Chapter 4

Heather's POV

I also uploaded the security footage from Mom's house.

The internet erupted in outrage. People called Celeste a murderer, condemned her for betraying her own sister, and branded her a shameless, two-faced liar.

Yet, neither Mom nor Theodore said a single word in response.

By the time I realized something was wrong, several gossip accounts had suddenly begun posting photos of me working at a nightclub during college, almost as if they'd coordinated the whole thing.

With trembling hands, I opened the security footage I'd uploaded, only to discover that it had somehow been replaced with clips of me repeatedly mistaking other men for my husband.

Moments later, a hashtag claiming I'd developed a mental illness after being abused by wealthy men who paid for my time shot to the top of the trending charts.

Mom posted a public apology, claiming she'd failed to raise her daughter properly.

Half an hour later, Theodore published photos of two marriage certificates.

The caption read, "Ms. Heather Ashcroft is my wife's older sister. Due to her mental illness, she suffers from memory problems and repeatedly mistakes me for her husband. After I rejected her advances, she became resentful and decided to take revenge on my wife."

Public opinion immediately turned against me. Celeste became the kindhearted Ms. Vane in everyone's eyes, while I was bombarded with vicious insults from every corner of the internet.

The taste of blood suddenly filled my mouth.

Theodore's number flashed across my screen. I answered, feeling completely numb.

"Celeste just wants to feel secure. She never wanted to compete with you for anything. If we hadn't exposed your mental illness, you would've kept bullying her. Heather, I'll take care of you for the rest of your life. Just stop making trouble."

A bitter, mocking smile crossed my tear-streaked face. Then, without warning, I heard a crash on the other end of the line. It sounded like a glass shattering, followed by what seemed to be a struggle.

"Doctor! Somebody help her!" Theodore's frantic shout rang out.

A moment later, his voice turned icy with rage as he roared into the phone. "Heather, how dare you hire someone to attack Celeste! If anything happens to her, I swear I'll make you pay for it for the rest of your life!"

The call abruptly ended.

Mom's number flashed across my screen next. The moment I answered it, her shrill, furious voice exploded through the phone.

"Celeste is fighting for her life in the operating room because of you! I don't care what filthy tricks you used to hurt her. Get to the hospital right now and give her a blood transfusion!"

Even through the phone, I could practically picture their furious faces, as though they wanted to tear me limb from limb.

For all 25 years of my life, Mom had always taken Celeste's side. She hadn't even bothered to ask what happened before deciding I was guilty.

And now she expected me to rush over and give Celeste my blood.

I wiped away my tears, hung up, packed my bags, and booked a flight. I'd barely arrived at the airport when someone grabbed me roughly by the hair and dragged me into an alley.

Three or four burly men surrounded me, sinister grins spreading across their tanned faces. "Boys, all we had to do was donate blood, and now we get to have a beauty like this all to ourselves. I'd say we got one hell of a deal!"

A terrible sense of dread washed over me. Fear shot through every inch of my body.

I struggled desperately, but just as I was about to scream for help, his words stopped me cold. "What... What blood donation?"

Another man sneered and rolled up his sleeve, revealing a needle mark on his arm.

"Ms. Celeste Ashcroft needs blood from a matching donor to save her life. Mr. Voss set up an emergency blood donation program and promised to grant any request made by someone who donated. No matter what they ask for."

My mind went completely blank. So Theodore had given these men permission to do this to me.

When Theodore found out I'd been working at a nightclub, he'd tracked down every man who'd ever harassed me in a single night. He'd dealt with them personally and sworn he'd never let anyone hurt me like that again.

Yet now, for another woman's sake, he was willing to let those same things happen to me.

The last shred of my composure shattered. I fumbled for my phone and frantically tried calling him. I dialed again and again, but all I got was the same cold, monotonous busy signal.

Someone snatched my phone and smashed it against the ground. The man leaned in so close that I could feel his breath against my face. "Mr. Vane is praying for Ms. Ashcroft to pull through, so of course his phone's off. He also told us you've got face blindness.

"Even if we hurt you, you won't be able to recognize us afterward. You won't even know who to report to the police."

He stepped closer, a sinister smile spreading across his face. "Perfect. Let's see what makes a woman who's worked at a high-end nightclub so special."

Hot tears streamed uncontrollably down my cheeks.

…

Third-Person POV

Theodore stepped out of the blood donation room and checked his phone. When he saw more than a dozen missed calls, his heart gave a violent jolt.

He immediately called back, but no one answered.

"Kalina, has Heather called you?"

Heather's mother, Kalina Mercer, shook her head. Her hand paused as she pressed a cotton ball against the needle mark on her arm. Remembering how harshly she'd spoken to Heather over the phone earlier, she felt a pang of regret.

Just then, a doctor came rushing down the hallway with an emergency stretcher, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Out of the way! We have a patient who attempted suicide after being assaulted! Get the chief surgeon into the operating room, now!"

Some people hurried aside, while others stopped to stare.

"Hey, doesn't that look like the woman who tried to steal her sister's husband? It looks like karma caught up with her pretty quickly..."

Theodore was still calling Heather over and over. But the moment he heard those words, he whipped his head around.

The sight before him drained every last trace of color from his face.