The studio smelled faintly of dust and old chemicals. I sat quietly beneath the lens, still and pale—the same calm I’d felt last night when I booked the appointment. This was the portrait I’d chosen to leave behind. Twenty days left. Maybe fewer. I wanted at least one picture that was mine.

The photographer smiled awkwardly. “Passport photo? ID?”

“Final portrait,” I said evenly.

His hand shook. The camera almost slipped.

While I waited for the prints, laughter drifted in from the doorway. My stomach clenched.

Susan, hand hooked possessively through Henry Colombo’s arm, stepped inside. She froze when she saw me.

“What photo are you taking, Olivia?” Her voice was sugar with an edge.

“ID,” I said, slipping the photo envelope into my bag. “What about you?”

Susan leaned into his shoulder. “Couple portraits, of course. We already did a session, just came to pick them up.”

“Just humoring her,” Henry explained, glancing at me. His voice softened. “When you’re better, I’ll take you anywhere you want to shoot.”

His tone was gentle but hollow, like a man reading from a script. For a heartbeat I almost believed it. Then I remembered: nineteen days.

Staff ushered them to the back. I was about to leave when Susan tugged my arm. “Come help us choose!”

Before I could refuse, she pulled me to the monitor.

The screen filled with image after image:

Henry holding her hand, eyes filled with tenderness.

Kissing at sunset, her skirt flying.

Wearing matching shirts, his arms locked around her waist.

Each frame was another knife in my chest.

“Pick your favorite, Olivia,” Susan urged, smiling like she already knew I was breaking.

Before I could speak, a thunderous crack split the air—

One of the heavy backdrop poles had been left unsecured. It toppled with a shriek of metal.

In the split second of impact, Henry lunged—not toward me, but to shield Susan, his body caging hers.

The pole slammed into my shoulder. A scream tore from my throat as metal sliced through fabric, hot blood soaking crimson into my clothes.

“Henry! It hurts!” Susan whimpered, pointing at a faint scratch on her arm.

Henry’s eyes narrowed, face taut with panic. “We’re going to the hospital.”

He swept her into his arms. At the doorway, he hesitated—only a moment. His gaze flicked back.

I was on my knees, dragging myself free, blood dripping steadily onto the floor.

One second. Two.

And then he turned away, carrying her out without another word.

I stitched myself back together alone.

The doctor scowled as he worked. “So badly injured, and no one brought you? Just before you, a girl came in with barely a scratch. Her boyfriend demanded a panel of specialists.”

The needle pierced my flesh, hot and cold all at once. I laughed bitterly. “That girl’s boyfriend… is mine.”

The doctor’s hands faltered, eyes widening. He said nothing, only sewed faster, more grimly.

By the time Henry returned, night had fallen.

He opened the door to find me awkwardly changing my own bandages. His pupils shrank at the sight of the raw wound.

“How did this happen?” His voice cracked.

“The pole fell,” I said flatly.

His hand trembled as it hovered near me. “Olivia, it was chaos. She was crying, I panicked—”

“You did the right thing,” I cut him off. My voice was quiet, even. “She’s your girlfriend now. Of course you should protect her.”

He flinched. “No. I’ve told you—treating her well is just to secure the donation. The only one I love is you.”

I lowered my eyes, hiding the storm in them. “I know.”

Relief softened his face. He helped me bandage my wound, careful, gentle, almost like before. “Rest. I’ll stay.”

For a moment, it almost felt like the past. Until her call came.

“Henry…” Susan’s cry spilled through the phone, trembling and needy. “I’m at the clinic. The press is outside. They’re threatening me. I need you.”

His expression darkened. “I’ll come.”

Guilt flickered across his face as he set down the phone. “She’s alone in the hospital. I can’t leave her.”

And then he did. Taking the last shred of warmth with him.

Two days passed. He never came back.

I took my medicine. Changed my dressings. Sat by the window as if waiting for nothing.

My phone rang. Susan’s voice, sweet and taunting, spilled through the speaker.

“Olivia, did you know? Henry risked his life for me. He entered that underground boxing match, took every blow to win me a rare necklace. They rushed him into surgery. And even then, he kept calling my name.”

I shut my book gently, sunlight burning my eyes.

“He needs someone to care for him. Want to visit?” Her sing-song lilt dared me to break.

“He was hurt for you,” I said quietly. “You’re his girlfriend. You take care of him.”

I ended the call.

Outside, the wind rattled through the plane trees. I picked up the phone again, dialing calmly.

“Hello, this is Olivia Smith. I need to speak with my lawyer about updating my will. And… I’d like to reserve a plot in Section B, number twelve. My parents are there. When the time comes, I want to be with them.”

The words had barely left my lips when the door slammed open.

Henry Colombo staggered inside, still in a striped hospital gown, chest swathed in bandages seeping red. His lips were bloodless, but his eyes burned dark as hellfire.

“Olivia,” his voice was hoarse, deadly, “why are you talking about a grave?”

Henry’s face was ghost-pale, his chest bandages seeping through when he burst into the room.

“Olivia,” his voice was hoarse, deadly, “why are you talking about a grave?”

I slipped the envelope into my bag, my tone steady. “I went to the lawyer today. I had my will drafted.”

His grip clamped around my hand, desperate, trembling. “Stop it. Don’t talk like that. You’re not dying. As soon as Susan donates, you’ll recover. I’ll marry you. We’ll grow old together. You’ll live a long life—I swear it.”

I studied him in silence. Once, those eyes overflowed with devotion. Now they only reflected a desperation I no longer believed in.

