Chapter 2

When I opened my eyes again, the hospital room was packed with reporters.

Crystal stood among them, microphone in hand, ready to interview me.

The flashes went off one after another, so bright I could barely keep my eyes open.

Zeke bent over me urgently, his voice soft. "The reporters are all here now. Just answer their questions properly, and it'll be over soon."

I lay there in the hospital bed, thirty-four stitches running across my thigh and stomach. My insides felt as if they'd been shattered by the blows. And now, all of it was on display for the cameras.

I grabbed the cup on the nightstand and hurled it against the door. It shattered, glass scattering across the floor.

"Get out! All of you! I'm not doing any interview!"

Crystal hurried to push the reporters back, then sat down at the edge of my bed.

"This is for your own good too. Trust me. Once the story's out, everyone will see the monster he really is."

I couldn't have imagined it: that the sister I loved most would tear open my wounds and put me on trial in front of everyone. It felt like something inside me had split wide open.

I yanked the IV needle out of my arm and shoved her away as hard as I could.

Crystal staggered, tripped over the supply cart, and went down. Her snow-white blouse was quickly stained red with blood as shards of glass scattered around her.

"Crystal!"

Zeke lunged for her almost on instinct.

"Are you hurt? How bad is it?"

He checked her cuts with obvious concern, then turned to me and frowned.

"What's done is done. Crystal only did this for your sake, to make sure the man who hurt you gets what's coming to him. How could you lay a hand on her?"

Once, when I'd cut myself with a kitchen knife, he'd rushed to bandage it himself, practically frantic with worry. Now my whole body was covered in wounds, and all he could see was Crystal's scratch.

He shot me one disappointed look, then scooped Crystal up and rushed off to find a doctor.

Meanwhile, the stitches on my own body had torn open, the scar tissue burning in a hundred places at once. I lay there like a broken doll while cameras were shoved toward my battered face and the reporters kept firing off questions.

Once the interview ended, Crystal's story exploded online. But what waited for me wasn't sympathy.

"She was dressed like that and out in the middle of nowhere. Wasn't she basically asking for it?"

"Did anyone else notice she looked like she was enjoying herself, telling the story? Disgusting."

"Who else is there to blame when you get assaulted? Blame herself for wearing so little!"

The messages kept coming. Harassing calls, threatening texts, one after another. I held the phone like it was burning my hand.

Meanwhile, Crystal and Zeke were at a press conference, soaking up the praise.

"Reporter Crystal Bianco really lives up to her reputation. Look how much she cares about her sister."

"And we have Zeke Malone to thank for backing this story. Because of him, that monster's finally going to pay."

They stood in the spotlight, basking in the applause, while I curled up in my hospital bed too afraid to move.

Before long, people online started shipping the two of them.

"Turns out Zeke has been anonymously sponsoring Crystal for five years now. Talk about a secret romance!"

"Is she the fiancée Zeke just went public with? Look at her face in the engagement photos; it's obviously her!"

So the anonymous sponsor Crystal once told me she had feelings for, five years ago, had been Zeke all along. Back then, I'd even encouraged her to confess sooner, to go find her own happiness while she still could.

I never imagined that in the end, they'd use my flesh and bones as their stepping stone.

I checked myself out of the hospital alone and bought a plane ticket out of town. Then I made one stop first, at my sister's old place, which had long been left abandoned, to collect the last of my things.

The moment I pulled the door open, a little girl about three years old, ran straight at me.

"Mama!"