By some miracle, I was alive.
When my eyes first fluttered open, the sterile white of the hospital ceiling greeted me, and the steady beeping of machines tethered me to reality. Pain laced through every inch of my body, sharp yet numbed by medication.
I shouldn’t have survived. The nurse said as much.
“It’s a miracle you’re even here,” she whispered, adjusting the IV. “You’ll have scars, and the impact was dangerous… but you’re fine enough to be discharged tomorrow.”
I nodded faintly, unable to find words.
But inside, I was breaking.
Because as I lay there, the memory of another fall came rushing back—years ago, when I had slipped near the cliff on our trip. I could still remember the terror, the wind tearing through my screams. And Marco—Marco hadn’t stopped until he found me. He climbed down himself, his hands bloodied, his arms shaking as he pulled me back up. He never once let go.
That was the Marco I loved.
But now? I had stood in the middle of that street, frozen and terrified. And he hadn’t even looked at me. His arms, his protection, his love—all of it had gone to Camille.
I was disregarded.
Disposable.
That night, I stayed alone in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling as snow continued to fall outside the window. Marco never came. Not even once. My phone buzzed at midnight, and I snatched it up desperately—only to feel my heart sink.
Marco: Camille was in shock from almost being hit. She needs me tonight. Stay strong.
Stay strong. As if that was all my pain amounted to.
A second message arrived later—from Anastacia, his mother.
Anastacia: Shania, tomorrow’s my birthday. Come please. I miss you, my daughter.
For a moment, I wanted to refuse. To curl up and disappear. But Anastacia… she was the one who had been there after my parents died. She handled my parents’ business until I could stand on my own. She was more of a mother to me than anyone else had ever been.
So the next day, against my better judgment, I went.
The party was grand, with warm lights glowing across Anastacia’s estate. Laughter spilled from the ballroom, crystal glasses chiming. But as I lingered at the edge of the hall, unseen, I heard the voices.
“Marco, are you insane?” Anastacia’s voice was sharp, cutting through the chatter. “You let her be in an accident for that woman? Shania is your fiancée. She’s the one meant to be with you!”
Marco’s reply was firm, defensive. “But you know, Mom—Camille saved me. I owe her everything. I’m just returning the favor.”
My heart thudded painfully.
Anastacia’s voice trembled. “And Shania? Has she not saved you too, countless times? I told you to take care of Camille, not replace Shania!”
His answer sliced through me. “Maybe it’s better to replace Shania. I think Camille’s better.”
The words gutted me. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The world blurred as I backed away, my legs unsteady beneath me.
When I finally stepped inside, I felt like a ghost. Marco sat with Camille, their hands closed, their faces glowing with comfort, while I stood like a forgotten shadow. A wallflower at my own place in this family.
Anastacia found me later, her expression soft, guilt swimming in her eyes. “Are you alright, my dear?”
I forced a smile. “I’m okay. Happy birthday.”
Her hand lingered on my arm. “Come, sit with us at the table.”
I shook my head, glancing at Camille draped beside Marco. “There’s no need. She’s there. You don’t have to make space for me.”
Her eyes dimmed. “I’m sorry, Shania. It’s our fault for letting that woman into your life.”
I shook my head again, whispering, “No worries. I understand.”
And I turned away, heading toward the bar.
The burn of alcohol slid down my throat as I sipped glass after glass, desperate to drown the ache. The chatter of guests blurred, my vision hazed.
Then a hand slid against my back—too low, too rough. I stiffened, turning sharply. A man leaned close, his breath laced with liquor.
“Don’t look so lonely, pretty,” he murmured.
“Stop it,” I hissed, pushing him away.
But his hand gripped tighter, pressing against my waist. Panic surged, and I shouted, my voice ringing through the hall. “He’s harassing me! Someone—help!”
Heads turned. Conversations hushed. All eyes landed on me.
The man smirked, loosening his grip just enough to play innocent. “Harassing? No, no. She’s drunk. She came on to me. Tried to seduce me.”
Laughter rippled. Gasps followed. Whispers darted through the crowd like knives.
And Marco? He stood on the other side of the room, watching me. Watching. And doing nothing.
Finally, he stepped forward, his eyes cold as he grabbed my arm. “Is it true?” His voice was sharp, humiliating. “Were you seducing him?”
“No!” My voice cracked with desperation. “I swear, Marco—I wasn’t—”
But the damage was done. People were staring, whispering, eyes filled with pity and disgust. My body trembled as shame swallowed me whole.
I tore myself free, running out of the hall as tears blinded me.
“Shania!” A voice called after me—not Marco’s. Anastacia’s. She caught up in the corridor, her heels clicking against the marble. “Don’t go, my dear. Please. Stay. You belong here.”
I shook my head, sobbing. “No. I can’t. I can’t be part of this family anymore. I’m breaking the engagement.”
Her face fell, sorrow deep in her eyes.
“Please,” I whispered, clutching her hands. “If you truly care for me, don’t ever tell your son that I’m leaving. Don’t let him find me. Promise me.”
Her lips trembled, but she nodded, tears gathering in her eyes.
And just like that, I turned away, my heart shattering one last time.
