Chapter 2

When she heard I'd called for an ambulance, Sophia cried even harder. "Grayson, I'm not going to the hospital alone. I'm scared. I don't want to go by myself. If you make me go alone, I'd rather die. I won't ride in an ambulance—I can't. I'm scared. Owen died in an ambulance after the car crash. That feeling—it terrifies me. I won't go. I won't."

"Alright, alright," Grayson said quickly. "You won't. I'll take you myself. I'll stay with you. No wedding today, okay? Just listen to me." He tore off his tie and began wrapping the wound on her neck, then lifted her into his arms.

He started walking away with her.

"No. You're not going anywhere." I stepped in front of him, giving both of us one last chance.

"Brianna, stop it. Move aside. This is about saving a life—do you want her to die?"

"Grayson, if you walk out that door today, it's over between us."

"Brianna, don't be ridiculous. We can have a wedding anytime. But Sophia only has one life."

"So that's your choice—you're really going to leave me here alone to clean up this mess?"

"Grayson... Grayson... I... I..." Sophia clutched her chest, moaning in pain.

"Move!" Grayson shoved me aside and walked out with her in his arms.

I fell to the ground, hitting my lower abdomen hard on the floor.

Clutching my stomach, I called out his name. But he didn't look back. Not even once.

In that moment, I knew—whatever we had was truly over.

The wedding, of course, was ruined after everything Sophia had pulled. The ambulance I'd called for her ended up taking me away instead. Blood had soaked through the lower half of my wedding gown, staining it crimson.

A few familiar faces from the wedding came along, worried for me.

At the hospital, the doctor came in with a grim look. My baby was gone. The bleeding was severe, and my life was in danger. I needed surgery. A family member had to sign the consent form.

But in all of Panembria, I had no one. No family. Just Grayson.

Out of options, I asked the doctor to call him. Again. And again. But no one ever picked up.

Left with nothing else, I sent him a text—one last attempt. I asked him to come to the hospital and sign the form. I told him I wouldn't bother him again. I begged him to help me this once. To save my life.

This time, he replied quickly.

But his words hit me like ice water down my spine: [What, you've got depression now too? If you want to die, then die. I don't care. You're impossible.]

I stared at that message, numb. Something in me cracked. Or maybe it just went quiet.

That was the moment I understood: some people, some things... they're not worth holding on to.

All my expectations, all the dependence I'd built up, collapsed in that second.

We all had to live with our mistakes.

So, I signed the form myself. And went into surgery alone.

Three days later, I was discharged.

When I walked into the apartment, it was exactly how we'd left it on the wedding day. Even the half-eaten bag of spicy chips I'd opened that morning was still sitting on the coffee table.

Clearly, Grayson hadn't come back once. He'd been at the hospital, playing the dutiful companion to his precious childhood sweetheart.

That afternoon, he finally walked in. When he saw me there, he visibly exhaled in relief—then returned to his usual cold self.

"I'm hungry. Make me a sandwich. And coffee too. I'll rest a bit before I head back to the hospital."

I was sitting on the couch, motionless. He didn't realize I'd just sat down from exhaustion after packing my things.

When I didn't move, his tone sharpened. "Brianna, what's your problem? I told you—I'll give you a proper wedding. Isn't that enough for you? How long are you going to keep acting out?"