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She walked into the room and sat down, completely at a loss for words.

Sorry?

When it came to apologies, Zachary owed her far more than she owed him.

So the word choked in her throat.

"How are you feeling?"

She tried to keep her voice level, but the hands resting on her knees betrayed a slight tremor.

Zachary leaned his head back, his eyelashes fluttering shut as his Adam's apple bobbed. "As you can see, I'll live."

She was entirely accustomed to his emotionally detached demeanor, but seeing his motionless legs beneath the sterile white blankets still made her chest tight.

Even though she had despised him—even though the memories of her grandmother and her child made her wish she had never met him...

Seeing him trapped in this bed, knowing he might spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair, actually made her chest ache.

She stood up in a sudden panic. Without another word, she hurried out to find his attending physician.

The doctor pulled out the medical file he had prepared, his tone sympathetic. "This is his current status. He might start physical therapy in six months, and there's a chance his legs will recover. But there's an equal chance he'll rely on a wheelchair for the rest of his life."

Clutching the medical report, Winona stumbled toward the exit in a daze.

She had no idea who to call, so she dialed her mentor overseas, blurting out the news without context. "Zachary's legs are gone."

Her mentor, a sharp, no-nonsense woman in her forties, immediately barked back. "Who?"

"Zachary."

"Your husband on paper? Zachary Shaw?"

Winona sank onto a hallway bench, her entire body running cold. "Yeah."

"The CEO of the Shaw Group? The same Zachary Shaw who took out six armed kidnappers when he was fifteen years old?"

Her mentor fired off the questions rapidly, audibly twirling her signature pocket knife on the other end of the line. "That's impossible. That kid is..."

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