A cold shiver ran through me, settling into my bones.
“What… what is worse?” Gio’s voice was sharp, annoyed. “It’s just some pill. You pumped her stomach, didn’t you? She’ll live.”
The doctor hesitated, uneasy. “It’s more than that… tests show signs of late-stage—”
“I already know,” I croaked, cutting him off. “Don’t bother telling him. He doesn’t care.”
I turned my head, unwilling to meet Gio’s eyes.
He let out a small, humorless laugh. “You’re right. I don’t care. As long as you’re alive, that’s all that matters.”
He started to leave, but his phone rang. Through the speaker, I could hear her voice—sweet, soft, the kind that made me want to tear something apart.
“Gio? Where are you? I miss you.”
He glanced at me, lips twitching into a faint, cold smile. “At the hospital. Come see me if you miss me so much.”
After he hung up, he turned back to me, smirking. “You wanted me around for the next two weeks, didn’t you? Looks like your wish is coming true.”
I didn’t answer. I just closed my eyes, my body shaking with exhaustion and fear.
A few minutes later, the door opened, and Isolde walked in. Her eyes froze when they landed on me in the bed, then she quickly lowered her gaze and moved straight to Gio.
He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. “Come here,” he murmured, pressing his lips to hers, right in front of me.
She kissed him back, deeper, and the sound of it made my stomach twist sIsolde than any medicine could. Something inside me broke.
I grabbed the vase on the bedside table and hurled it at them. “Get out! Get the hell out of my room!” My voice cracked and rattled with rage.
The vase shattered against the wall. Gio turned quickly, using his arm to shield Isolde, but a shard still sliced across her cheek. A thin line of blood appeared.
She gasped and clutched him like a frightened child. “Gio… my face—it hurts…”
I watched him freeze. His expression shifted, panic flashing through him—the kind of desperate panic I had never been allowed to see.
He rushed to her, lifting her as if she might break. “Don’t touch it! You’ll make it worse!”
Then he barked orders at his guards. “Get the head of dermatology. No—call the top international specialists. Use the helicopter if you must! Now!”
The men scattered instantly, obedient as ever.
I leaned against the cold metal bedrail, watching him disappear down the hall with Isolde in his arms. His voice echoed behind him. “Make sure she heals clean. No scars. Do you hear me?”
The sound cut through me like a slow, grinding knife. I looked down at my hands. Tiny purple bruises dotted the backs, evidence of countless injections. My fingers shook, but I laughed anyway—quiet, dry, bitter.
Isolde was only a shadow of Sabrina. Just enough to make him lose his mind. And me, the woman he married, could bleed, scream, collapse in front of him—and he wouldn’t even blink.
My stomach twisted, sharp pain radiating through me. I curled up, waiting for it to pass, the thin hospital gown clinging to my sweat-slicked skin.
The days that followed blended into one another: pills, injections, unbearable pain. My body wasted away until my ribs jutted sharply under my skin. Hair fell in clumps. Even the nurses looked at me with quiet pity, sometimes slipping extra painkillers into my IV. I accepted nothing, thanked no one.
Then, one afternoon, the door slammed open. Gio stormed in, thunder incarnate.
Before I could even lift myself, he yanked me upright by the arm. “Isolde almost lost her face because of you!” His voice was icy, cutting through me. “Are you proud of yourself?”
I barely managed to stand. “It was just a scratch,” I whispered.
His grip tightened. “Shut up! You think you can hurt her and get away with it?”
He dragged me down the hall. My legs trembled, too weak to resist. Two guards followed close, silent and imposing.
When we reached the staircase, broken glass glinted on the steps. My chest dropped.
“Gio—what are you doing?”
He didn’t even glance at me. “You like causing pain, don’t you? Let’s see how it feels when it’s your turn.” He nodded to the guards. “Do it.”
I clutched the railing, breath ragged. “She’s not Sabrina! You’re losing your mind!”
Finally, he looked at me, eyes wild. “She doesn’t have to be Sabrina. She only has to look like her.”
“Gio—”
He gestured, and the guard shoved me hard.
Pain exploded through me as I hit the stairs. Glass tore into my skin. I couldn’t scream, only choke out sounds that tasted of blood. Each push, each fall, left me weaker, until I couldn’t move. My chest burned, my mouth filled with the coppery tang of blood. The world dissolved into pain and ringing.
When I awoke, I was back in the hospital, every inch of my body screaming. Breathing hurt. Moving hurt.
Outside the curtain, two nurses whispered.
“Miss Isolde’s fine already,” one said softly. “President Ramirez’s been by her side every day. Treats her like she’s made of glass.”
The other sighed. “And the woman in bed 302… look at her. Covered in bruises. No one even visits her. Isn’t she his real wife?”
“Shh, don’t speak so loud… you’ll get in trouble.”
Their voices faded. I closed my eyes. My throat ached, but no sound came. Tears slid down my face, soaking into the pillow.
I lingered there for days. Painkillers barely dulled the agony. The doctors could do nothing more.
So, one morning, I signed myself out.
