I woke to the insistent beeping of a machine and the sterile scent of antiseptic. The room was bathed in a soft, artificial glow. My head throbbed, my mouth felt like sandpaper, and my body ached.
"Annie? Thank God, you're awake!"
Christian's voice. He was sitting beside my bed, his face etched with what looked like genuine concern. He took my hand, his grip tight. "You scared me half to death, sweetheart. I've been here all night."
My memories, hazy and fragmented, slowly pieced themselves together: the club, the confrontation, the rain, the powerful arms, the whispered words... and Christian's betrayal. The raw agony of it all. How dare he pretend to care?
"Christian," I rasped, my voice hoarse. I pulled my hand from his. "What are you doing here?"
He looked hurt. "Annie, I was worried about you! You collapsed in the street. Thankfully, someone found you and called an ambulance." He shook his head. "The doctors said it was exhaustion and acute alcohol intoxication. What were you thinking, drinking like that?" He chastised me gently, like a concerned husband.
I just stared at him, my mind racing. Someone found me. Not him. He had abandoned me. "I just want to be left alone," I said, my voice barely a whisper.
"Nonsense," he declared, already pouring a bowl of clear broth for me. "You need nourishment. Here, let me help you." He scooped up a spoonful, holding it to my lips.
I watched him, a morbid curiosity taking hold. Why was he still playing this game? Did he truly believe I hadn't figured him out? His eyes, though seemingly full of worry, held a subtle flicker of something I couldn't quite place – anxiety? Impatience?
He caught my gaze, and for a fleeting moment, a shadow crossed his face, a hint of unease. He quickly recovered, his smile firmly back in place. "Come on, Annie. You need your strength."
"No," I said, gently pushing his hand away. "I can feed myself." My voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.
"Alright, alright," he conceded, setting the bowl down. "I'll go run you a bath. You always loved a warm bath after a long day, didn't you? With your favorite lavender salts." He stood, a picture of attentiveness.
I watched him walk away, a bitter laugh bubbling up in my chest. He knew my habits, my preferences, my every routine. Not because he loved me, but because he was a meticulous puppet master. He knew how to pull every string, how to play every role. His acting was truly Oscar-worthy.
I slowly picked up the spoon, forcing down the bland broth. Just then, his phone, lying on the bedside table, lit up. A familiar notification sound. My eyes, without conscious command, flickered to the screen.
It was Kimberli. A barrage of texts.
"Christian, where are you? I've been waiting for you all night! Are you back with her?"
"Did you really go to the hospital? Why? She's fine, isn't she?"
"Come back, Christian! I've already changed into the outfit you love. Don't leave me alone."
Then, a text that made my blood run cold, chilling me to the bone.
"Tell her to move out. I can't stand being in the same house with that disgusting woman. Make her leave, Christian. She's unsuitable."
My breath hitched. Disgusting woman. Unsuitable. The words, vicious and cruel, sliced through me. I squeezed my eyes shut, a fresh wave of despair washing over me. So this was it. This was their true face.
I thought of the past five years. My unwavering loyalty. My endless support. My belief in him. I had given up so much for him. I had even considered leaving my successful career, my "fixer" business, to focus solely on his startup, on our future. He had always discouraged it, saying my connections were too valuable. Now I knew why. He never wanted me to be anything more than his resource, his pawn.
A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips. He truly was a master of manipulation. And I, the supposed "fixer," had been expertly broken.
The bathroom door opened, and Christian re-emerged, a towel slung over his shoulder, a beatific smile on his face. He saw my ashen face, my trembling hands, the phone screen still glowing with Kimberli's hateful words. His smile faltered.
"Annie? Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost." He reached out, his hand touching my forehead. "You're freezing! I'll call the doctor."
"No!" I said, my voice sharp, pulling away. "Don't. I'm fine. Just... tired." I averted my gaze, unwilling to meet his eyes. I couldn't bear another one of his lies.
I needed to get out. I needed a plan. But not yet. I needed to see this through, to understand the full scope of his depravity. I needed to be strong, just a few more days. Until the wedding.
"Alright, if you insist," he said, his voice laced with forced concern. "But you need to get some rest. And listen, about the wedding... the photographer needs to take some pre-wedding shots. And Kimberli, she's so good with aesthetics, I thought maybe she could pick out your dress? You know, as a way to bond, help relieve your stress."
My head snapped up. Pick out my dress? The audacity. "And what next, Christian?" I asked, my voice dangerously low. "Will she be the one to be your companion on our wedding night, too? Is she going to be warming your bed on our wedding night, too?"
