Chapter 4- Reflection

Angela's POV

Today is my last day at work. Fiona is still at the hospital, and everything has become crystal clear in the following hours.

After today, I’ll be free of Lyle, Fiona, and the endless mess they’ve left me tangled in. The office is quiet, my tasks completed, and a strange sense of peace settles over me as I tidy up my desk for the last time. 

Maybe Lyle and I won’t see each other again after this. Part of me hopes it’s true.

I take one last look around the office, the place that had become my prison. 

Memories flash through my mind: late nights spent waiting for Lyle to finish his calls, the countless hours I sacrificed for a man who never truly valued me. 

Just as I’m ready to walk out, my bag slung over my shoulder, I feel a rough grip on my arm. I turn, only to see Lyle, his face set in determination. 

Before I can even react, he pulls me toward his car, his hand firm and unyielding as he drags me outside.

My heart pounds, and I dig my heels into the ground, trying to resist him. 

“Lyle, this is ridiculous! Let me go!” I hiss, but he barely acknowledges my protests, his grip tightening. People glance at us as we pass, curious eyes full of judgment, but no one intervenes. 

I feel the heat of embarrassment and anger crawl up my neck, a flush that does nothing to mask my helplessness.

“What are you doing?” I manage, trying to free my arm, but his grip doesn’t loosen.

“We’re going to talk,” he says simply, guiding me into the back passenger seat and closing the door before circling around to the other side.

He tells the driver to go, his gaze fixed ahead, and it’s only after a few tense moments of silence that he pulls out a small tube of ointment. 

Wordlessly, he reaches for my hand, examining the small burn from earlier when Fiona spilled coffee near me. His touch is surprisingly gentle, dabbing the ointment onto the burn with careful movements.

“You really can’t live without me, can you?” he mutters, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips. “I swear, you’d be a mess without someone looking out for you.”

I stare at him, caught off guard. After everything, after all the ways he’s put Fiona above me, he still remembers this tiny detail? I’d assumed his attention was solely on her, that there wasn’t any space left for me. For a moment, a spark of warmth flickers in my chest, a small reminder of the man I love. 

The feeling is short-lived.

His hand retracts, his expression hardening. “Angela, I need you to stop with these tantrums,” he says, his tone flat. “Especially involving Fiona.”

Just like that, the flicker of hope dies. He’s still putting her first. Of course he is.

“Tantrums?” I whisper, forcing myself to hold back the bitterness. “You think this is on me?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he shifts gears, his gaze fixed on the road. “Fiona’s lost too much blood. They’re in need of a transfusion, but they don’t have enough for her blood type.”

I narrow my eyes, sensing where this conversation is going. 

“You and Fiona,” he continues, his eyes flicking toward me, “share the same blood type. You could help her by donating some blood. Consider it an apology for everything that’s happened.”

“Are you serious?” My voice is almost a whisper, a mixture of disbelief and anger surging through me. I stare at him, searching his face for any sign of compassion. How could he ask this of me, after everything? That means a whole blood donation, not plasma.

“Yes, I’m serious.” His tone is cold, dismissive, as if what he’s asking is no big deal. “Fiona needs this.”

I press my lips together, struggling to keep my emotions in check. “Lyle, I’m not well. I’m not… fit to donate blood right now.”

He scoffs, as if I’ve just said the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “You look perfectly fine to me, Angela. This works out for both you and Fiona.”

A pang of hurt and anger swells in my chest. If he cared at all about me, he’d at least ask why I’m unwell, why I hesitate. He doesn’t. Not even a flicker of concern crosses his face.

As if on cue, his phone rings. He answers, putting the call on speaker. It’s his mother, her voice anxious. “Lyle, are you bringing Angela? Fiona needs her. Please hurry.”

Then, Fiona’s voice chimes in, soft and pleading. “Lyle, don’t push her too hard. It’s not Angela’s fault… don’t make things difficult for her.”

I feel my stomach churn, her words like poison seeping into my mind. She knows exactly what she’s doing. Playing the helpless victim, twisting everything until Lyle feels nothing but pity for her. He falls for it, like clockwork.

Every word from Fiona is a calculated move, each one designed to tighten the chains around me. It’s manipulative, a twisted game she plays so well, and I’m the pawn. 

My throat tightens as I try to steady myself, but the air feels too thick, suffocating.

His jaw clenches as he responds, “Don’t worry, Fiona. I’ll bring her. She’ll be there soon.”

He hangs up, and when he looks back at me, there’s no warmth left in his eyes. Only cold determination.

“Angela,” he says, his tone hard, almost threatening. “If you don’t come to the hospital and help Fiona, my family will hold you responsible for hurting her. You know how much my family - especially my mother - cares about Fiona.She can make things difficult for you and your family. You know what that means.”

My hands clench in my lap, every muscle in my body tensing. The implications are clear. He’s threatening me, making it impossible to refuse. 

For a moment, a helplessness settles over me. I have no choice, not if I want to protect the people I care about. His family would destroy everything I’ve worked for, everything my family depends on.

I look away, my vision blurring as I fight back the tears. Lyle used to be the person I trusted most, the man I thought would always protect me. 

Now, he’s the one holding all the power, using it against me, forcing me to give and give, all for the sake of someone who’s torn my life apart.

With a shuddering breath, I swallow my pride, the hurt, the anger. I know I have no choice. I nod, barely able to meet his gaze, the weight of defeat pressing down on me.

My mind races, a silent scream building inside me that I have no outlet for. I want to shout, to demand how he can do this to me, how he can stand there and act like he’s justified. 

Thinking of my family, I know I have to agree.