweat beaded on my forehead, but I bit my lip and didn’t make a sound. I wanted to be strong for him.

Mark drove me to the high-rise in silence. He wheeled me into the private elevator, tapped the keycard, and stepped back out.

"Aren't you coming up?" I asked.

"No," Mark said quietly as the doors slid shut. "He wants to see you alone."

The elevator dinged on the top floor. I wheeled myself out into the foyer of the penthouse we had shared for three years.

The air smelled different. It didn't smell like my lavender candle. It smelled like expensive, heavy jasmine perfume.

I rolled toward the master bedroom. The double doors were cracked open.

"Jasper?" I called out softly.

No answer. Just a low murmur of voices.

I pushed the door open with my palms.

The scene in front of me felt like an ice pick straight through my chest.

Jasper was sitting on our king-sized bed. He was half-dressed, leaning against the pillows. Cradled in his arms was a woman.

She turned her head when the wheels squeaked against the hardwood floor.

My breath stopped.

She had my face. The exact same sharp cheekbones. The exact same dark, wavy hair. She looked so much like me that for a second, I thought I was looking into a mirror. Her name was Lilah Patel.

She was wearing my emerald green silk robe.

And then I saw her left hand. It was resting on Jasper's bare chest. A three-carat diamond caught the sunlight. It was the Tiffany engagement ring Jasper had given me two years ago.

He didn't even buy her a new one. He just took mine and slipped it onto her finger.

Jasper looked at me. His expression was completely blank. He didn't jump up. He didn't look guilty. He just reached over to the nightstand, picked up a thick stack of printed papers, and tossed them across the wooden surface.

They slid to the edge and stopped.

"Sign it, Coraline," Jasper said. His voice was flat and cold. "The relationship is over."

I stared at the cover page. *Separation and Non-Disclosure Agreement.*

"You're dumping me?" My voice was barely a whisper. "I lost my legs for you, Jasper. Three weeks ago."

Jasper let out a heavy sigh, looking annoyed. "And I appreciate that. Truly. But look at you. You can't even stand up. Henderson Group is about to go public. I need a woman who can walk beside me on red carpets. I don't need a charity case in a wheelchair."

Lilah buried her face into his neck, letting out a small, helpless sigh. "Jasper, don't be too harsh on her... She must be so hurt."

Her voice was sweet. Sickly sweet. But her eyes were fixed on mine, glittering with pure triumph.

Something inside me snapped. The girl who had loved Jasper Henderson for five years died right there on that bedroom floor.

I didn't cry. My hands stopped shaking. My spine locked straight.

I looked Jasper dead in the eye.

"Ten million," I said.

Jasper frowned. "What?"

"Ten million dollars," I repeated, my tone calm and steady. "Cash. Wired directly to my private account by five o'clock today. Or I take this story to every tabloid in Manhattan."

His face darkened. "Are you threatening me?"

"I'm giving you a deal," I said. I pointed at the bed. "The broken girl in the wheelchair who took a hit for the billionaire heir. The heir who immediately replaced her with a cheap knockoff wearing her robe and her ring. Do you think your board of directors will like that headline? Do you think the stock price will survive the morning?"

Jasper's jaw clenched. His mouth opened, then snapped shut. He knew I was right. Henderson Group was fragile right now. A scandal like this would destroy the IPO.

"Ten million," he gritted out, grabbing his phone from the sheets. "And you disappear from my life forever."

"Done," I said.

I spun my wheels around and rolled out of the bedroom. I didn't look back once.

In the elevator, I heard my phone chime.

*Wire Transfer Received: $10,000,000.00.*

I stared at the screen. My reflection stared back at me in the polished steel doors. Pale cheeks. Hollow eyes. But my jaw was set like stone.

Slowly, deliberately, I opened my contacts.

Jasper Henderson. *Block.*

Lilah Patel. *Block.*

I scrolled down to my mother. The woman who hadn't visited me once in the hospital, claiming she couldn't bear to see me hurt. *Block.*

My father. The man who had only sent a short text asking if my medical bills would affect the family trust. *Block.*

The elevator reached the ground floor.

The doors slid open. Outside, the New York rain was cold and gray.

I rolled out onto the sidewalk, flagged down an accessible van, and loaded my single duffel bag into the back.

"Where to, miss?" the driver asked.

"The Upper East Side Recovery Center," I said quietly.

I had no family. I had no boyfriend. I had two ruined legs and ten million dollars in the bank.

And for the first time in my life, I was completely on my own.