At my engagement party, I flipped the table over one slice of bacon. Everyone called me crazy—until they learned my fiancé had starved me to 70 pounds for three years. The kidnapping that made me trust him? Staged. The cameras in my home? For his childhood sweetheart’s paper. So I fled to Italy and started healing—until he found me, begged, and pushed me out of a truck’s path. Now he’s dying with my name on his lips. Is this true love’s final proof—or the cruelest trap of all?
