One slice of bacon was all it took for the engagement party to explode. I was branded insane, but the truth was uglier: my fiancé had starved me to 70 pounds for three years, staged the kidnapping that made me trust him, and wired my home with cameras for his childhood sweetheart’s manuscript. I escaped to Italy to recover and start over—only for him to track me down, beg for forgiveness, and save me by leaping in front of a truck. Now he’s dying, calling my name. Was it love at last, or one more trap?
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