I woke up to white walls and the steady beep of machines. My body felt heavy. Wrong. Like something vital had been carved out of me.
"Ms. Hale." A nurse appeared beside my bed, her expression sympathetic. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"
I tried to speak, but my throat was raw. Dry. She handed me water. I drank slowly, fragments of memory crashing back.
The locked room. The darkness. The walls closing in.
Killian's voice outside the door: "Stay in there until you're ready to admit what you did."
I'd screamed. Begged. Pounded on the door until my fists bled. My claustrophobia had kicked in—the walls shrinking, the air thinning, my chest constricting until I couldn't breathe.
I'd collapsed. And then... nothing.
"The baby," I whispered suddenly, my hand flying to my stomach.
The nurse's face fell. "I'm so sorry. You miscarried. The stress and trauma to your body—"
The rest of her words faded into static. The baby was gone. I should've felt relief. I'd scheduled an abortion anyway. But instead, I felt hollow. Empty. Like the last piece of me that mattered had been ripped away.
"There's someone here to see you," the nurse said gently.
Before I could respond, the door opened.
Killian walked in, his expression unreadable. He stood at the foot of my bed, hands in his pockets, studying me like I was a problem to be solved.
"You're awake," he said flatly.
I said nothing.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Grandma's stable. No permanent damage. The doctors said it was just a reaction to her medication."
Still, I remained silent.
"Amber." His voice hardened. "I need you to do something. For Grandma. For us."
I finally looked at him. "What?"
"Apologize," he said. "To Mandie. To Grandma. For everything."
A bitter laugh escaped my throat. "Apologize?"
"Yes." He stepped closer. "Grandma still wants this wedding to happen. She still believes in you. God knows why." His eyes narrowed. "So you're going to apologize to Mandie for your behavior. You're going to apologize to Grandma for the stress you caused. And you're going to pull yourself together."
Each word was a knife.
"And if I don't?" I whispered.
His smile was cold. "Then you lose everything. The wedding. The support. The life you've built. Everything."
I stared at him—this stranger wearing the face of the man I thought I loved.
"Okay," I said quietly.
He blinked, surprised. "Okay?"
"I'll apologize," I said. "I'll do whatever you want."
Something flickered in his expression. Relief, maybe. Or satisfaction. And he walked out.
Later that day, Grandma Rosie visited. She shuffled into the room with her cane, her face pale but kind. When she saw me, her eyes filled with tears.
"Oh, Amber," she whispered, sitting beside my bed and taking my hand. "My sweet girl. I'm so sorry for everything you've been through."
The kindness broke something in me. Tears spilled down my cheeks.
"I didn't hurt you, Grandma," I choked out. "I swear—I would never—"
"Shh, I know." She squeezed my hand gently. "I know, dear. You saved my life once. You would never harm me."
Her words were a balm to my shattered heart.
"But Killian—" I started.
"Killian is confused," she said softly. "He's under a lot of stress. But he loves you. And this wedding will happen. I'll make sure of it."
I wanted to tell her the truth. About Killian. About Ken. About Mandie. About everything. But no, not yet as I planned to ruin them before I'm gone.
So I nodded. "Okay, Grandma."
She smiled, relief washing over her face. "That's my girl."
I whispered, "I'm sorry, grandma."
After she left, I lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling.
And for the first time in weeks, my mind cleared. I'd been so focused on surviving—on enduring—that I'd forgotten something crucial.
I had a choice.
Over the next two days, I worked quietly.
I requested my medical records. The ones showing the wrong medication Killian had been giving me. The ones proving someone had been slowly poisoning me.
I called my bank and discovered that Killian had been transferring small amounts from the joint account Grandma set up for us. Money meant for our future. Money going straight to an account under Mandie's name.
I dug deeper. Found photos. Receipts. Hotel bookings under Killian's name with Mandie listed as his companion.
And then I found the most damning evidence of all—an old email chain between Killian and Ken, their plan to useme because their own grandma favors me more than them.
My hands shook as I read. Every word confirmed what I already knew but couldn't bear to accept.
I'd been a pawn. A tool. A means to an end.
And they'd all been playing me.
I also made sure to include the pregnancy test, the paper proving I lost the baby, and my mother's certificate. All which he never cared.
On the third day, I made a phone call.
"Professor Chen?" My voice was steady. Calm.
"Amber!" His warm voice came through the line. "It's been months! How are you?"
"I'm calling about the volunteer program," I said. "The medical mission to Africa. Is the position still available?"
A pause. "Yes, actually. We lost our last volunteer, so we're still looking for someone. But Amber, that's a two-year commitment. Minimum. Are you sure—"
"I'm sure," I interrupted. "I want to go. As soon as possible."
