Chapter 2

I woke with a violent gasp, suffocation crushing my chest.

It was still dark.

Kent was gone.

A note sat on the nightstand, his bold handwriting impossible to miss.

[Clara, be brave.]

I crushed it in my fist.

The next second, a terrifying sensation of weightlessness slammed into me.

My body was still on the bed, but it felt like my soul had been hurled ten thousand feet into the air—

then dropped.

Wind screamed past my ears.

Then came the sound of bones breaking.

Crack.

Starting at my ankles and climbing higher.

Calves.

Knees.

Thighs.

Pelvis.

Ribs.

Spine.

I felt every bone shift and snap, driving through muscle and flesh.

"Ghk."

A mouthful of blood burst from my lips, splattering across the white sheets.

I was like a fish stranded on shore, my mouth opening and closing, unable to pull in a single breath.

This was what the system made me feel during Violet's wingsuit flight.

Darkness crept across my vision in waves.

Yet through it all, my mind drifted back to the first time I met Kent.

It happened at an art exhibition. I'd been invited as a promising young painter.

He stood in front of my painting for a long time, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit.

"Your work has real life in it." He turned and smiled. "I'm Kent Fenton."

After that, he chased me relentlessly.

Flowers.

Movie dates.

Waiting outside my studio for hours just to bring me food.

He used to say, "Clara, you're the most beautiful soul I've ever met. Let me protect you for the rest of your life."

I believed him.

I thought I'd married the love of my life.

Then Violet showed up and shattered every dream I had.

Now the man who once promised to protect me was dragging me into hell with his own hands.

The pain eventually swallowed me whole.

When I woke again, voices filled the house.

The living room was buzzing.

Kent and his friends were laughing.

"Violet's incredible! She broke the regional record this time! The queen of extremes really lives up to her name!"

"Seriously. Unlike some people who sit at home all day being pampered and dramatic."

"Hahaha, don't say that. She's an artist. Of course she's pampered."

I tried to sit up, but my body wouldn't cooperate.

Pain screamed through every bone.

The door swung open.

Kent walked in with several friends behind him.

The second they saw me lying in a pool of blood, their smiles vanished.

"Holy crap! Kent, what... what happened?"

Kent froze.

Then he rushed over and checked my breathing.

"Clara? Clara, wake up!"

I forced my eyes open and looked at him.

There was panic in his eyes.

Concern, too.

But more than anything, impatience.

"Clara, what did you do to yourself?" he said quietly, a hint of accusation in his voice. "Violet just landed. Everyone's celebrating her. Can you not make a scene right now?"

Make a scene?

I looked at him and suddenly wanted to laugh.

One of his friends scoffed.

"It's just shared pain. Does she really have to be this dramatic? Violet's perfectly fine. How can the person receiving it be worse off than the one actually going through it?"

Another friend pulled out his phone and held up a photo with a smirk.

"Clara, look. We just took this. Violet says she's going to have a baby with Kent. Maybe you should learn how to be a real mother."

In the photo, Violet was tucked against Kent's chest.

One hand rested on her flat stomach.

She smiled like she already had everything she wanted.