Chapter 3

Twelve stitches.

The doctor looked at my pale face and sighed.

"The laceration is very deep. You cannot use your right hand for at least two weeks, or the stitches will rip. It could lead to permanent nerve damage."

"Thank you, Doctor," I whispered.

At 3:00 AM, the hospital corridor was dead quiet.

I sat on the plastic bench, holding the prescription with my left hand, waiting for my meds.

Suddenly, Carter appeared at the end of the hallway.

He was holding a dripping black umbrella and Ashton’s favorite charcoal-grey wool coat.

When he saw my heavily bandaged hand, his eyes widened in shock.

"Chloe... you... you actually got into a car crash?"

I looked up at him.

"Did you think I was making it up for fun?"

Carter swallowed hard, looking incredibly awkward. He offered me the coat.

"Ashton... he was going to come himself. But Serena got a severe fever from the shock of losing her cat, and Ashton really couldn't leave her side. So he sent me to check on you."

I didn't take the coat.

Mainly because I could smell the faint scent of orange blossom perfume on it.

It was Serena's favorite scent.

"Take it back," I said, my voice completely flat. "I'm not cold."

Carter stood there, fidgeting.

"Chloe, please don't be mad at Ashton. You know how it is... Serena saved his life back in college. He just feels a heavy sense of responsibility toward her..."

Responsibility.

I had heard that excuse for six years.

Back in college, during a backpacking trip in the Rockies, they were caught in a sudden rockslide. Serena had pushed Ashton out of the way, getting her own leg crushed in the process. She was left with chronic pain and could no longer run or do heavy sports.

Since then, Serena had become Ashton’s untouchable queen.

Whatever she wanted, Ashton gave her.

Even at Novis MedTech, the company Ashton and I had co-founded, Serena held a high-paying, do-nothing title just so everyone could cater to her whims.

I used to think that if I was supportive enough, if we finally got married, Ashton would eventually realize who was actually standing by his side for the long haul.

But I was wrong.

I stood up and walked toward the pharmacy window.

"Carter, tell Ashton I’ll see him at the launch tomorrow."

Carter let out a massive sigh of relief, thinking I was letting it go again, just like I always did.

"Thank you for being so understanding, Chloe. Ashton said that as soon as the launch is over, he’s going to give you the most lavish wedding this city has ever seen."

I didn't say anything. I took my meds and walked out into the freezing New York rain.

A lavish wedding?

No.

I was only going to the launch to take back what was rightfully mine.

The next morning, Ashton returned to the office.

When he pushed open my door, I was struggling to edit our presentation slides with my left hand.

The moment he saw my right arm in a sling, he froze.

A flicker of genuine guilt flashed in his eyes.

"Chloe... your hand..."

He rushed over, reaching out to touch me, but hesitated.

"Why is it so bad? Why didn't you explain it to me last night?"

I pulled my hand back, keeping my eyes fixed on the laptop screen.

"I called you twenty-three times. Did you give me a single second to explain?"

Ashton went rigid.

He took a deep breath and placed a coffee cup on my desk.

"I'm sorry. Serena’s fever spiked to 102 last night, and I panicked."

"Here, I got you your favorite latte. I drove all the way downtown to get it."

I looked at the cup.

There was no condensation on it. It was lukewarm.

The sticker on the cup read: Decaf oat milk latte, two pumps of vanilla.

I let out a soft, humorless laugh.

"Ashton, I don't drink decaf lattes. I drink iced black Americanos."

"Sweetened decaf is Serena's order."

Ashton’s face turned pale, then incredibly tense.

He stared at the label, opened his mouth to explain, then sighed.

"I... I must have ordered wrong. I’ve been so stressed about the launch. I'll buy you another one."

"Don't bother."

I swept the cup directly into the trash can.

"We clearly have different tastes. Forcing it down will only make me sick."

Just like our relationship. It was time to stop forcing it.

Ashton stared at the discarded cup in the trash, his eyes darkening.

But he didn't snap. Instead, he softened his voice.

"Chloe, our engagement is in three days. It’s also the launch of Project Nova, the AI surgical robot we’ve spent three years developing. This is the most important week of our lives. Please don't pick a fight right now, okay?"

I looked up, staring straight into his eyes.

"Okay. I won't pick a fight."

Ashton let out a sigh of relief and reached out to pat my hair.

"Good girl. I have a meeting to run. Let's do lunch later."

He turned and left.

I watched his retreating back, my eyes turning ice-cold.

He had no idea that the file I was editing wasn't just the presentation slides.

It was the legal document to revoke Novis MedTech's authorization to use the patent for Project Nova's core algorithm—a patent registered solely under my name.