A blizzard hit while my boyfriend and I were hiking in the mountains, leaving him with two broken legs. Rescue teams wouldn't be able to reach us for at least three days. Pale as a ghost, Ronan Wilson begged me to save myself. He didn't want me dying out there with him. Through my tears, I splinted his legs and wrapped our only battery-powered heated blanket around him. Then I braved the brutal -22 °F cold, struggling through the snow for three days straight to reach a ranger station and call for help. I suffered severe frostbite in both feet. Three fingers on my right hand were so badly damaged that doctors said they might have to be amputated. But when I finally returned to the accident site with a search and rescue team, I fought through the storm to reach the cabin. The moment I pushed open the door, I froze. Ronan was sitting there, casually sipping hot cocoa, looking perfectly relaxed. "Stella, congratulations. You passed." That was when I learned the truth. Everything I'd endured over the past three days had been nothing more than a test he'd arranged to prove my love for him. But I was done playing his games.