The champagne flute trembled in my hand as Steve kissed Clara’s cheek onstage, calling her his guardian angel. I stood frozen in the crowd, the crescent moon pendant cold against my chest—the same one I’d worn the night I dragged him from the wreckage. Fire had seared my forearm, but nothing hurt like this.\n\nBack at the penthouse, I peeled off my gloves, the scar pulsing under the light. Steve walked in, loosening his tie, oblivious. 'You’re quiet,' he said. 'It’s nothing,' I whispered. But it wasn’t nothing. It was fifteen years of silence, of sleeping beside the man I saved who didn’t know my face.\n\nThen my phone buzzed—a photo from an unknown number: me, younger, bleeding, holding him in the rain. Caption: She’s lying. You know who really saved you.