Hazel POV:

The clinic' s fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile, unforgiving glare on the neat row of stitches marching across my forearm. The doctor, a young resident with tired eyes, carefully wrapped a white bandage around the wound.

"That' s a nasty cut," he said, his voice gentle. "Are you here alone? Is there family I can call for you?"

Family. The word hung in the air between us. Did I have a family? A fiancé who had just accused me of assault and abandoned me to carry his mistress to safety? A stepsister who had orchestrated my public humiliation? My only real family was Jakobe, lying in a hospital bed miles away, unaware of the fresh hell his sister had just walked through.

I couldn't form a reply. A lump formed in my throat, thick and suffocating.

Just as the silence became unbearable, a voice cut through the stuffy air of the examination room.

"Hazel."

I flinched. Harden stood in the doorway, his tall frame blocking the exit. He was holding a small paper bag from the pharmacy, his face a carefully constructed mask of concern.

The young doctor' s face lit up. "Oh, wonderful, you' re here. She gave us quite a scare." He turned to me, his smile congratulatory. "You have a very caring fiancé, Ms. Rogers. He was frantic when he called."

My stomach twisted into a knot of pure acid. Caring. Frantic. The words were a mockery.

Harden walked towards me, his gaze softening as he looked at my bandaged arm. "Let' s get you home."

The drive back to the waterfront condo we shared was suffocating. I stared out the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of indifferent color. Krista was in the passenger seat, a place that had always, exclusively, been mine. Harden had insisted on it, claiming her minor scratch might get infected if she sat in the back.

She had already changed into one of my cashmere sweaters, which was two sizes too big for her but served its purpose. It made her look small, fragile, and victimized.

"You know, Hazel," Krista said, her voice laced with a triumphant little hum as she examined her perfectly manicured nails. "This seat is so much more comfortable than the back. I can see why you always hogged it."

I didn't answer. I could feel Harden' s eyes on me in the rearview mirror, but I refused to meet his gaze.

He pulled up to our building and turned to Krista, handing her the pharmacy bag he' d been holding. "Here, this is for you. The best scar-prevention cream on the market. I don' t want my beautiful Krista to have a single blemish."

His beautiful Krista. The words were a deliberate, calculated strike, aimed directly at my heart. And they hit their mark. I felt the impact like a physical blow, a sharp, stabbing pain that resonated through my entire body. My arm throbbed in time with my broken heart.

I must have made a sound, a small, choked gasp, because Harden' s attention finally shifted to me.

"What' s wrong now?" he asked, his voice laced with impatience. "It' s just a scratch, Hazel. Don' t be so dramatic."

He and Krista began to chat animatedly about their plans for the week, their voices a cheerful, oblivious buzz that filled a car thick with my silent anguish. My pain, my bleeding, my humiliation-it was all an inconvenient footnote to their grand love story.

"We should go look at wedding venues tomorrow," Harden suggested, his voice bright.

The word 'wedding' was so absurd, so utterly grotesque in this context, that a bitter laugh almost escaped me.

"Oh, that sounds wonderful!" Krista chirped. "But Hazel will need to come. After all, she' s the bride. I can help her pick out a dress. I have much better taste, anyway."

Her words were another deliberate jab, a reminder of her power and my irrelevance.

I thought of the past, of Harden whispering promises in the dark. "I can' t wait to see you walk down the aisle, Hazel. You' ll be the most beautiful bride in the world." It all felt like a scene from a movie I' d once watched, a life that belonged to someone else.

"I' m not feeling well," I finally said, my voice thin and reedy. "My arm hurts. I need to rest."

Harden sighed, a sound of pure annoyance. "Fine. Then Krista can try on the dresses for you. We' re about the same size. It' ll save us a trip."

The cruelty of it was breathtaking. He wanted his mistress to try on my wedding gown. He wanted to see her in white, to picture her as his bride, while I was relegated to the role of a sickly, inconvenient spectator. The mask of the loving fiancé had finally slipped, revealing the monster underneath.

A chilling realization washed over me. He didn't just want to replace me; he wanted to erase me.

"Harden," I asked, my voice flat, devoid of all emotion. "Are we still getting married?"

He seemed taken aback by the directness of the question. "Of course we are," he said, but his tone was clipped, impatient. "Don' t be ridiculous."

I turned my head to stare out the window, a dead smile playing on my lips. "Good. Because I have a very special gift for you and Krista. A wedding gift."

I didn' t wait for his reply. As soon as the car stopped, I opened the door and walked away without a backward glance, leaving him to stare after me with a flicker of something I couldn't quite decipher in his eyes. For a split second, it almost looked like confusion. Or maybe, just maybe, a sliver of fear.

