Chapter 9

Sabrina's POV

I stared at my phone, watching Dashiell's name disappear from the screen for the fifth time. Fifth call. Fifth time he'd ignored me.

He was with her right now. At his grandfather's house.

My jaw clenched. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

The car accident should have solved everything. Evangeline should be dead. That brat of hers too. Instead, they'd both survived.

I'd left him once before. Years ago, when the Hart family business nearly collapsed and Dashiell had nothing.

I wasn't going to tie myself to a sinking ship, no matter how much he claimed to love me.

But now? Now the Harts were back on top. Dashiell was successful, wealthy, powerful. Everything I'd always wanted.

And he was mine. He'd always been mine. Even when he married that pathetic Evangeline, even when he had that defective child with her, I knew he still loved me.

He'd proven it by divorcing her the moment I came back into his life.

The position of Mrs. Hart belonged to me. Not to some obligated wife he'd been forced to marry.

My phone rang, interrupting my thoughts.

From St. Helena Private Hospital.

I answered. "Yes?"

"Ms. Blake, this is Dr. Morrison from St. Helena." The voice was professional. "I'm calling about your recent test results."

"And?" I kept my voice weak, fragile.

"Aside from mild anemia, all your tests came back normal. There are no signs of cancer, no abnormal cell growth, nothing that would indicate—" The doctor stated.

"I already know that, doctor." I cut him off, my voice sharp now. "That's precisely why I chose your hospital. For discretion."

A pause. He continued. "Ms. Blake, I need to remind you that falsifying medical records is—"

"I'm paying you very well for your discretion." I examined my nails. "The cancer diagnosis in my file stays exactly as it is. Stage four. Six months to live. All very tragic."

"But if anyone verifies—"

"No one will verify. And if they try, you'll confirm what the records say. That's what you're being paid for." I softened my tone, making it sound wounded. "I just want a few months of happiness before I die. Surely you understand that?"

Another pause. Then, the doctor said reluctantly, "The records will remain as requested."

"Good." I hung up before he could say anything else.

The cancer was a beautiful lie. It gave me everything I needed—Dashiell's sympathy, his guilt, his devotion. It made me untouchable. Who could refuse a dying woman's last wish?

And when enough time had passed, when I was firmly established as Mrs. Hart, I'd have a miraculous recovery. Experimental treatment. A medical miracle. Whatever story worked best.

But first, I needed to eliminate the obstacles in my way.

I opened my messages and scrolled through my photos until I found the one I needed.

A photo from last week—me looking pale and fragile, with fake blood I'd carefully applied to look like I'd been coughing it up.

I sent it to Dashiell with a simple message: I don't feel well. Please come.

Then I called again.

"Sabrina?" Dashiell's voice was urgent, worried. "What's wrong? I just saw your photo. Is that blood?"

"I'm sorry." I made my voice weak, breathless. "I didn't want to worry you. I know you're busy with your grandfather, but I... I don't feel well."

"I'm coming. Don’t worry. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

He hung up, and I smiled.

I changed into a delicate nightgown, white silk that made me look even more fragile and arranged myself artfully on the couch. 

When I heard his key in the lock, I let my head fall back, eyes closed, as if I'd been too weak to move.

"Sabrina!" The door burst open and Dashiell rushed to my side. "God, we need to get you to the hospital!"

"I have only six months, Dashiell." I looked up at him with wide, tearful eyes. "Going to the hospital won't change that. What I need is... is you. Just you. Here with me."

His face twisted with guilt and pain. "I'm here. I'm right here."

I pulled him closer, wrapping my arms around him. He froze. I could feel the tension in his body but he didn't immediately pull away.

Good. That was good.

I pressed myself against him, letting the silk nightgown slip off one shoulder. 

"Dashiell," I whispered. "I'm dying. And I've never... we've never..."

My hand moved to his chest, sliding down slowly. I needed to do this so the process of him marrying me would be executed much earlier. So she could throw that woman away!

Understanding dawned in his eyes. He caught my wrist, stopping me.

"Sabrina, no."

"Please." I looked up at him through my lashes. "I don't have much time left. I want to be with you. Completely."

"No." He stood abruptly, putting distance between us. "You're sick. You're not thinking clearly."

"I'm thinking perfectly clearly!" I stood too.

"You're my friend." His voice was firm. "I care about you. I want to help you. But that's all this is."

I stared at him. "Friend?"

"You're very ill. Taking advantage of that, of your vulnerable state…" He shook his head. "I would never do that. To anyone."

"But I want you to—"

"And I have a wife." The words cut through me. He continued, "Evangeline. I would never betray her."

The world tilted.

"Evangeline?" I repeated incredulously then my voice rose. "You love me. You've always loved me!"

"I care about you as a friend. That's all it's ever been, Sabrina." His eyes were cold now, distant. 

Tears spilled down my cheeks, born of rage and humiliation. "I'm dying!"

"I'm going to go." He moved toward the door. "You should rest. I'll check on you tomorrow."

"Dashiell, please—"

But he was already gone.

The door closed behind him, and for a moment I stood there, shaking with fury.

Then I grabbed the nearest object—a crystal vase—and hurled it at the wall. It shattered, glittering pieces scattering across the floor.

How dare he. How dare he reject me. For her. For that pathetic, boring, worthless woman who couldn't even give him a normal child.

I'd underestimated Evangeline's hold on him. Clearly, she was more embedded in his life, in his heart, than I'd realized.

That needed to change. Immediately.

I pulled out my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I found the name I needed.

Marcus Jackson.

He answered on the first ring. "Sabrina? Are you alright?"

Marcus. Sweet, devoted, obsessed Marcus. He'd been in love with me since college, following me around like a puppy.

When I'd needed someone to help with the accident, he'd agreed without hesitation. He'd do anything for me.

Including murder.

"I need you to finish what you started," I said, my voice cold and hard. "Theo Ashford. The boy. He's still alive."

"I know. I'm sorry, the accident didn't—" He explained hurriedly.

"I don't care about excuses." I cut him off. "I need you to make sure he never wakes up. Ever."

Silence. Then he finally replied, "Sabrina, that's... that's different from a car accident. That's deliberate. If I get caught—"

"You won't get caught. You're smart. Careful." I softened my voice. "And you love me, don't you Marcus? You'd do anything for me?"

"You know I would." Marcus replied without hesitation.

Another pause. I could hear him breathing and could almost hear the war going on in his mind.

"Which hospital?" he asked finally.

A smile formed on my lips by his reply. 

Evangeline would be destroyed.

Then Dashiell would have no choice but to turn to me. To see that I was the only one who truly mattered.

Let the pathetic wife try to compete with that.