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.

Dale Atkins POV:

I leaned back in the plane seat, rubbing my temples. My head throbbed. Jetta's soft hand, small and boneless, covered mine, her fingers tracing soothing patterns on my skin. "Headache, Dale?" she purred, her voice a seductive whisper.

"Mmm," I grunted, my eyes still closed. She smelled of some light, floral perfume, not unlike Faith' s usual scent. My tense muscles relaxed under her touch.

I had brought Jetta on this trip, trying to clear my head, but Faith's image kept flashing through my mind. I didn' t want a cold war with her. I just wanted her to come back. I had envisioned our reunion, a warm embrace, a renewed intimacy. I thought she would be so happy to see me, to finally be home. I thought she was being overly sensitive, irrational even, about Jetta. I had told her I loved her. Wasn't that enough?

My frustration grew. My brow furrowed even deeper. Jetta' s hand, still massaging my temples, slid lower, tracing the line of my jaw. "Is Faith still giving you trouble?" she asked, her voice laced with feigned concern. "She was really upset about the tickets, wasn't she? I mean, they were just… pieces of paper. But she shouldn't have burned them. That was going too far." She paused. "Maybe you should just ignore her for a while. Let her know she can't control you."

I stared at my phone, waiting for a reply from Faith, a sign that she was ready to talk. I remembered leaving her in the hospital, thinking a little time apart would make her see sense. But she was so stubborn. I thought about all our years together, the arguments, the reconciliations. Faith was always the one to apologize first, to bridge the gap. I loved that about her. Her fierce independence, her unwavering spirit.

I typed out another message, offering an olive branch, hoping she would take it.

Jetta leaned in, her warm breath caressing my ear, her voice a soft murmur. "I've had such a wonderful time with you, Dale. It feels like a dream." She sighed. "I know I don' t deserve your love, your real love. But… can I just have this memory? Just this one night?" Her body pressed against mine, soft and pliant. "I promise I won't tell anyone. I'll just be here, for you, when she can't. I just want to make you happy, like she used to." She looked up at me, her eyes pleading. "Please, Dale."

My eyes darkened. My throat felt tight. I reached out, pulling her onto my lap.

Dale Atkins POV:

My hand moved to Jetta's collar, then hesitated. Faith. My Faith. The thought of her waiting for me at home, perhaps even forgiving me, was a sudden, cold splash of water. I couldn't betray her. Not like this.

The sudden rush of desire vanished, replaced by a wave of self-loathing. I gently set Jetta down, covering her shivering shoulders with my jacket. Her face was pale, a mask of confused disappointment. "I'm sorry," I said, my voice flat. "But Faith is my fiancée. I still love her."

I believed that. Deep down, I truly did. My mistakes, my weakness, my stupidity with Jetta – they were blips, not true betrayal. Faith's anger, her pain, was justifiable. I would return home, talk to her, make things right. We would get married, just as we planned. The image of Faith in a wedding dress, walking down the aisle, her face radiant, filled my mind. I imagined announcing our lifelong commitment to all our friends and family, a moment that would be the second happiest of my life, after Faith saying "yes."

Jetta, her face a storm of conflicting emotions, lunged forward, pressing her lips desperately against mine. "Please, Dale," she sobbed, "I've loved you for so long. I'll be your secret, your mistress, anything you want."

My voice hardened. "No," I said, pushing her away. "I have never, and will never, think of you that way. I am loyal to Faith. I am loyal to my marriage."

"But why?" Jetta cried, her voice rising. "Why do you keep thinking of her when you're with me? She doesn't deserve you! She probably cheated on you while she was abroad. She's cruel, she hurt me so many times!"

My voice dropped, cold and dangerous. "Faith is not someone you get to speak about," I snarled. I remembered punching a friend once, years ago, for daring to imply something similar about Faith. I pushed Jetta away, standing abruptly. "Faith is the most important person in my life. Yes, I was a fool, I hurt her. But you're nothing to me. Your internship is over. You'll be transferred to another hospital when we return."

I didn't look back at her tear-streaked face. I stormed out, leaving her to whatever fate awaited her.

That night, I still hadn't heard from Faith. I convinced myself she was just being stubborn, playing hard to get. I sent her a text, a playful message, telling her to pick me up at the airport tomorrow. I couldn't wait to see her.

The anticipation lasted all the way until the plane landed. I waited for two hours, scanning faces, hoping to see her. The air around me grew heavy, a storm brewing. Faith never showed.

My fists clenched around my phone, knuckles white. I dialed her number, my finger shaking. The cold, automated voice answered: "The number you have dialed is not available." She had blocked me.

The phone almost slipped from my hand. Rage, hot and desperate, surged through me, mixed with a chilling fear, a primal panic. She wasn't just mad. She was gone.

I threw myself into my car, speeding down the highway, running red lights, ignoring the blare of horns. My heart hammered against my ribs. I burst through the door of our penthouse, calling her name.

Silence. The apartment was pristine, almost sterile. Her side of the bed was untouched. No trace of her anywhere. The housekeeper, trembling, confirmed my worst fear: "She left yesterday, sir. With her luggage."

"Why didn't you tell me?!" I roared, slamming my fist against the wall, the dull thud echoing through the empty rooms. I was a caged animal, desperate and cornered.

The housekeeper, cowering, muttered, "Jetta told us not to."

Jetta. A cold, hard clarity cut through the fog of my rage. Jetta had orchestrated this.

"Find her," I commanded my assistant, my voice hoarse. "Find Faith. She's just hiding from me. She just wants me to apologize."

My assistant, looking uncomfortable, cleared his throat. "Sir, there's an email in your work account. From Faith. It's… about Jetta."

My heart leaped, a desperate flicker of hope. An email? From Faith? "Is it her new address? A surprise?" I stammered, my voice cracking.

My assistant looked even more uncomfortable. "It's… not exactly good news, sir. It's about Jetta."

My heart plummeted, the fleeting hope extinguished. From heaven to hell in an instant. My fingers, trembling, clicked open the email.