Chapter 3

Leaving the hospital with my knees heavily bandaged, every step felt like glass scraping against bone. Yet, I dragged myself back to our grand penthouse.

I needed to pack my belongings and sever all ties with Lucas Vance once and for all.

When I pushed the door open, Chloe was standing in the marble foyer, wearing nothing but Lucas’s oversized white dress shirt, her long legs completely bare.

Holding a glass of water, she acted slightly sheepish. "Don't overthink this, Irina. A pipe burst at my place, so Lucas said I could stay here for a few days."

Lucas walked out of the kitchen with two glasses of warm milk. When he saw me standing by the door, he just offered that familiar, gentle smile he always used whenever he wanted to smooth things over.

"You're back, Irina," he said softly, walking over as if nothing was wrong. "Chloe's place had a leak, so I told her she could stay with us for a few days."

Chloe turned and sauntered into the living room, throwing herself comfortably onto the velvet sofa. She whined loudly in Italian.

"Your bed is way too hard, Lucas. Can we get a softer mattress? My knees got all scraped up on it last night."

Lucas walked over. He chuckled in a low, intimate Italian."Just hold out for a couple more days. Once I have the Moretti backing in my hands, everything in this town is yours."

Chloe grinned triumphantly, crossing her legs on the couch. That was when I noticed it. Two pink band-aids were stuck over both of her knees.

A wave of intense nausea hit me. They were hooking up in my home, on the custom furniture I personally picked out, and were now discussing the dirty details in Italian right in front of my face.

I doubled over, gagging so hard I could barely catch my breath.

I forced myself straight, trying to steady my shaking voice. "Lucas, we're—"

Seeing me gagging like that, Lucas’s brows knitted tight. He rushed over, instantly cutting me off.

"Irina, are you getting overwhelmed because of tomorrow?" He patted my back with practiced concern. "Don't be to excited. I’ll be right by your side for the rest of our lives."

He turned and signaled a maid to bring over a plate. "Here, have some upside-down pineapple cake. Sweets will cheer you up, baby."

I didn't think twice. My body was in so much agony that I took several big bites, desperately trying to suppress the violent spasms in my throat.

Ten minutes later, a burning itch erupted across my neck and arms.

Thick, angry hives broke out over my skin, and my lungs suddenly constricted. Every breath felt like inhaling liquid fire.

I looked down at the half-eaten cake in panic.

Nuts. There were crushed tree nuts baked inside. My throat was so raw from heaving earlier that I hadn't even tasted them.

Three years together. Three whole years, and Lucas Vance had forgotten that I had a severe, life-threatening nut allergy.

Chloe sat on the sofa, watching me claw frantically at my swollen neck. She scoffed in Italian.

"She really has a cheap, pathetic life. She can't even stomach good food without choking."

Lucas frowned and shot Chloe a warning glare. But when he turned back and saw my lips turning a bruised blue, panic finally broke through his mask.

He scooped me up in his arms, rushing toward the private elevator to take me to the hospital.

Suddenly, Chloe gasped softly. "Lucas... my head is spinning... I think my blood sugar dropped..."

She slumped limply, feigning weakness as she fainted onto the couch.

Lucas froze dead in his tracks.

He looked at Chloe, then down at me, who were struggling for air in his arms.

Finally, he set me down on the cold floor and dialed 911.

Fifteen minutes later, the paramedics arrived and loaded me onto a stretcher. Lucas stood outside the ambulance doors, looking down at my gasping form with a look of hasty reassurance.

"Irina, it’s just a mild allergy," he said quickly. "Go ahead in the ambulance. I need to check on Chloe. If her blood sugar crashes while she’s alone, it could be dangerous."

My fingers gripped the iron railings of the stretcher so hard my knuckles turned deathly white.

I couldn't reply. Oxygen deprivation had completely stolen my voice.

The doors slammed shut, and the siren wailed into the night.

As the oxygen mask was strapped onto my face, I pulled out my phone with trembling fingers and forced out a quick text to Dad.

Dad, change of plans. Throw a gala instead. I want to be there to watch him crash and burn.