Chapter 2

Without uttering a word, I spun on my heel and left.

"Fine. Don't come crying to me later, Dustin Wright!"

Blinding pain struck me like a sledgehammer and made me black out for a second. I summoned all of the strength I had and staggered into a 24-hour drugstore around the corner.

"Sir, your card has been frozen."

Gretchen hadn't just frozen my cards; she had also used her connections to blacklist me from every hospital in the city. Even the drugstore wouldn't dare sell me the cheapest painkillers.

The door to my rented room was kicked open.

Dwight sauntered in, covering his nose. His face was twisted with disgust. He clicked his tongue. "I can't believe you're living in such a pigsty, Dustin."

He walked over to my bed and looked down at me condescendingly. I didn't even have the strength to curse at him; all I could do was glare at him.

With the tip of his shoe, he kicked over the half-empty bottle of aspirin I had gone to great lengths to get, sending it tumbling off the nightstand. Then, he raised his foot and stomped hard on the pills, grinding them into powder beneath his shoe.

"No!" My eyes were bloodshot as I lunged at him, attempting to protect the pills.

Yet, he planted his foot on the back of my hand. "Oops, my bad. I didn't see you there."

Dwight pulled out his phone, aimed the camera at my body as I curled up into a ball, and hit the record button. "Dustin seems to be addicted to pretending he's sick, Greta. I came to check on him out of the kindness of my heart, but he's still mad at me. He even smashed all his medicine."

After recording that, he crouched down and smacked my cheek. "Dustin, you're nothing but Gretchen's dog, a human shield meant to take the fall for me. Hurry up and sign that agreement! Don't force Greta to pull out the big guns."

"Get away!"

Dwight snickered and rose to his feet. "Alright, you're a tough guy. Let's see how long you can keep it up."

Just then, my phone rang. Gretchen's voice was cold and unfeeling. "Drop the act; your cheap sob story doesn't work on me. If you don't turn yourself in at the police station before midnight…"

She paused for a moment before continuing, "I'll have someone dump your mother's ashes down the sewer!"

My chest tightened, and all the blood in my body rushed to my head. "Gretchen Payne!" I growled. "Don't you dare lay a finger on Mom!"

The sound of a spatula scraping against the pan came through the other end of the line, followed by her soft chuckle. "Dinner's almost ready, Dwi! Go wash your hands."

Then, she turned her head to the phone, and her voice instantly went cold. "Would you like to try me? See if I'll actually do it?"

I stared at the screen and abruptly burst into laughter. Blood from my nose merged with my tears, splattering on the screen.

I'd ripped out my heart and handed it to her for ten long years, only for her to feed it to the dogs.

"I'll sign it." My voice was eerily calm. "However, I have two conditions. First of all, I want a divorce. Secondly, give me 500 grand."

My time was running out. I needed to buy myself an urn and give Mom a proper burial.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line before she broke it. Her tone was dripping with disdain. "Dustin, you really were just after the money all along. Fine, I'll agree to your conditions. Come to my office tomorrow morning."

…

I pushed the door to the hospital director's office at 10:00 am. Gretchen was seated in her executive chair, and her brows were knitted together in disgust.

The very next second, a divorce agreement was tossed onto her desk. "I've already signed the divorce agreement. Sign the confession, and the 500 grand will hit your account immediately. Take it and get as far away from me as possible. Don't show your face in front of me ever again!"

I shuffled forward, and my legs were as heavy as lead. As soon as I picked up the pen, a violent cramp twisted through my stomach.

In the blink of an eye, a mouthful of dark blood sprayed onto the divorce agreement, staining Gretchen's name red. My vision went black, and I collapsed to the floor.

…

The next thing I knew, the harsh fluorescent lights of the emergency room came into view.

"Don't let him fool you, Greta! I just asked the emergency room doctor. Dustin isn't sick at all!

"He deliberately made himself look like he was vomiting blood. He just doesn't want to sign the divorce agreement, so he's resorting to these low, underhanded tricks to manipulate you!"