Faith Frazier POV:

A soft, almost imperceptible meow-like sound drifted through the door. I turned, confused, as Jetta walked in, typing a password into the keypad, as if she owned the place. The absurdity of it all almost made me laugh, a harsh, bitter sound that caught in my throat. This was my home. Our home.

Dale, momentarily distracted, looked up, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes quickly replaced by a puzzled concern for Jetta. She sniffled, bowing her head. "I'm so sorry, Faith," she mumbled, her voice dripping with fake contrition. "It was just a dare. I didn't know you' d mind so much." She held out a small mud doll, her eyes wide and innocent. "I wish you and Dale a hundred years of happiness."

Her words were a poison, and Dale, oblivious, swallowed it whole. His frown deepened. Jetta then scurried over to me, clutching the doll. "Please, Faith, please forgive me." She pressed the doll into my hand.

I felt a surge of nausea. I shoved her away, the touch repulsive. She stumbled, falling with exaggerated force, hitting her lower back against the glass cabinet. The mud doll shattered, its pieces scattering across the floor. Jetta screamed, clutching her back. "It hurts! She pushed me!" she wailed, "Faith pushed me!"

Dale' s fists clenched. He rushed to Jetta's side, scooping her into his arms, his eyes blazing with fury as he glared at me. "How could you, Faith?!" he snarled, his voice trembling with disappointment. "How could you be so cruel? She's just a child!"

Jetta's tears, fake as they were, seemed to melt his heart. He took a deep, shaky breath, his voice hardening into an ominous command. "Apologize to her, Faith. Now."

I lifted my chin, my eyes, cold as ice, reflecting their intimate tableau. "Apologize?" I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "There's nothing to apologize for. You and her… you're inseparable. You can't even give me a proper explanation. And you want me to apologize?" I shook my head, the absurdity of it all almost overwhelming. "Tell me, Dale, do you love her?"

He winced, the question a physical blow. His anger seemed to falter, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. An unsettling fear bloomed in his chest. He was afraid. Afraid of losing me for good. He loved me, he knew that. But Jetta… she was so vulnerable, so dependent. He couldn't just abandon her. He opened his mouth, hesitating, about to speak.

But then, Jetta, her eyes wide with feigned shock, pointed behind me. "Dale! Your tickets! They're burned!"

Faith Frazier POV:

Dale's breath hitched. His body stiffened, then slowly, agonizingly, he turned. The charred remnants of his "proof of love" lay scattered in the fireplace. Three years of his sacrifice, his devotion, reduced to ash. All his hesitation, his guilt, his remorse – they vanished in an instant, replaced by a towering inferno of rage.

His mind reeled. He remembered the lonely nights he had spent collecting those tickets, each one a desperate attempt to bridge the distance between us, a symbol of his unwavering commitment. They were his lifeline, his connection to me. Now, they were meaningless, a pile of worthless garbage.

"Did you do this, Faith?" His voice was unnervingly calm, a terrifying prelude to the storm brewing within him. His sanity snapped. A dark, primal fury radiated from him.

"Yes," I replied, my voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil raging inside me. "I did."

"Why?!" he roared, his voice cracking with disbelief.

"Why?" I echoed, a bitter laugh bubbling in my throat. I watched his face contort with pain, a cruel satisfaction twisting in my gut. "Don't you dare pretend you're surprised, Dale. You think I' m blind? You don't love me anymore. Why would I keep something that reminds me of your lies? It makes me sick." I bit down on the inside of my cheek, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. "It makes me utterly disgusted."

His chest heaved. He grabbed a chair, swinging it wildly, smashing it against the glass cabinet. Shards of glass rained down, a deafening crash echoing through the room. "You selfish bitch!" he screamed, his face contorted with rage, veins throbbing at his temples. "You're spoiled, Faith! I'll show you what real disgust feels like!"

He waved his hand, and two burly housekeepers rushed forward, grabbing me by the arms. "What are you doing?!" I shrieked, struggling against their grasp. "How dare you!"

His back was to me, a wall of cold indifference. One of the housekeepers, a woman I had trusted, slapped me across the face. "Jetta's the real mistress now, you hear?" she hissed, her eyes gleaming with malice. She pulled out a small pink pill, forcing my jaw open and shoving it down my throat.

