Revenge With My Brother's Best Friend

CINDY'S POV

"I became crippled because of you," I whispered, voice trembling. "And now you have the guts to bring another woman into this house?"

Henry didn't flinch.

He stood by the doorway in his perfectly tailored shirt, tall and broad-shouldered, looking all smug and vile.

One hand rested on Monica's waist like she was some fragile trophy. Monica, with her fake blonde hair and perfectly arched brows, batted her lashes and clung to him like she might disappear if he let go.

He smirked. "You think I owe you forever just because you pushed me out of the way three years ago? Get over it, Cindy. That was pity, not love."

My heart thudded like a war drum, so loud I could barely hear anything else.

Vivian, his mother, cold and wicked, snorted from behind him.

"Honestly, Cindy. You've milked that accident long enough. Maybe if you spent less time playing victim and more time acting like a real wife, he wouldn't need Monica."

"Real wife?" My voice cracked.

"I married into this family after saving your son's life. I couldn't walk since then. Your husband begged me to marry Henry because he was grateful that his son was still breathing."

Henry scoffed. "My father was a sentimental fool."

Wow.

The air left my lungs like someone had punched me.

"Your father was the only decent person in this family," I said, my throat raw. "And the moment he died last year, you all changed. You, your mother, even Lydia."

Lydia strutted down the stairs, twirling a strand of jet-black hair around her finger, gum popping in her mouth.

"You're just jealous," she sneered. "Henry finally has someone who looks like a woman and not a patient from a nursing home."

Monica gave a tearful little gasp, tucking a piece of that too-blonde hair behind her ear.

"Maybe I should leave... I don't want to come between you and your wife, Henry. Maybe... maybe I'll just go..."

Henry turned to her, holding her gently like she was glass.

"No. You're not going anywhere, baby. You're the woman I really love. You always were."

My chest twisted. My hands shook violently on the wheels of my chair. I couldn't stop the tears spilling down my cheeks.

Because I loved him.

God help me, I loved him.

Even after everything.

"Oh, and in case you forgot," Henry said sharply, "Monica is the one I loved before you limped into my life pretending to be a savior. She's back now, and she's staying."

I almost laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was sick.

That day, three years ago, I saw him walking, dazed, into traffic. I didn't think. I threw myself forward, pushed him out of the way, and the truck hit me instead.

My legs were shattered, my spine cracked, and I spent months in recovery.

I didn't even know him. Why couldn't I just leave him? Why did I have to endanger my life to save a