Chapter 4

"I'm allergic to chicken," I said.

Violet stared at me in disbelief for a long moment, then let out a short laugh and sat down beside me.

"Allergic? Funny how you never mentioned that every time I had you make me chicken soup.

"Still mad, huh? Fine, I'll admit I went a little hard on you. But that doesn't mean you get to hit Peyton.

"Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for me? Everyone in our circle knows you're my lapdog.

"If you go around throwing punches, who do you think looks bad? Me. How am I supposed to show my face after this?"

It finally hit me. To Violet, I wasn't her boyfriend. I was her lapdog, her lackey. Nothing more.

The old Violet, the one who used to despise her own privileged status just because it kept us apart, was gone. Now every other sentence out of her mouth was about the Gilman name. She really had become someone else entirely.

I'd been the fool, thinking that three years of devoted care could bring the old her back.

When I didn't answer, Violet scoffed, pulled the container of soup back out with a scowl, and tried to force it down my throat.

"I made this myself. Can't you at least try it?

"Drink it. Drink it right now. I don't believe this stuff can actually kill anyone."

No matter how hard I fought her off, a few drops still made it into my mouth. Almost instantly, my whole body started itching, and my face grew hotter by the second.

I knocked the container out of her hands. Soup spilled across the floor, splashing onto Violet's feet.

She looked up, furious, already opening her mouth to yell at me, but the second she saw my face, she froze and shouted instead.

"Nurse! Get in here! He's having an allergic reaction!"

In the panic reflected in her eyes, I could see my own face, already swollen up like a balloon on top of all the bandages I was wrapped in.

The bodyguards pulled Violet out of the room. Even as they dragged her away, she was still muttering, refusing to let it go.

"There's no way anyone's allergic that badly. He's made that soup eighty, maybe a hundred times, and he's never made a fuss like this before.

"A grown man acting this dramatic. It's pathetic. Is he seriously faking an injury just to make me feel guilty? Disgusting."

I lay there calmly while the nurse treated me, my blood running cold, though nothing in me stirred at all.

I was used to it by now.

Violet always managed to twist me into some scheming villain in her head, dumping blame on me just to make herself feel better.

I had made her chicken soup more times than I could count, and every single time, I'd swallowed a heavy dose of allergy medication first before I dared taste-test it.

She loved chicken soup more than anything. Back when we were still together properly, she'd known about my allergy, and she wouldn't even let me touch chicken in any form.

There was one time a delivery order got mixed up and came with chicken in it by mistake. I ended up in the hospital getting my stomach pumped. Violet had cried so hard that day, blaming herself over and over.

After that, every time we ordered delivery or ate out, she'd call ahead or track down the kitchen staff herself just to confirm exactly what kind of meat was in the dish.

Times change. People change with them.

After they gave me the injection, I fell into a deep sleep.

When I woke up, it was already night. Violet sat beside me, her eyes swollen and red from crying, an expression of pure heartache written across her face.

For one dizzy second, I thought she'd remembered me. My heart leapt, and I forced the words out, my voice shaking.

"Violet?"

But the next second, her expression twisted cold again, and she looked at me and nodded.

"So it's true. Peyton was right. Everything you've done these past few days was just an act to make me feel sorry for you.

"Honestly… a grown man playing these kinds of games is disgusting. If you marry me, you'll dirty the Gilman name."