Chapter 3

Brenda bustled in, carrying a plastic grocery bag with an old, worn jacket inside.

"Put this on. Hospital gowns look tacky. I already handled the discharge paperwork."

"It's only been one day."

"Do you have any idea how much a night in this hospital costs?" Brenda snapped. "That little procedure could've been done in an outpatient clinic. Staying here means nursing fees, room fees—do you think our family owns a bank?"

"Brenda, the doctor told me to stay under observation for two days—"

"Doctors will say anything to squeeze money out of your insurance!" Brenda grabbed the IV line and ripped the needle out without calling a nurse.

A fat bead of blood welled up on the back of my hand. She roughly wiped it away with the dirty jacket.

She dragged me out of bed. My knees buckled, and I nearly collapsed onto the floor.

Carter didn't offer a hand. He was busy signing the discharge slip.

Chloe followed behind, her phone peeking out from her breast pocket with the lens aimed directly at me. She was secretly recording.

As we walked out through the hospital entrance, a sleek black sedan was idling by the curb, its tinted window rolled down halfway.

Inside sat a sharp woman in a tailored gray suit. Her gaze locked onto me for three seconds.

I knew her. Elena, General Counsel of Vance Pharmaceuticals.

Her lips moved. I read her mouth: *"Miss Vance."*

I gave an almost imperceptible shake of my head, walked past her car, and got into Carter's passenger seat.

The moment the door closed, I saw Elena lift her phone in the side mirror.

Carter started the engine and turned to give me a charming smile.

"Babe, how about I make you some ginger tea when we get home? Remember on our anniversary last year, you said you loved my ginger tea?"

I remembered. That day, he had put too much ginger in the pot. It burned my throat until tears welled in my eyes, and he had gently wiped them away with a laugh.

A man who could smile while feeding me poison—how much of his past tenderness had ever been real?

When we pulled into the gated community, Brenda hopped out first, shouting across the driveway to our neighbor.

"Mrs. Gable! You won't believe the hilarious prank my son pulled on his wife for April Fools'!"

Every single word carried clearly through the glass.

Carter cut the engine, staying in his seat.

"Babe, are you still sulking?"

I stayed silent.

"Fine. I'll give you two days to process your feelings. But before the day after tomorrow, that neighborhood post goes up."

"I'm not asking for your permission."

"Tara, come look! I chopped the video into three viral parts!"

Chloe was lounging on the living room sofa, her laptop tilted on the coffee table.

It was my second day back in the house. Brenda hadn't even let me sleep in my own bedroom.

My room had been completely cleared out to store Chloe's streaming ring lights, backdrops, and equipment.

"You sleep in the utility pantry until Chloe heads back to the city," Brenda had ordered without a shred of hesitation.

There was no bed in the pantry. I had spread a thin blanket over cardboard boxes, curling up through the night. The sharp, tearing pain in my abdomen made it impossible to turn, so I pressed my burning forehead against the freezing drywall just to stay conscious.

The next morning, Chloe dragged me out of the pantry and shoved her laptop in my face.

"Look at this part—when you swallow the drink, Carter's face is legendary."

On screen, the video played. Carter held the glass, smiling brilliantly. I took it, drank it down, and flashed a small finger-heart at the camera.

The video cut. Blood everywhere.

My face appeared on screen, contorted in agony, chalk-white.

"This clip already has two hundred and thirty thousand views!" Chloe cheered, pointing at the analytics. "The comments are going wild! Some are calling Carter toxic, some are roasting you for being dramatic. Who cares? Views are views!"

I stared at the dark pool of blood on the screen.

"Delete it."

"What?"

"I said delete it."