I stood on the rooftop terrace in downtown Seattle, champagne flute in hand, and thought: *This is it. Tonight is the night.*

Five years. Five years of waiting, hoping, believing. The city skyline stretched out behind us, lights glittering like scattered diamonds. The air smelled like expensive perfume and late summer warmth. Mia Torres stood beside me, her arm linked through mine, squeezing gently.

"You look happy," she said.

I was. I touched the jade rosary bracelet at my wrist — Abuela's bracelet, the one she'd given me from her hospital bed three months ago. *Wear this, and you'll always find your way back to people who truly love you.*

"I am happy," I told Mia. And I meant it.

Cason was across the terrace, laughing with his friends. He looked good tonight. He always looked good. Dark blazer, white shirt open at the collar, that easy confidence that had pulled me in when I was twenty years old and never quite let go. I watched him tip his head back and laugh at something someone said, and my chest filled with warmth.

Then his eyes slid past me. Across the crowd. To her.

Clover Nichols.

She was leaning against the bar in a red dress cut too low and too high at the same time. Bottle-service girl from the club downtown. I'd met her twice. Both times, she'd smiled at me like we were friends. Both times, I'd felt cold afterward and couldn't say why.

Cason's gaze lingered on her. Just a second too long.

I felt Mia's grip tighten on my arm.

"Alma—"

"It's fine," I said quickly. "He's just being polite."

Mia didn't answer. She didn't have to.

I drained my champagne and told myself I was imagining things. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration. Cason had said so himself when he invited everyone. *A party for us. For our future.* I'd spent an hour picking out this dress. I'd reapplied my lipstick three times in the car.

I was not going to ruin this with paranoia.

Someone in the crowd — I didn't see who — shouted, "Truth or Dare!"

Laughter rippled through the terrace. People were drunk enough now that it sounded like a good idea. I smiled and shook my head, ready to sit this one out. But then Cason turned, grinning that grin I used to love, and said, "I'll go first."

The crowd cheered.

"Dare," Cason said.

Someone whistled. Someone else laughed. I felt the first thread of unease pull tight in my chest, but I pushed it down. This was Cason. My Cason. The man who'd driven seven hundred miles through the night to surprise me at college. The man who'd danced with me in a tiny apartment with takeout boxes on the floor.

"I dare you," someone said — a voice I didn't recognize, female, light — "to put a ring on the prettiest girl here."

My heart jumped. I looked down at my empty ring finger and felt heat rise in my cheeks. This was it. This was how he was going to do it. In front of everyone. Romantic and public and exactly the kind of thing I would tell our kids about someday.

I looked up, smiling.

Cason reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small velvet box.

My breath caught.

He opened it. The ring inside caught the light — delicate, silver, a single diamond that I had looked at on his laptop three months ago when he left the browser open. I'd said nothing. I'd waited.

Cason walked across the terrace.

Past me.

To Clover.

The world tilted.

He took her hand — her left hand — and slid the ring onto her finger.

The crowd went silent. Then someone laughed nervously. Then someone else whistled, uncertain.

Clover looked at the ring. Then at me. Then she smiled.

"Oh my God," she breathed, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Cason, you shouldn't have."

She stood up. She put her hands on his chest. And then, while I stood there frozen, champagne flute still in my hand, she started to dance.

Not just dance. She pressed herself against him, hips rolling, hands sliding down his shoulders, his arms, his chest. A lap dance. In front of everyone. In front of me.

Someone whistled again, louder this time. A few people clapped. Most just stared.

Mia's voice was low and urgent in my ear. "Alma. Let's go. Right now."

I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I watched Clover's hands slide lower. I watched Cason's grin widen. I watched the ring — my ring — catch the light on her finger.

Something inside me snapped.

I crossed the terrace in four steps. I didn't think. I didn't plan. I just swung.

The slap cracked across Clover's face so hard my palm stung.

She stumbled back, hand flying to her cheek, eyes wide. The crowd gasped.

"You crazy bitch!" Clover shrieked.

Cason grabbed my wrist. Hard. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

I stared at him. At the man I'd loved for five years. At the stranger wearing his face.

"You're embarrassing yourself," he hissed. "You're insane. It was a game, Alma. A joke. Can't you take a joke?"

Clover was crying now — loud, theatrical sobs. People were pulling out their phones.

Mia grabbed my other arm. "Alma, please—"

I pulled free. I looked at Cason one last time.

"We're done," I said.

My voice didn't shake. It didn't rise. It just was.

I turned and walked off the terrace. Down the stairs. Through the lobby. Out onto the street.

I got into a cab. I gave the driver an address. Then I pulled out my phone.

My hands were steady.

I typed: *I'll do the arrangement. Set it up.*

I hit send.

My mother's reply came in seconds: *Come home, sweetheart. We'll take care of everything.*

I pressed the phone against my chest and stared out the rain-streaked window. The city blurred past. Lights and shadows and strangers' lives.

The cab turned a corner.

I heard the screech of tires.

Then the world exploded into glass and metal and darkness.

I woke up to white ceiling tiles and the smell of disinfectant.

