Hazel POV:

The sterile hospital air clung to my clothes as I followed Alex, my body feeling fragile and thin, a ghost in his frantic orbit. He hadn't spoken a word to me since we'd arrived, his entire being focused on the closed door of Bianca's private room.

When the doctor emerged, Alex rushed forward, his hands gripping the man's white coat. "How is she?"

"She's fine, Mr. Higgins. Just a mild concussion and a sprained wrist. She'll need to rest."

Alex' s shoulders sagged with a relief so profound it was almost palpable. He murmured his thanks, his gaze already fixed on the door, and when it opened and Bianca emerged, looking pale and delicate with a bandage on her wrist, his world narrowed to her. He wrapped his arm around her, his touch infinitely gentle, whispering words of comfort that I had never heard him utter.

He didn't so much as glance in my direction. I was invisible. A piece of furniture. It was a familiar feeling, but for the first time, it didn't sting. It was simply a fact.

He led Bianca away, his arm a protective shield around her. I stood alone in the hallway for a long moment before turning and walking out of the hospital, hailing my own cab back to the penthouse that had never felt like a home.

Back in the vast, empty apartment, I tried to make myself a cup of tea, but my hands were shaking. The delicate porcelain cup, one of a set Dale had given me for my birthday, slipped from my grasp. It shattered on the marble floor, the sound echoing the splintering of my four-year delusion.

That's what broke me. Not Alex's neglect, not Bianca's smirks, but the broken pieces of a memory. A sob tore from my throat, raw and ragged.

"Dale," I whispered, sinking to my knees amidst the shards. "Dale."

My mind flew back to him, to the easy warmth of his love. He was the one who would wrap me in a blanket when I fell asleep on the couch, who knew exactly how I liked my coffee, who would kiss the tip of my nose just to make me smile. When I cut my finger once, just a small nick from a kitchen knife, he' d treated it like a major wound, cleaning it with exaggerated care, his brow furrowed in concentration, before placing a cartoon-themed band-aid on it and kissing it better.

The pain in my hand now was sharp as a piece of the broken porcelain bit into my palm. Blood welled up, dripping onto the white floor. I stared at the red drops, a stark contrast to the clean, cold marble. This pain was real. Tangible. Not like the phantom ache I' d been chasing for four years.

Was any of it real? That desperate, all-consuming love I thought I felt for Alex? No. It was a mirage. A projection of my grief onto a convenient vessel.

A new feeling began to bubble up through the sorrow-a fierce, cold determination. Austin. Cash Carter. A new beginning. A real one.

I stood up, carefully picking the shard of porcelain from my palm and wrapping my hand in a paper towel. Then I walked to my office and pulled up the divorce papers my lawyer had emailed over. Clean, simple, irrevocable.

I called my lawyer, Sarah. "I have the papers. Can you have them sent over for Alex's signature?"

"He needs to sign them in person, Hazel," she said gently. "Or give verbal authorization for me to have someone sign on his behalf."

Of course. Another hurdle. I dialed Alex's number, my heart a steady, even drumbeat in my chest. He answered on the second ring, his voice impatient.

"What is it, Hazel? I'm busy."

"I need you to authorize my lawyer to-"

He cut me off. "Not now."

In the background, I heard Bianca's soft, cloying voice. "Alex, darling, can you help me with this pillow? It' s not quite right."

And then I heard it. A tone I had never, ever heard from Alex. It was gentle, patient, almost tender. "Of course, B. Let me fix it for you. Just like this?"

The contrast was a physical blow. The cold dismissal for me, the boundless tenderness for her. It was the final confirmation I never knew I needed.

Suddenly, Bianca's voice came back, louder this time. "Is that Hazel? Ugh, tell her to stop bothering you."

There was a muffled sound, and then Alex' s voice returned, still curt, but with a new edge. "Fine. Whatever it is, tell your lawyer to handle it. Authorize whatever you need."

He hung up.

It was that easy. He' d given me permission to end our marriage without a second thought, all to appease the woman beside him.

I relayed the message to Sarah. Within the hour, a courier arrived. I spread the papers on the dining room table where Alex and I had never once shared a meal.

I signed my name. Hazel Sellers. Not Higgins. The ink was black and final.

Freedom.

With the papers dispatched, I booked a one-way ticket to Austin, Texas. First class. The flight was for the day after tomorrow. I needed one more day to pack, to sever the final ties.

Alex didn't come home that night, or the next day. I packed in peace, a strange sense of liberation filling the empty spaces in the closets. There wasn't much to take. Most of this life belonged to him.

On the evening of the second day, he finally walked in. He looked tired but content. He saw my packed suitcases by the door and frowned.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

He walked toward me, reaching out to cup my cheek, a rare, dismissive gesture he sometimes made when he wanted something. "Don't be upset about Bianca. I'll make it up to you."

I flinched away from his touch. His hand froze in mid-air. He looked at me, truly looked at me, for the first time in days, and confusion clouded his features.

"I don't need you to make it up to me, Alex," I said, my voice as calm as a frozen lake. "I don't need anything from you anymore."

Hazel POV:

I turned my back to him, a simple movement that felt like building a wall, brick by silent brick. I walked over to my suitcases, checking the tags one last time. New York (JFK) to Austin (AUS). My new life.

