Allyson Mccray POV:

I woke to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the soft beep of a heart monitor. My hand was swathed in thick bandages, a dull, throbbing ache radiating up my arm. Jackson was sitting by the bed, his expression unreadable as he carefully applied a cool, soothing ointment to the raw, red line on my neck left by the necklace.

For a moment, the scene was so familiar, so reminiscent of the times he had nursed me through fevers and minor injuries, that my heart clenched with a ghost of old affection. But the ghost died a quick death as the memory of his cold words on the balcony returned.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice flat.

I didn't answer. I just stared at the ceiling.

"Allyson, I'm talking to you," he said, a hint of impatience in his tone. "The doctor said you were lucky. The heel just missed the major tendons. But you have a concussion from when you fainted." He paused, then added, "Along with the injuries from your… skydiving accident."

Skydiving. The day before the party, Kaila had sweetly suggested a "bonding activity." My parachute had malfunctioned. I'd managed to deploy the reserve just in time, but the landing had been rough, leaving me bruised and shaken. At the time, I'd thought it was just bad luck. Now, I knew better. Kaila had been the one to "helpfully" pack my gear that morning.

"She tampered with my parachute," I said, my voice a raw, scratchy whisper.

Jackson's face darkened instantly. "Don't start with that again, Allyson. I told you, Kaila would never do something like that. She was beside herself with worry when you got hurt. She cried for hours."

"That's because she's a good actress," I said, my voice devoid of emotion.

"I won't have you slandering her!" he snapped. "You're just jealous and spiteful because I care for her."

I closed my eyes, a bitter laugh dying in my throat. There was no point. He was deaf and blind, willingly ensnared in her web of lies.

"The helicopter has a black box, Jackson," I said, my voice weary. "Check the cameras in the cabin. You'll see her fiddling with my pack."

His jaw tightened. For a moment, he seemed to consider it, but the impulse was quickly suppressed. "I'm not going to indulge your paranoid fantasies," he said harshly, standing up. "You're using these accusations to punish me for bringing Kaila here. It's petty and beneath you."

He paced the room, his anger palpable. "I've been more than patient. But my patience is wearing thin. You need to accept the situation." He stopped and looked down at me, his eyes cold. "Frankly, I'm tired of taking care of you. I have to get back to the hospital. Kaila needs me."

He turned and walked out of the room without a backward glance.

The door clicked shut, and the silence that filled the room was absolute. A single, cold tear escaped the corner of my eye and traced a path down my temple into my hair. But there was no storm of grief. My heart, already shattered and trampled, felt nothing more than a dull, hollow ache. It was the numbness of a limb that has been frozen for too long.

It was the quiet grief of knowing, with absolute certainty, that you are no longer loved.

Jackson, true to his word, didn't appear for the next few days. I was discharged from the hospital, a silent chauffeur driving me back to the gilded cage. On the day I was to leave, just as I finished packing my small overnight bag, the door to my room opened.

Kaila waltzed in, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. She was wearing a new designer dress, and my grandmother's locket was nestled in the hollow of her throat.

"You look terrible, Allyson," she said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "But I guess that's to be expected. It must be awful, being suspected and abandoned by the man you love."

I didn't rise to the bait. I simply picked up my bag. "Get out of my way."

"Oh, but the fun is just getting started," she purred, stepping closer. She leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "The parachute, the fall from the balcony… that was just a taste. I'm going to take everything from you, Allyson. Everything he ever gave you. And then I'm going to take him."

I was tired. So profoundly tired of her games, of Jackson's cruelty, of this entire nightmare. I pushed past her, wanting nothing more than to leave.

She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. "I'm not finished with you—"

Her words were cut off by a sudden cacophony from the hallway. Shouts, screams, the sound of running feet. A wave of panic seemed to be rolling through the hospital wing.

Suddenly, a man with wild eyes burst into the room, brandishing a long, wicked-looking knife. He was screaming incoherently about doctors killing his wife. A deranged patient from the psych ward, a crazed family member—it didn't matter. He was a whirlwind of violence, lunging at anyone in his path.

His wild eyes fixed on us. He charged, the knife held high, its tip aimed directly at Kaila.

In that split second, I saw Jackson appear at the end of the hallway. He had come back for me after all. The thought had barely formed when I saw his eyes widen in terror as he took in the scene.

He sprinted toward us. Time seemed to warp, stretching and compressing. I saw his face, contorted with a desperate urgency. He was going to save her.

And he did.

In the last possible moment, he reached us. But he didn't tackle the man. His body moved with pure instinct. He grabbed Kaila, yanking her behind him.

The motion was so violent and sudden that I was thrown off balance, stumbling directly into the path of the oncoming attacker. He used Kaila's safety as a shield, and I was the collateral damage.

The cold, sharp steel plunged into my side. A gasp of agony escaped my lips as the blade sank deep. Jackson didn't even look at me. His only concern was the trembling girl in his arms.

My vision blurred. The last thing I saw before the darkness consumed me was Jackson's back as he shielded another woman from harm. The back of the man I had once loved, the man who had just condemned me to death to save his new favorite toy.

Allyson Mccray POV:

The pain was a white-hot sun exploding in my chest. I looked down in disbelief at the handle of the knife protruding from just below my collarbone. Then, slowly, my gaze lifted to the man who had put me there.

Jackson.