My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. My mouth tasted like metal. And my left arm — I tried to move it and couldn't. When I looked down, it was wrapped in plaster from wrist to elbow, suspended in a sling across my chest.

I blinked. The room swam into focus. Hospital bed. IV drip. Monitor beeping somewhere to my left.

My right hand moved instinctively to my wrist.

The bracelet was still there.

Abuela's jade rosary. The beads were cool against my skin. I ran my thumb over them, counting. All there. Intact.

I exhaled.

The door was closed. Through the narrow window, I could see the empty hallway. No nurses. No doctors. Just the distant sound of a cart rolling past and someone's muffled voice on a phone.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember.

The cab. The rain on the window. My phone pressed against my chest.

Then light. Bright and sudden and wrong.

Then nothing.

I opened my eyes again. Stared at the ceiling. Tried to breathe past the tightness in my chest that had nothing to do with the accident.

Cason's face. The ring on Clover's finger. The crowd's uncertain laughter.

*We're done.*

I'd said it. I'd meant it.

And then I'd gotten into a cab and—

The door slammed open.

I flinched. The monitor spiked.

Cason stood in the doorway, phone in hand, face twisted into something I didn't recognize.

"What the hell did you do to her?"

I stared at him. My mouth opened. No sound came out.

He crossed the room in three strides and shoved the phone in my face. The screen was too close. I couldn't focus. But I saw red. Scratches. Skin.

"Look at this!" His voice was loud. Too loud. "Look what you did!"

I blinked. The image sharpened. Clover's neck. Long red marks running from her collarbone to her jaw.

"I didn't—" My voice cracked. "I slapped her. Once. I didn't scratch—"

"Don't lie to me!" Cason's hand hit the bed rail. The metal rang. "She's terrified of you. She wanted to press charges. I had to talk her out of it."

I looked past him. Clover was in the doorway now, one hand pressed to her throat, eyes wide and glistening. She was wearing a soft pink sweater. Her hair was down. She looked small.

She looked like a victim.

"I'm so sorry," Clover whispered. "I didn't mean to make things worse. I just wanted to check on you."

Mia's voice cut through from the hallway. "Get away from her."

Mia pushed past Clover into the room. Her eyes were red. Her jaw was tight.

"Alma, are you okay?"

I nodded. I didn't trust my voice.

Cason turned on Mia. "This doesn't concern you."

"The hell it doesn't." Mia stepped between us. "You need to leave. Now."

"I'm not going anywhere until she admits what she did."

"I didn't scratch her," I said again. Louder this time. "I slapped her. That's it."

Clover made a small sound. A whimper. She moved toward the nightstand, one hand still at her throat, the other reaching out as if to steady herself.

"I just need some water," she murmured. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She leaned against the nightstand. Her sleeve brushed the edge.

I saw it happen in slow motion.

The bracelet slid. Tipped. Fell.

It hit the tile floor with a sound like breaking glass.

Beads scattered. The jade cracked. The clasp snapped open and skittered under the bed.

I screamed.

Not a word. Just sound. Raw and animal and torn from somewhere deep.

I lunged forward. The IV pulled. The sling caught. Pain shot up my arm and I didn't care.

Mia caught me. Held me back.

Clover's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Get out." My voice was shaking. "Get out. GET OUT!"

Cason didn't move. He looked at the shattered bracelet. At me. At Mia holding me upright.

"You need to calm down," he said.

I stared at him.

At the man who had driven seven hundred miles to see me. Who had danced with me in a tiny apartment. Who had promised me forever.

At the stranger standing in his place.

"We're done," I said again.

This time, my voice didn't shake.

Cason's jaw tightened. "You don't mean that."

"I mean it."

"You're upset. You're hurt. You'll change your mind."

"I won't."

Something shifted in his face. The concern — fake as it was — dropped away. What was left was cold.

"Fine," he said. "Have it your way."

He pulled out his phone. Dialed. Put it to his ear.

"Yeah, it's Cason Stone," he said into the phone. His eyes were on me. "I need you to pull authorization on a patient. Herrera. First name… what's your grandmother's first name, Alma?"

The room went silent.

Mia's grip on my arm tightened.

"Maria," I whispered.

"Maria Herrera," Cason said into the phone. "Cancel the experimental medication. Effective immediately."

I stopped breathing.

"Cason—" Mia started.

"You want to be done?" Cason said. He ended the call. Slipped the phone into his pocket. "Then we're done."

He turned to the door. Clover was already backing into the hallway, eyes down.

Cason paused at the threshold. Looked back.

"Security will escort you out in twenty minutes," he said. "I suggest you get dressed."

The door closed.

I sank back against the pillow. Stared at the ceiling.

Mia was saying something. Her voice sounded far away.

I looked at the floor. At the scattered beads. At the cracked jade.

Abuela's bracelet.

The only thing I had left of her.

Gone.

I looked at Cason.

Really looked at him.

Not the man I'd imagined for five years. Not the memory of someone who'd once driven through the night to see me. Not the version of him I'd been clinging to like a life raft in the middle of the ocean.

