Liora’s POV
It shattered something deep inside me to finally accept the truth: Corwin Sterling—the billionaire CEO I had devoted ten years of my life to—had never planned to marry me. Not once. Not ever.
For a full decade, I stayed by his side, inside his world, holding on to promises that were never meant to be kept. He told me I was the woman he’d chosen. That he loved me. That one day, I would stand beside him as his wife, the future Mrs. Sterling. I believed every word. I built my entire life around those assurances. But all of them lost their meaning the moment she walked into our lives.
Calista Hawthorne.
She arrived carrying a handwritten letter from her father, explaining that their family company had collapsed overnight after a hostile takeover. They were under threat, their security compromised. He begged Corwin to take her in—temporarily—until things stabilized. She needed protection. She needed shelter.
And just like that, Corwin’s attention shifted so completely it was as if I had never existed at all.
After leaving the private clinic that treated executives and their families, I sat alone in my car and called my parents. My hands were still trembling. I genuinely didn’t think I would survive the night.
“Mom,” I said quietly, forcing the words out, “I’ll agree to marry the man you chose for me.”
A long, heavy breath escaped my chest as memories from two nights ago tore their way back into my mind.
It had been the Sterling Annual Gala—an event Corwin and I had attended together every year. It was our night. Or at least, it used to be. This time, with Calista on his arm, I was reduced to nothing more than background noise, a forgotten accessory.
I still remembered the way he handed me a crystal glass of wine, his face cold, distant, stripped of all familiarity.
“Have this, Liora,” he said under his breath. “And don’t humiliate me in front of the board and international investors.”
When I lifted the glass, the scent reached me instantly. Sweet. Sharp. Artificially fruity.
Berries.
My stomach twisted violently.
“Corwin, wait—” I started.
“Just drink it,” he cut in impatiently, already turning away from me.
Calista laughed softly beside him, her voice light and melodic, drilling straight into my skull.
Berries. Of all things, he had chosen a wine infused with the one ingredient that could kill me—because Calista liked it. And because I loved him more than my own life, because I still wanted to stand by him even as he erased me, I raised the glass and drank.
The liquid scorched my throat on contact. Almost instantly, my lips tingled, then burned. My chest seized as my lungs began to close in on themselves. Breathing became agony, each inhale sharp and shallow, like shards of glass slicing my airways.
The orchestra continued playing. Soft jazz echoed through the hall—Calista’s favorite genre. Everything around me carried her imprint.
My vision blurred as I staggered forward, searching for Corwin. My entire body screamed in pain. I saw him standing beside Calista, her fingers looped possessively around his arm. They were smiling, leaning into each other, looking like the perfect couple—more natural together than he and I had ever seemed.
“Corwin…” I whispered, barely audible.
He flicked a glance at me, then turned away again.
“That’s enough wine for you, Calista,” he said gently. “You’re already a little dizzy.”
The concern in his voice crushed me. That look—soft, attentive—used to belong to me.
The emotional pain cut deeper than the allergic reaction ravaging my body.
“Corwin… I don’t feel well,” I rasped, blood coating my tongue. My fingers clawed at my throat as panic set in. “Please… take me to a doctor. I can’t—”
“Liora, what are you—”
He stepped toward me, just once.
Then Calista let out a small cry.
“My stomach hurts,” she whimpered. “It really hurts.”
Corwin didn’t hesitate. He turned instantly and swept her into his arms as though she were fragile porcelain.
“Hey, hey, talk to me,” he murmured. “Where does it hurt?”
I stood there, watching him hold her, his face tight with worry. Tears blurred my sight as my strength drained away. Something inside me broke completely.
“Corwin…” I tried again.
The music stopped. Conversations died down. Every eye in the ballroom turned toward me. Corwin finally faced me, annoyance flashing across his features.
“What is it now, Liora?” he snapped. “Can’t you see Calista needs medical attention? Stop acting jealous. And stop pretending you’re on the verge of death.”
Jealous.
Pretending.
Those words hurt more than anything else.
Blood slid from the corner of my mouth as my knees gave way. I swayed, barely upright. So this is it, I thought bitterly. You’d rather watch me die than choose me. You said you loved me…
I hate you, Corwin. I hate you.
Darkness crept in from the edges of my vision, swallowing the lights, the faces, the music.
Is this where I die?
