Angela Carpenter POV:
Just as my thumb hovered over the plunger of the EpiPen, a sharp sting ripped across my cheek. Christin. Her hand, fueled by a frantic, unhinged fury, had landed squarely on my face.
"Don't you dare!" she shrieked, her eyes wild. "You're trying to poison him! Get away from my son, you monster!"
Before I could react, Byron was there, his face contorted with rage. He grabbed my wrist, twisting it painfully, making me drop the EpiPen. It clattered to the marble floor, rolling out of reach.
"You evil, twisted woman!" Byron snarled, his voice thick with loathing. "You've really lost your mind, haven't you? Trying to kill a child, my child, right in front of me? How could you fall so far? My Angela, the kindest person I knew... how could you become so utterly vile?"
His words, meant to hurt, to diminish, were eerily familiar. My Angela, the kindest person I knew. He used to say that all the time. When we were engaged, when he was showering me with affection, he'd whisper, "You're so pure, Angela. So good." He had put me on a pedestal, and now he was enjoying tearing me down from it, reveling in the idea that I had become this "vile" person he imagined. He couldn't grasp that it was his betrayal that had changed me, not into something vile, but into something resilient.
The memory of his praise, once cherished, tasted like ash. He never truly knew me, not the real me, just the reflection he wanted to see. And Christin? She was just a more convenient reflection.
A frantic voice cut through the haze of my thoughts. "Someone call an ambulance! He's not breathing!" A guest, finally snapping out of their shock, pointed at the boy. His small body was starting to convulse, his face a horrifying shade of purple.
There was no time.
I lunged for the EpiPen, ignoring the pain in my wrist, ignoring Byron' s death grip. He pulled back, but I was faster. My fingers closed around the injector.
"He's going into respiratory arrest!" I yelled, my voice cracking with urgency. "He needs this now!"
Byron, still blinded by his righteous fury, reacted instinctively. He raised his foot and kicked, a deliberate, brutal strike to my side.
The impact sent me flying, slamming me against the ornate wall. Air rushed out of my lungs in a painful whoosh. My head hit the marble with a dull thud, and for a moment, everything went black, a symphony of white noise roaring in my ears.
The room reeled. I lay there, gasping for breath, pain blooming hot and sharp in my side, in my head. The faces of the guests morphed into blurry, horrified blurs. They were whispering, pointing, but their words were indistinct.
Byron, looming over me, his chest heaving, his eyes still burning with accusation, pointed a finger. "See? This is what she does! She' s trying to kill my son. She's disturbed, unstable! I warned you all!" He turned to the crowd, playing the victim, the protector. "Get her out of here! Call security! Call the police! She just assaulted me, and now she's trying to harm my child!"
Christin, still clinging to his arm, nodded vigorously, her face wet with crocodile tears. "She's always been jealous, Byron! She's getting her revenge!"
My vision slowly cleared. The child. He was still struggling, his small body twitching, his life fading. I had to get to him.
Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself up, every muscle screaming in protest. The pain in my ribs was excruciating, but it fueled my determination. "You fool!" I rasped, my voice hoarse. "You absolute, arrogant fool! If he dies, it's on your hands!"
I stumbled towards the EpiPen that had fallen closer to the boy. "This isn't poison!" I snatched it up, my hands shaking but firm. "This is epinephrine! I developed it! It's an enhanced formulation for severe anaphylaxis, still in trials, but it's the only thing that will save him!"
Christin scoffed, a venomous smile returning. "Developed by you? Don't be absurd! You're what, a glorified lab assistant? What do you know about developing drugs? And who carries experimental medication around in their purse? You're a liar! It's sabotage!"
Byron glared at me, his eyes filled with contempt. "She's right. You're losing it, Angela. You're not a doctor. You're an embarrassment. Get out. Now. Before I have you thrown out and arrested for attempted murder." He stepped between me and the child, shielding him, his "hero" complex fully engaged. "I'll handle this. I'll get him to a real doctor."
He tried to push me back, but I stood my ground, swaying slightly from the pain. "You can't handle this, Byron! He won't make it to the hospital! Every second he goes without this, his chances diminish!"
He scoffed. "Don't tell me what I can or cannot do! You're a nobody, Angela. A disgraced ex-fiancée. You don't belong here! You certainly don't belong near my family, trying to poison my son!" He took another step towards me, his hand raised as if to strike again. "Now, get out, before you make an even bigger fool of yourself and anger everyone important at this gala!"
My jaw clenched. His words were a mirror of his old self, dismissive, arrogant, and utterly blind. He thought I was still begging for his approval, still afraid of his wrath. He thought he was important.
"You think you're important, Byron?" I whispered, a chilling smile touching my lips. "You have no idea who I am anymore."
The child's breathing had almost stopped. His small chest rose and fell with terrifying slowness. His eyes, barely open, were glassy.
I pushed past Byron, ignoring his angry shout, ignoring the fresh wave of pain as my injured ribs protested. Christin shrieked again, lunging for me, but I was focused. I found the boy's thigh, pulled back the fabric of his small suit, and with a decisive movement, pressed the EpiPen firmly against his skin.
A small click. The needle deployed. The medication surged into his tiny body.
I pulled the injector away, tossing it onto the floor. Then I collapsed beside him, my own breath coming in ragged gasps, the adrenaline finally starting to wane. Exhaustion, pain, and a profound sense of relief washed over me. I had done it. I had saved him.