Hazel POV:

Back in the cold, silent apartment, I slipped the wedding gift-the document bag containing my death sentence and the artifacts of his lies-deeper into my suitcase. The final piece of my plan was clicking into place.

I began pulling clothes from the closet, folding them into a separate, smaller bag. My movements were calm, methodical. A strange sense of peace washed over me. The end was near.

"What are you doing?"

Harden' s voice, sharp with suspicion, sliced through my reverie. He stood in the bedroom doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed.

"Packing," I replied, not looking at him. "I' m visiting my parents' graves tomorrow. It' s their anniversary."

It was a lie, but a plausible one. He knew how important they were to me.

He watched me for a moment, his suspicion warring with his desire to believe me. "Fine," he finally grunted, turning away. "I have to pack too."

I paused, my hand hovering over a soft wool sweater. "Oh? Where are you going?"

"Business trip to Norway," he said, pulling a designer suitcase from the top of his closet. "Frank and I have to close a deal. I' ll be back in a few days. Don' t miss me too much."

His attempt at a playful tone was grotesque. I gave him a small, tight smile. "I' ll try not to."

My placid agreement seemed to unnerve him. He kept glancing at me as he packed, a frown creasing his handsome face. He expected tears, or a fight. He didn' t know what to do with this new, hollow version of me.

Once he was gone, I pulled out my phone. I didn' t need to be a detective to know the truth. A quick scroll through Krista' s Instagram feed confirmed it. There, posted just an hour ago, was a picture of the Northern Lights with the caption: My ultimate dream! Someday… #wanderlust #auroraborealis

And right below it, the first comment: Harden Diaz: Someday is coming sooner than you think.

A bitter, self-mocking laugh escaped my lips. My stomach clenched, a familiar, agonizing pain radiating through me. Of course. A business trip. His business was Krista.

I leaned against the wall, trying to breathe through the agony. I had to tell him. I had to make one last, pathetic attempt. I picked up the phone.

"Harden," I said, my voice strained. "I' m not feeling well. My stomach… it really hurts."

"Hold on a second, Hazel." His voice was distracted. Before I could say more, I heard Krista' s frantic voice in the background.

"Harden! Oh my god, hurry! It' s Muffin! I think he fell off the balcony! He' s not moving!"

Muffin. Her ridiculously pampered Pomeranian.

"I' m on my way, Krista! Don' t move him! I' ll be right there!" Harden' s voice was laced with genuine panic. He was more concerned about her dog than he was about me.

"Harden, please," I begged, my voice cracking. "I think… I think I need to go to the hospital."

"For god' s sake, Hazel, can you stop being so dramatic?" he snapped, his patience gone. "You' re not the only person in the world with problems. A stomach ache can wait. I have a real emergency here."

The line went dead. He had hung up on me.

The pain in my abdomen intensified, a white-hot poker twisting in my gut. Black spots danced in my vision. The phone slipped from my grasp, clattering to the floor. The last thing I saw before the darkness consumed me was the cheerful glow of Krista' s Instagram post, a beacon of my own personal hell.

When I woke up, the world was a blurry watercolor of white and beige. The antiseptic smell of a hospital filled my nostrils. I was in a private room, an IV line snaking into my arm.

Harden was asleep in a chair by my bed, his head lolled to one side, his face etched with a convincing portrait of worry. He looked like the devoted fiancé. The actor was back on stage.

He stirred as I moved, his eyes fluttering open. When he saw I was awake, a wave of relief washed over his features.

"Hazel," he whispered, rushing to my side. He took my hand, his touch now feeling alien and repulsive. "You scared the hell out of me. Why didn' t you tell me you were this sick?"

The sheer audacity of his question left me speechless. Did he really not remember our conversation? Or was he just that good at rewriting history?

"I did tell you," I said, my voice a hoarse whisper. "You told me I was being dramatic. You had a 'real emergency' to attend to."

A flash of guilt, or perhaps just annoyance at being caught, crossed his face. He had the decency to look away.

"I' m sorry," he mumbled. "I was… stressed. I' ve cancelled the trip to Norway. We' re going to take a trip, just the two of us. Anywhere you want. A cruise to see the Northern Lights. You' ve always wanted that, right?"

His words were a poisoned arrow. He was offering me the very trip he had planned with his mistress, a consolation prize for my near-death experience.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to the back of my hand. The touch was like a brand, searing my skin. I snatched my hand away as if I' d been burned. The pain in my heart was a physical agony, sharp and relentless.

"Why, Harden?" I asked, my voice breaking. "Is this trip for me? Or is it for her?"

Before he could answer, the door to my hospital room swung open. Krista breezed in, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips.

Hazel POV:

Krista sashayed into the room, holding a small bottle of antiseptic solution. Her smile was as fake as the designer bag slung over her shoulder.