I choked, coughing violently. "What was that?!" I gasped, my throat burning.

"Something special from Jetta," she sneered, forcing me to swallow.

The basement door slammed shut, plunging me into suffocating darkness. The scuttling of rats, the skittering of insects, the faint cries of unseen creatures – they filled the blackness. But I was beyond fear. All I felt was a crushing weariness.

My skin began to itch, an unbearable agony. Red, swollen welts bloomed across my body. I writhed on the cold concrete floor, scratching myself until I bled, the itching so intense it made me scream. Then came the burning, an inferno consuming my skin, followed by a suffocating tightness in my chest. My lungs burned, air refusing to enter. I fumbled for my phone, my hands shaking, cold sweat plastering my hair to my forehead.

I tried to call for help, but there was no signal. Only a cold, metallic echo.

Finally, a connection. Dale's voice, cold and distant, came through the phone. "Apologize, Faith," he said, his voice flat. "Then I'll let you out."

"Jetta… she drugged me," I gasped, my voice barely a whisper, my body convulsing with pain.

"Don't you dare accuse her," he retorted, his voice devoid of emotion. "She's innocent."

Then the line went dead. Just before the call ended, I heard Jetta's soft, sugary voice in the background, a chilling counterpoint to my suffering. My hand went limp, the phone clattering to the floor. Darkness consumed me.

Flashes of memory assaulted me: Dale, his face etched with worry, cradling me in his arms, promising to never let me hurt again. "I'll never let you feel pain, Faith," he had whispered, his lips pressed against my forehead.

A single tear rolled down my cheek as I closed my eyes, the bitter irony of his words a final, crushing blow.

Faith Frazier POV:

The antiseptic smell of the hospital stung my nostrils. A nurse, a blur of white, hovered over me. "You're finally awake," she mumbled, her voice tired. "Why would you take such a large dose of allergy medicine? You were in anaphylactic shock. Any later, and you would have died."

I managed a weak, bitter smile. "Thank you," I rasped, my throat raw.

My eyes swept past the nurse, landing on Dale. He stood a few feet away, his face unreadable. My smile faltered, replaced by a cold, hard mask. He was silent for a few moments, then his voice, laced with an unfamiliar irritation, broke the silence. "You should have told me you were allergic to that specific ingredient."

I met his gaze, my own eyes flat. "Jetta did this," I said, my voice barely a whisper, but firm. "She drugged me."

To my surprise, he nodded. "I know," he said. "But it was an accident. She grabbed the wrong bottle." He paused, then added, "I've already punished her."

My voice was hoarse, barely audible. "How?"

He frowned, then sighed. "I docked her half a day's intern salary."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I had expected his bias, but not this level of absurdity. My skin was still covered in inflamed, weeping blisters, a testament to Jetta's cruelty. "Is that a punishment, Dale?" I asked, my voice rising. "Or an endorsement? Look at me! Look at what she did!"

"You provoked her, Faith," he said, his voice cold and hard. "You attacked an innocent woman. Jetta is kind and gentle. She would never intentionally harm anyone." His eyes narrowed. "Now, apologize to her."

I refused. Absolutely.

The next few days were a blur of pain and loneliness. No visitors. No phone calls. Just the sterile white walls of my hospital room. Then, I saw him again, not in person, but in Jetta's social media feed. A picture of her, her manicured hand tucked into the arm of Dale's suit jacket. The caption read: "Dale took me on a trip to blow off some steam."

They were in a field of flowers, then walking hand-in-hand under a sky exploding with fireworks. A yacht party, wishes on shooting stars. They looked like a couple deeply in love, their romance extravagant and passionate.

As their trip was nearing its end, I stood at the departure gate, my suitcase by my side. The boarding announcement echoed through the terminal. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Dale. "I'll be back tomorrow," it read. "We need to talk."

I stared at the message, a distant, detached part of my mind wondering if it would be an attempt at reconciliation or another argument. But it no longer mattered. I felt nothing.

I drafted an email, attaching irrefutable evidence of Jetta's manipulations, her true colors, and sent it to Dale's work address. Then, I removed my SIM card, snapped it in half, and dropped it into a nearby trashcan.

This was it. The end. I was gone.