He wasn't looking at me. His back was still turned, his entire focus on Kaila, who was sobbing hysterically in his arms. He was murmuring soft reassurances to her, his hand stroking her hair.

My vision began to tunnel, the edges turning gray and fuzzy. The sounds of the hospital-the alarms, the shouting-faded into a dull roar. The world was being stripped away, layer by layer, until all that remained was that single, devastating image: the back of the man I loved, protecting someone else.

Then, just as the last of my consciousness was slipping away, the world snapped back into focus with a sickening lurch.

I was in a hospital bed again. The pain in my chest was a sharp, biting agony, but I was alive.

Jackson sat beside the bed, looking tired and annoyed.

"It was a reflex, Allyson," he said, his voice clipped and devoid of apology. He didn't even look at me, his gaze fixed on some point on the wall. "Things were happening fast. My body reacted to protect Kaila." He finally turned to me, his eyes cold and hard. "Consider it your apology for falsely accusing her about the parachute."

The words were so ludicrous, so utterly devoid of human empathy, that I couldn't even summon the energy to be angry. My heart, already a landscape of ruins, simply crumbled into dust.

Apology? He thought letting me be stabbed was a fitting apology for a crime I didn't commit?

I closed my eyes. It was all so clear now. In a moment of life and death, a person' s instincts reveal their truth. His instinct was to protect Kaila. His instinct was to sacrifice me.

He didn't love me. He probably never had. Not in the way I understood love. I was a beautiful object he had conquered, a prize to be displayed. And now, he had found a newer, shinier toy.

I thought of my first life, of how I had clung to the memory of his past affections, using them as a shield against the reality of his betrayal. I had allowed myself to believe his love was just… twisted. I had died for that foolish belief. I had let my parents die for it.

What a fool I had been. What a blind, pathetic fool.

Jackson Walters hadn't just broken my heart. He had lured me into his world with a grand performance of devotion, only to discard me with the casual cruelty of a child tiring of a toy.

He saw my silence and the dead emptiness in my eyes. A flicker of something-unease, perhaps-crossed his face. He was used to my tears, my anger, my pain. He wasn't used to this… nothingness. It was as if the person he knew how to manipulate had simply ceased to exist.

His phone rang, startling him. He glanced at the caller ID and his expression softened. Kaila.

"I have to go," he said, his voice already gentler as he answered the call. "You rest. The doctor says you'll be fine." He walked away, murmuring sweet nothings into the phone, convinced of his own magnanimity. He had saved my life with the best doctors, after all. He believed I was still his, bound to him by a love so deep it could withstand anything. He had no idea that love was already a corpse.

He was gone for days, tending to his traumatized new love. I was discharged, and he was there to meet me, not out of concern, but to issue a new command.

He handed me a thick file. "Kaila's birthday is next week. I want you to plan the party. Here are the details." He tapped the file. "Her favorite flowers, her favorite foods, the music she likes, the guest list. I want it to be perfect. Don't disappoint me."

My fingers trembled as I took the heavy file. The pages felt like they were made of lead. I remembered him doing this for me. I remembered him spending weeks learning my favorite obscure classical composer, flying in a chef from Paris because I'd once mentioned I liked his macarons, even learning to make a clumsy, burnt Black Forest cake himself because it was my childhood favorite. He had scalded his hand in the process, and I had cried while I bandaged it, my heart overflowing.

All that meticulous care, all that focused devotion, was now being directed at another woman. And I was being ordered to be the architect of their celebration.

The familiar sharp, pulling pain in my heart was there, but it was distant now, like an echo in an empty hall. It was a pain I had grown so accustomed to, it felt like a part of me.

I said nothing. I just took the file.

The party was a spectacle of obscene luxury. Jackson had transformed the grand ballroom into a fairytale wonderland for Kaila. He stood by her side the entire night, his eyes, once solely mine, now fixed on her with adoration.

The grand finale was his gift: a magnificent, diamond-encrusted tiara. He placed it on her head like a king crowning his queen.

"To the deepest love of my life," he declared to the hushed crowd.

The room erupted in applause. Kaila, her eyes shining with tears of manufactured joy, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply.

Then, her gaze found mine across the room. Her eyes, glittering with triumph, held a clear challenge. "Allyson," she called out, her voice sweet as poison. "Where is my birthday gift from you?"

All eyes turned to me. The air crackled with anticipation.

I walked forward, a small, elegantly wrapped box in my hand. I had been planning this for days.

"Happy birthday, Kaila," I said, my voice even.

She took the box, a smug smile on her face, and opened it in front of everyone.

Her smile froze.

She shrieked and dropped the box as if it were on fire. The contents spilled across the marble floor: dozens of glossy photographs.

The room fell into a dead silence. Everyone craned their necks to see. The photos showed Kaila, in various states of undress, entwined with a series of different men. Rich old men, young muscular models, even one of Jackson' s business rivals.

The silence was broken by a collective gasp, followed by a torrent of shocked whispers and disdainful looks.

Kaila's face was ashen. "They're fake!" she screamed, pointing a trembling finger at me. "She Photoshopped them! She's trying to frame me because she's jealous!"

She turned to Jackson, her face a mask of desperation. "Jackson, you have to believe me!" she wailed, then made a show of running toward the balcony. "If you don't believe me, I'll jump! I'll prove my innocence with my death!"