The suitcase sat open in the living room. I packed slowly.

At the bottom, my fingers brushed a cream-colored envelope.

A job offer from Valley Creek Private Hospital, received two months ago. A position as a surgeon, with generous pay.

Back then, Evan had been stressed about the championship. I hadn't even looked at it before shoving it away.

At least now it would finally come in handy.

I wanted to prove that I wasn't just some no-name.

I finished packing the living room, wiped the sweat from my forehead, and looked around the apartment Evan and I had shared for eight years.

The wallpaper was peeling, the window frames had rusted over, and I'd just repainted the whole place.

Romance DVDs lay scattered across the floor, used condoms were piling up in the trash, and leftover pizza sat in the fridge. Every corner held some trace of us.

I took a deep breath, refusing to let myself drown in it, and pushed open the bedroom door.

My eyes went wide.

In the center of the bed, on sheets I'd changed not long ago, was a fresh bloodstain.

There were lipstick smudges on the pillowcase, and the fabric reeked of Sophia's perfume.

My nails dug into my palms.

A key turned in the lock.

Evan walked in wearing an expensive charcoal coat, every inch the star quarterback. He looked nothing like the boy who used to wait for me to bring him cheap hot dogs after my shift.

He seemed surprised to see me, but recovered quickly with a smile.

"Babe, still mad? Don't worry. Once the buzz dies down, I'll make Sophia delete that post right aw—"

His gaze caught the open suitcase. His expression shifted.

"Lillian, you're still at this?"

"I told you, it's a business arrangement. Can you grow up? Just try to understand my—"

He stopped mid-sentence.

He'd seen the blood on the sheets.

The room went dead silent.

"Evan." My fingertips were ice. I pointed at the stain. "What is this?"

His Adam's apple bobbed. He looked away.

"Don't get the wrong idea. Sophia was on her period last time she was here. I was taking care of her and the sheets got stained. It was an accident—"

He looked back at me, words tumbling out faster.

"Nothing happened between us! The blood was just ... she brushed against the sheets by mistake. It was a prank. That's all."

"A prank." I repeated the word slowly.

"She was in our bed. You were taking care of her. And she deliberately left this for me to find."

My eyes burned.

"And that's all just a prank?"

Evan's face went from white to red, and then he snapped.

"Lillian, not everyone's mind is in the gutter like yours!"

"And even if something had happened, would I still be letting you stand here and yell at me about it?"

"She's my friend. We need to build chemistry for the cameras. Of course we're going to be close."

"You're paranoid, obsessive, blowing every little thing out of proportion. You sound like some bitter housewife running surveillance."

Every accusation landed like a rusty blade, sawing back and forth across a heart that had already gone numb.

Then a lazy voice drifted in from the doorway.

"What's going on? The door was open."

Sophia strolled in, her gaze landing on me. One perfect eyebrow arched.

"Oh, sweetie, you've got it all wrong." She drifted to Evan's side, practically pressing against his arm. "I'm just like that, a total airhead. I got my period and Evan carried me to the bed. Didn't even think about the sheets."

She put on a guilty face.

"Send me your account number and I'll cover the dry cleaning."

She held out a manicured hand, waving it casually in front of me.

And that's when the overhead light caught what was on her wrist.

The bone bracelet Evan had given me.

Every nerve in my body froze.

That bracelet was the only thing I had left from eight years together.

The only proof that someone had once loved me.

It couldn't be taken away. If it was, then those eight years really were nothing but a joke.

"Give it back."

My voice came out dry and cracked.

Sophia blinked, then put on an exaggerated look of sympathy.

"This? You like it? But Evan gave it to me for my birthday. I can't just hand it over."

I stared at Evan, disbelief flooding through me. He wouldn't meet my eyes.

"She saw it at my place and liked it, so I let her have it. It's just a bracelet. I'll get you something better. Don't make a big deal out of it."

Something inside my chest collapsed, and I shot to my feet.

"I said give it back!"

Sophia flinched like I'd lunged at her, letting out a little yelp. She shrank back, delicate and helpless, and her wrist twisted.

Crack.

The bone bracelet shattered against the floor.

I stood frozen, eyes locked on the fragments.

The last thread holding me together snapped.

My palm connected with Sophia's face.

She clutched her cheek, staring at me in shock, then let out a shriek and stumbled backward.

The next second, a massive force slammed me to the ground.

"Lillian, have you lost your mind?"

Evan's roar nearly split my eardrums.

I hit the floor hard, and sharp fragments bit into my skin.

But that pain was nothing compared to what came next: a savage, grinding agony that exploded from my right ankle like red-hot needles driven into the bone.

I couldn't stop the cry that tore out of me. I curled into myself.

The old injury. The ankle the doctors had warned me to protect at all costs after the fibula was removed—the one that could never take another serious impact.

Evan didn't even glance at me. He scooped Sophia into his arms, turned, and headed for the door.