"The nurses were so busy, I thought I' d help out," she chirped, her voice dripping with faux concern. "Let me change that dressing for you, sis."

"Good idea," Harden said, immediately standing up. "You two have some sisterly bonding time. I' ll go grab us some coffee."

He squeezed Krista' s shoulder as he passed, a quick, intimate gesture that spoke volumes. Then he was gone, leaving me alone with the wolf.

The moment the door clicked shut, Krista' s sweet facade melted away, replaced by a mask of pure, unadulterated contempt.

"Pathetic," she sneered, her voice dropping to a low, vicious whisper. She sauntered over to my bed, looking down at me as if I were a piece of trash she' d found on her shoe. "Still trying to play the victim, Hazel? You' re just a leech, clinging to Harden, draining him of his money and his patience. You and that sick, pathetic brother of yours. You' re both genetic defects."

The insult to Jakobe hit me harder than any physical blow. A surge of protective fury rose in my chest. "You leave him out of this."

"Oh, I' ve touched a nerve, have I?" she mocked, her eyes glittering with malice. "You think you' re some kind of saint, don' t you? Sacrificing yourself for Harden. Let me tell you a secret. He doesn' t want your sacrifice. He pities you. He' s only with you because he' s trapped. You manipulated him with that bone marrow, guilt-tripping him into this ridiculous engagement."

She leaned closer, her voice a poisonous hiss. "He still loves me. He' s always loved me. Every moment of happiness you think you' ve had with him these past three years? That was me. I allowed it. I was feeling generous. But now, game over."

The world spun. Her words were a torrent of venom, stripping away the last vestiges of my dignity.

"No," I choked out, shaking my head. "No, you' re lying."

"Am I?" Krista' s smile was a cruel slash across her face. She pulled out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen. "You think Harden naming a star after you was romantic? So sweet? Let me show you something."

She held the phone in front of my face. It was a video, shaky and dark, clearly filmed in secret. It was from three years ago, just after the accident. Harden was on the phone with Krista, his voice desperate.

"She' s a match, Krista. She' s going to do it. But she' s so gullible. She thinks the crash was her fault. I just… I need to keep her close, make her feel like she' s a hero. It' s the only way."

Then, another clip. Harden and Frank Schmitt, talking in his office.

Frank: Are you sure about this, man? Faking a three-year relationship is insane. Just for Krista?

Harden: I' ll do anything for her. I' ll make Hazel believe I' m the most devoted man on earth. I' ll buy her a goddamn planet if I have to. When Krista comes back, I' ll drop Hazel like a hot rock. She' ll just be a memory.

The phone clattered to the floor. The last sliver of hope I' d been clinging to-that maybe, just maybe, some part of his love had been real-was extinguished. Crushed into dust.

A primal scream of rage and despair tore from my throat. I wasn't just heartbroken; I was annihilated. In a blind fury, I ripped the IV from my arm, grabbed the stand, and swung it with all my might.

"You bitch!" I shrieked. "I' ll kill you!"

The metal pole flew through the air, aimed straight for Krista' s smug face. But just as it was about to connect, the door burst open.

Harden.

The IV stand crashed into his forehead with a sickening thud.

He staggered back, a dark red gash blooming above his eyebrow. For a moment, there was just stunned silence. Then, Krista let out a piercing scream.

"Harden! Oh my god, you' re bleeding!" she wailed, rushing to his side, conveniently ignoring the fact that I had been her target.

Harden looked from the blood on his fingers to me, and his eyes, once filled with fake adoration, were now blazing with a terrifying, uncontrolled rage.

"You crazy bitch!" he roared.

He lunged for me, grabbing me by the hair and yanking me from the bed. I landed hard on the cold linoleum floor, my head smacking against the tiles. Stars exploded behind my eyes.

"Harden, stop! She' s a patient!" Krista cried, but her words were fuel to his fire, a performance of concern that only made him angrier.

He was a man possessed. He grabbed my hospital gown, his knuckles white, and dragged me across the floor. I was too weak, too stunned to fight back.

He forced me to my knees in front of Krista, his hand gripping the back of my neck like a vise. The humiliation was a physical weight, crushing me into the ground.

"Apologize," he ground out, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Apologize to Krista. Now."

Tears streamed down my face, hot and salty. Tears of pain, of betrayal, of utter, abject despair. Through the blur, I saw Krista hiding behind him, her eyes wide with a mixture of feigned fear and triumphant glee.

This was my life. This was the man I loved. This was the hell I had chosen.

"I' m… sorry," I choked out, the words tasting like ash and blood in my mouth.

His grip tightened for a moment, then he released me, shoving me away like a piece of garbage. He turned his back on me, his entire being focused on comforting the weeping Krista, leaving me kneeling on the cold floor, a broken thing in a pool of my own tears.