My Swiss Knife Her Scar His Wedding Day Chapter 02

His eyes looked a little red. Or maybe I was seeing things. Three years sewing prison uniforms in a state

prison made everything look red to me.

“Car’s in good shape,” I said, wiping sweat off my forehead with my elbow. “Brake pads are a little worn. Should replace them, but I don’t have OEM parts here. You’ll need a dealership.”

pointed him to the nearest dealership, then tore into my DoorDash order.

Chicken tikka masala, buffalo wings, and a side of mixed veggies. All my favorites.

But even after I broke open my chopsticks, Grant didn’t leave.

I figured maybe he was hungry, so I pushed the box toward him.

“If you’re hungry, Mr. Bennett, help yourself.”

His gaze drifted over my nail beds-permanently stained with grease-then to the greasy food in the box.

When he spoke again, his voice was a little hoarse.

“That’s all frozen dinners. Not healthy. You used to never eat this stuff.”

The Paige in his memory was picky. She ate vegetarian and sashimi. If anything was even slightly off,

she’d throw up for hours.

I smiled.

“Prison food didn’t have much fat, and now I’m doing manual labor all day. Knocked that picky-eater

thing right out of me. Nothing’s fresh when you order delivery anyway. Their buffalo wings are actually pretty

solid, Mr. Bennett. Have some.”

“Oh, they threw in an extra hot sauce packet today! Score!”

I happily pulled out the sauce packet and tossed it into the bin behind me.

It was already full of free condiments. Buy a roll, and I could make a meal.

Grant shot to his feet, his voice thick.

“Enough!”

I jumped a little.

Then he threw a Centurion Card at me.

“Take my secondary card.”

He was so rushed he knocked over the folding stool and nearly tipped my food. I spun sideways just in

time to save my DoorDash order.

“Mr. Bennett,” I sighed, “if you’re not eating, I will…”

“Paige!” His voice cracked, a low shout. “I’m serious. That card’s linked to my Centurion. Half a million

dollar limit. Use it. Get yourself a real shop. Run an actual business. Stop hiding out in this shithole doing the

dirtiest work on the planet.”

“You used to be a skier from a wealthy family. Have you forgotten?”

His shout dragged me back.

I grew up rich. My family was one of Kingston’s biggest investors. I was the only daughter until I turned

seven, when my mom got pregnant with twin girls.

We were so excited. Then Dad cheated, right on schedule. He fell for a mixed-race actress, hard enough

to burn down the world.

She came straight to my mom and demanded she step aside.

Mom had fire in her. They fought. I watched that woman’s long red nails grab Mom’s throat and shove

her down the stairs.

Three deaths. One body. Mom and the twins. No one survived.

After that, to make me change my story, my father strung me up and beat me for an entire day. That

woman walked free.

They got married. She brought her daughter from a previous marriage-Ariana. My stepsister.

My nightmare started. Hits, insults, lies, nonstop bullying.

I ran to Aspen. Trained like crazy. Became a skier. Made a name for myself.

Grant was in business school in Aspen then. He saw me on a competition broadcast. Became my

biggest fan.

At every finish line, he held up my name card and screamed.

When a crooked judge made a bad call, he took all his classmates into the streets to demand justice for

He stayed with me through injuries. Picked me up when I was down.

Finally, when I crossed the finish line first and pulled off my skis, I ran toward him in the stands.

Amid confetti and cheers, under the eyes of thousands, I hugged him tight.

The weird fan-and-idol thing ended. He was my boyfriend, public and official.

But that night, after my win, as we walked through Aspen, two guys with guns came at us. They wanted our stuff. Grant fought them to protect me.

I panicked. I couldn’t let him get hurt. I ran in to help.

In the chaos, a bullet hit my chest.

Didn’t kill me. But it tore through my lung and grazed my heart.

No more extreme sports after that. Like skiing.

I never regretted it.

Grant was the love of my life. He mattered more than any race. I could win a hundred championships, but I only had one Grant.

When I held his hand from my hospital bed and told him that, he cried into my arms.

“Paige, let’s go back to the States. My family has connections everywhere. Whatever you want to do, I’ll back you.”

That was Grant. He never said sweet things. He just did what mattered.

I was overjoyed. We flew home together.

At the airport, Ariana was waiting.

When she saw the Bennett heir next to me, her eyes shook. Then she smiled-the same exact smile her

mother used to give when standing beside my father.

The bad feeling didn’t take long to come true.