The pain came in waves, each worse than the last. I could barely breathe. I forced the words out.

"Wait… Evan… my foot… the old injury…"

He paused and looked back at me. His eyes were cold enough to freeze skin.

"It hurts? Good. Maybe the pain will teach you what happens when you don't know when to stop."

The door slammed shut.

Nothing left but my ragged, gasping breaths echoing through the empty apartment.

Minutes passed. The pain didn't ease.

I lifted my head and, with the one hand that still worked, began dragging myself inch by inch toward the old landline on the other side of the living room.

It wasn't far. Maybe fifteen feet.

It took me a very long time.

The paramedics arrived and wheeled me into the exam room.

The doctor examined my right ankle, pressing his cool fingers against different points. Every touch sent a jolt of sharp pain through me.

"Does this hurt?"

"How about here?"

"Can you feel me moving your toes?"

I clenched my jaw, nodding, shaking my head, squeezing out broken answers.

The examination lasted about ten minutes. The doctor straightened up, pulled off his gloves, and his brow furrowed.

"Old injury. Post-fibula excision. The joint stability was already compromised." His voice was heavy. "Now, with this kind of blunt force trauma, the situation is very serious."

"You need surgery immediately. The longer we wait, the less likely it is that full joint function can be restored."

He didn't finish, but the meaning was clear.

If I didn't get the surgery, I could lose this foot.

My nails bit crescents into my palms.

Evan knew exactly where I was most vulnerable. And he'd hit the mark dead-on.

The nurse brought a wheelchair, helped me into it, and took me to the payment counter.

I pulled my wallet from my coat pocket and handed over the bank card.

This card was linked to the joint account Evan and I had opened together.

He'd said we would keep all our money here and plan our future together. It was my only safety net.

The clerk took the card, swiped it, paused, and tried again.

"Ma'am, this card has insufficient funds."

I gripped the armrest. "That's impossible. Check again."

He gave me a look, ran it one more time, then tilted the screen toward me.

"See for yourself. Balance: zero dollars. A single transfer cleaned it out. This afternoon."

The blood drained from my body.

"Ma'am? Are you going ahead with the payment or not? There are people waiting." The clerk's voice was impatient.

I took the card back with stiff fingers. That thin piece of plastic felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

"I need to make a call."

I wheeled myself to a corner of the stairwell and hit dial.

"What do you want now?"

Evan's voice came through, dripping with irritation.

"Evan." I drew a breath, fighting to keep my voice steady. "The money. Our account is empty. I need it for surgery. My foot—"

Two seconds of silence.

Then a quiet laugh.

"Money, huh?" His voice was slow, almost playful. "Sure. Apologize to Sophia."

"Apologize for that little tantrum of yours. Make it sincere. When I'm satisfied, I'll think about transferring the surgery money."

My ears rang.

"What?"

"Apologize." He repeated it, a thread of impatience creeping in. "Lillian, you acted like a lunatic tonight. You need to take responsibility for what you did. Otherwise—"

He didn't finish, but I understood.

Sophia was the one who'd been wronged. So even with my foot about to give out for good, I was the one who needed to say sorry.

I squeezed my eyes shut and was about to open my mouth when Sophia's voice cut through from the background.

"Evan, what do I do? The doctor says my face is going to scar!"

"How am I supposed to go on camera? What will my followers think? I can't live like this."

The other end erupted into chaos. Evan seemed to pull her into his arms, murmuring frantic reassurances.

Then he was back on the phone, shouting.

"Lillian, look what you've done. Sophia's threatening to jump off the roof."

"It's too late. You've already ruined everything."

"Until you learn to control yourself like a normal person and understand what consequences mean, don't expect a single cent from me."

He hung up. The line went dead.

I stayed frozen, phone still pressed to my ear.

My right foot tore itself apart.

I toppled sideways, wheelchair and all, and hit the floor. Consciousness pulled away like a tide, dragging me under.

I didn't know how long I was out. The smell of disinfectant seeped into my nose.

I pried my eyes open. The doctor stood at my bedside writing something. When he saw I was awake, his expression softened with something like pity, and he handed me a diagnosis sheet.

"Permanent functional impairment of the right ankle joint."

The foot was done.

I glanced at the paper. There was no breakdown, no tears, just a flat, ashen calm.

Fine. That fibula had been his to begin with. At least the story had a proper ending now.

I gathered my things quietly, spent my last bit of cash on the cheapest secondhand wheelchair I could find.

Then I pulled out the cream-colored envelope I'd forgotten about.

Valley Creek Private Hospital. The gold-embossed crest caught the dim light.

Report date: the fifteenth of next month. Just enough time.

I tucked the letter away carefully, gripped the wheel rims, and pushed forward.

But I'd barely moved a few feet when a tall figure blocked my path.

Evan stood there, frowning down at me. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes.

"Lillian, you said you needed surgery. That was real?"

"Where are you going?"