I lowered my gaze. “How did you get hurt?”

He hesitated. “An accident.”

“Then why aren’t you resting in the hospital?”

“You didn’t answer my messages,” he muttered. “I thought something had happened to you.”

“I haven’t been looking at my phone.” My voice was calm, detached. “Your injuries are serious. Go back.”

Something flickered in his expression—unease, maybe—but he quickly smothered it. “Fine. I’ll recover fast. I’ll come back soon to stay with you.”

I only nodded, watching his figure disappear through the door.

That evening, I made a decision. If my days were numbered, I wanted at least one night to live as though I still belonged to the world.

The riverside restaurant shimmered with city lights, crystal glasses chiming like fragile hearts. I ordered more than I could ever finish—an indulgence illness had long denied me.

But the moment I set down the menu, my breath caught.

By the window, Henry sat across from Susan, cutting her steak with careful precision, the kind of tenderness that once belonged only to me.

A bitter laugh rose in my throat. So this was the man who had just sworn eternity at my bedside.

“Olivia?”

Susan spotted me, her eyes lighting up with mock surprise. She waved as if greeting an old friend. “What a coincidence! Come sit with us.”

“No need.” My smile was polite, my voice steady. “Enjoy your date.”

Henry pushed back his chair instantly, striding toward me. “Don’t misunderstand. This is just part of the agreement. Once we’re done, I’ll take you home.”

“Go back,” I replied evenly. “Don’t worry about me.”

My meal arrived, untouched. Against my will, my eyes drifted back to them.

He slid a velvet box across the table. Susan gasped as she opened it, revealing a diamond necklace that glittered like fire.

“Henry! How did you know I wanted this design?” Her voice trembled with joy.

“You paused on it in a magazine,” he said softly, fastening it around her neck. His fingers brushed her skin, deliberate and intimate.

Pain ripped through me. Once, every gift he gave me felt like proof he could read my soul—like an open book, every desire laid bare before I ever spoke it. Now, he read only hers.

The restaurant lights dimmed. A three-tiered cake appeared, candles flickering like stars.

“Make a wish,” Henry whispered, voice honeyed, dripping with tenderness.

Susan clasped her hands, eyes closed, her face glowing in the candlelight. He looked at her as if she were the only light left in the world.

I clenched the napkin in my fist, nails biting through the fabric.

So it was true. All the devotion I once thought was mine alone… could so easily be given to someone else.

The candle flames from Susan’s birthday cake still burned in my mind when the night sky lit up again. Fireworks burst above the river—too close, too loud, too wild.

For a moment they were beautiful. Then sparks rained where they shouldn’t have. Someone had left a crate too near the crowd. The wood caught, the sparks fell.

I raised my arm as the blast cracked through the air. Heat seared down my forearm, blistering skin in an instant. Blood welled from a cut where shrapnel grazed me.

“Henry! I’m burned!” Susan shrieked, clutching a faint scrape on her palm.

He didn’t look at me. He scooped her up, carried her toward the exit, and vanished into the smoke—while I staggered alone, my arm raw with pain.

The ER was all white walls and antiseptic sting. The doctor cursed as he stitched and wrapped my burns. I kept my gaze steady, refusing to flinch, even as the pain hollowed me out.

The door banged open. Henry stormed in, still bandaged from his own injuries, breath ragged. “Olivia!” His voice cracked as he dropped to his knees beside the bed. “I’m sorry. I should have—”

“You don’t need to explain,” I cut him off, my voice flat. “I don’t need apologies.”

He gripped my hand hard. “She’s my responsibility. I swear, everything I do is to save you.”

Save me. Responsibility. Words that once would have been love now tasted like chains.

He fussed, piling tonics and medicines on the table, smothering me with the carefulness that once had been affection. I made a small excuse—“I want that cake from the south-side bakery”—and he lit up like a man given absolution, rushing out to fetch it.

Relief tasted like freedom. I closed my eyes.

When the door opened again, his face was different—harder, shadowed. He thrust his phone toward me.

On the screen: Susan’s name. A timestamp. A message that read:

Help! Olivia had people take me. She’s forcing me to donate a kidney! Henry, come!

I stared. My throat closed. “That’s not true.”

“She said you led her away from the fireworks,” Henry said, voice raw. “A witness confirmed. You were the last one with her.”

“I didn’t—” The denial cracked. “She staged this. You know she delays, you’ve seen—”

But I stopped. Because I knew what he would say: We owe her.

His jaw clenched. For a moment the softness died, and the heir of the Colombo syndicate—the man made of iron and ruthlessness—looked back at me.

“If you won’t tell me the truth, I’ll find it myself.”

He didn’t shout. He didn’t rage. He simply gave the order, cold and quiet:

“Restrict her movements. No visitors. Monitor everything.”

The nurse faltered. “Mr. Colombo, where—?”

“Put her in the isolation ward,” he said. His voice was low, merciless. “Keep the temperature cold. I want her to remember what betrayal feels like.”

And just like that, guards stationed themselves at the door. Cameras turned toward my bed.

The tea the nurse placed on my table steamed faintly, but the room itself was freezing.

I lay on the narrow cot with my bandaged arm, staring at the frost along the window, and thought:

I had not been taken. I had been left.

On the nightstand, my phone screen glowed faintly. The countdown app pulsed in silence.

16 days.

Seventeen sunsets. Seventeen mornings I might or might not wake to.

Every number was a heartbeat, and every heartbeat was running out.