Just him. The man standing in front of me. The man who'd put a ring on another woman's finger. The man who'd just watched that woman destroy the last thing I had of my grandmother and done nothing.

The man who was threatening Abuela's life because I wouldn't take him back.

"We're done," I said.

My voice was quiet. Steady. It didn't shake. It didn't rise. It just was.

Cason's face changed. The fake concern dropped away like a mask. What was left was something cold and sharp.

"You don't want to do this," he said.

"I already did."

"Alma." He stepped closer. "Think about what you're saying."

"I have."

"You're upset. You're hurt. You're not thinking clearly."

"I'm thinking clearly for the first time in five years."

His jaw tightened. A muscle jumped near his temple.

"You're making a mistake," he said.

I looked at the shattered bracelet on the floor. At the jade beads scattered across white tile. At the broken clasp under the bed.

"No," I said. "I'm fixing one."

Cason stared at me. His hand curled into a fist at his side. Then he pulled out his phone.

"Fine," he said. "Have it your way."

He dialed. Put the phone to his ear. His eyes never left my face.

"Yeah, it's Cason Stone," he said. His voice was calm. Casual. Like he was ordering coffee. "I need you to pull authorization on a patient. Maria Herrera. Cancel the experimental medication. Effective immediately."

The room tilted.

Mia's grip on my arm tightened so hard it hurt.

"Cason, don't—" she started.

"It's done," Cason said. He ended the call. Slipped the phone back into his pocket. "You want to be done? Then we're done."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't think past the roaring in my ears.

Abuela. Her hospital bed. Her thin hands. Her voice telling me to wear the bracelet and find my way back to people who truly loved me.

Abuela, who was alive because of that medication. Only because of that medication.

Cason watched me. Waiting for me to break. Waiting for me to beg.

I didn't.

I looked at him and felt something inside me go very still. Very cold.

"Get out," I said.

His smile was thin and sharp. "Gladly."

He turned to the door. Gestured to someone in the hallway I couldn't see.

"Security will escort you out in twenty minutes," he said. "I suggest you get dressed."

Then he was gone. Clover trailing after him like a shadow.

The door closed.

Mia was saying something. Her voice sounded far away. Underwater.

I stared at the ceiling. At the white tiles. At the fluorescent lights.

Twenty minutes.

I tried to sit up. Pain shot through my arm. The IV pulled. The monitor beeped faster.

"Alma, don't—" Mia started.

"I need to get dressed," I said.

My voice sounded strange. Flat. Like it belonged to someone else.

Mia's eyes were wet. "You can't leave. You just had a car accident. You need to stay—"

"He owns this hospital, Mia."

She stopped. Stared at me.

"The Stone family," I said. "They're on the board. They fund the new wing. If Cason says I leave, I leave."

Mia's face crumpled. "This is insane. This is—"

"Help me up."

She did. Her hands were shaking.

I pulled the IV out myself. A drop of blood welled up. I pressed my thumb against it and stood.

The room swayed. I grabbed the bed rail. Waited for it to steady.

My clothes were in a plastic bag on the chair. Mia handed them to me. I dressed one-handed, the cast making everything twice as hard. My dress from the party. The one I'd spent an hour picking out.

It smelled like champagne and smoke.

I pulled it on anyway.

Footsteps in the hallway. Heavy. Multiple.

The door opened.

Two security guards. Both men. Both big. Both wearing Stone Medical Center badges.

"Ms. Herrera," the first one said. "We need you to come with us."

Mia stepped between us. "She's injured. She needs medical care."

"We have our orders, ma'am."

"Your orders are to throw an injured woman onto the street?"

The guard's face didn't change. "We need you to come with us," he said again. This time to me.

I looked at Mia. At her red eyes and tight jaw and the way her hands were shaking.

"It's okay," I said.

It wasn't okay. Nothing was okay.

But I said it anyway.

The guards walked me through the hallway. Past nurses who looked away. Past patients who stared. Past the elevator and down the back stairs and through a service exit that opened onto the loading dock.

It was raining.

Cold, thin rain that soaked through my dress in seconds.

The guards stopped at the edge of the dock. One of them gestured to the street below.

"You can go," he said.

I looked at him. At his blank face and his Stone Medical Center badge.

"My phone," I said. "My purse. They're still in the room."

"We'll mail them to you."

"I need them now."

"We'll mail them to you," he said again.

Then he turned and walked back inside.

The door closed. Locked.

I stood on the loading dock in the rain. Arm in a cast. Hospital gown under my dress. No phone. No purse. No way to call anyone.

I looked up at the building. At the lit windows. At the Stone Medical Center sign glowing against the dark sky.

Then I turned and walked down the steps to the curb.

The rain was heavier now. It plastered my hair to my face. Soaked through the cast. Made my dress cling to my skin.

I stood on the sidewalk and looked at the empty street.

No cabs. No buses. Just rain and darkness and the distant sound of traffic.

I started walking.

I didn't know where I was going. I just knew I couldn't stay here.

Behind me, the automatic doors of Stone Medical Center slid shut.

And I was alone.