Behind me, the silence was heavy. I could feel Alex' s confusion radiating across the room. He was used to my tears, my quiet pleas for attention, my hurt silences. This cold, detached calm was a language he didn't understand. A hollow feeling began to bloom in his chest, an unfamiliar emptiness where my constant, unwavering adoration used to be. He probably dismissed it as annoyance, a flicker of irritation at my sudden defiance. He was a man who rationalized emotions into non-existence.

"You're still mad," he finally said, his voice laced with a weary sort of patience, as if dealing with a petulant child. He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of whiskey, the clink of ice against glass the only sound.

I turned to face him, leaning against my luggage. "Where's Bianca?" I asked, my tone light, conversational. "Shouldn't you be with her?"

He took a sip of his drink, his eyes narrowing. He thought this was a new tactic, a sarcastic ploy for attention. "She's at home, resting. Her parents are with her." He swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "Look, Hazel, I know I've been... absent. The gala is next week. We'll go together. I'll buy you that necklace you were looking at."

A bribe. A cheap, thoughtless attempt to smooth things over, just as he always did. In the past, I would have clung to that small offering, that crumb of attention. Now, it was just insulting.

"I'm not interested in the gala, Alex," I said. "Or the necklace."

His jaw tightened. "Don't be difficult. Get unpacked. We're leaving in an hour for dinner with my parents."

Before I could refuse, he strode over, grabbed my arm, and pulled me toward the bedroom. His grip was like iron. "Go get changed." It wasn't a request.

On the silent drive to his parents' estate, his phone rang. "It's Bianca," he said, not as an apology, but as a statement of fact. A crisis only he could solve. He pulled the car over abruptly. "Get out," he said, his eyes already distant, focused on his phone. "Take a cab. I have to go to her."

He left me on the side of a dimly lit road, without a second thought, for the second time in three days. The humiliation didn't even register anymore. I simply watched his taillights disappear, then called an Uber.

The next day, I received a text from one of Alex's friends, a smarmy banker named Todd. 'Party at the club tonight. Alex wants you there.' I knew Alex hadn't sent the message. But I wanted to see Bianca one last time. I wanted to see the woman who had inadvertently set me free.

I went. The club was loud, thrumming with music and the chatter of the city's elite. I saw them immediately-Bianca and her circle of sycophants. Bianca saw me too, and a malicious little smile played on her lips. As I walked past her table, she deliberately stuck her foot out. I stumbled, and her friend promptly "accidentally" spilled a sticky, red cocktail all down the front of my white dress.

The group erupted in laughter. Bianca looked at me, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "Oops," she said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "You're so clumsy, Hazel."

I stood there, soaked and humiliated, the cold liquid seeping through the fabric. I didn't cry. I didn't even flinch. I just looked at her.

"Having fun?" I asked calmly.

Bianca's smile faltered for a second, thrown by my lack of reaction. Then she pulled out her phone. "Oh, you have to see this. Alex sent it to me last night."

She played a video. It was Alex, in what looked like his office, talking to the camera. He was smiling, a rare, genuine smile I' d almost never seen. "For B," he said, his voice soft. "Happy early birthday. I know you've always wanted this." He held up a set of keys to a brand-new sports car, the exact model Bianca had been talking about for months. The video was intimate, personal, and clearly not meant for my eyes.

"He's just so sweet, isn't he?" Bianca cooed, tucking her phone away. "He remembers every little thing about me."

Todd, sitting beside her, chimed in with a laugh. "God, Higgins is whipped. You've had him wrapped around your little finger since you were kids."

My gaze remained on Bianca. The video, the public humiliation-it was all just noise now. White noise before the silence.

"You know," I said, my voice cutting through their laughter, "you two are perfect for each other."

They all stopped and stared at me.

"He's arrogant and selfish," I continued, my eyes locked on Bianca's, "and you're manipulative and cruel. It's a match made in heaven."

I turned to Todd. "And you can tell Alex something for me."

I leaned in, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, but loud enough for the whole table to hear.

"Tell him I said to go fuck himself."

Hazel POV:

The silence that fell over the table was absolute. Todd's mouth hung open, and Bianca's face was a mask of stunned disbelief. The air crackled with the aftershock of my words, so out of character for the quiet, compliant Hazel they all knew.

Just as Bianca was sputtering, trying to form a retort, a figure appeared behind me. "What the hell is going on here?"

Alex.

His voice was cold steel. He took in the scene-me, soaked in a red, sticky mess, and his friends looking like they'd been slapped. His eyes landed on Bianca, a flicker of concern crossing his face before turning back to me, his expression hardening into disapproval.

"What did you say?" he demanded, his voice low and menacing.

"She told you to go fuck yourself, Higgins!" Todd blurted out, a nervous laugh escaping him. "And she called Bianca cruel!"

Alex's glare was glacial. "Apologize to her. Now."

I almost laughed. "Apologize? For what? For telling the truth?"

He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin. "Don't make a scene, Hazel."

"A scene?" I echoed, my voice dangerously calm. "You mean like your girlfriend tripping me and having her friend douse me in a drink? That kind of scene?"

Bianca's eyes widened. "I did not! She's lying, Alex!"

Alex's grip tightened. "Apologize."

I looked from his angry face to Bianca's triumphant smirk. He would always believe her. He would always choose her. It was a pointless, pathetic little drama, and I was suddenly so tired of my role in it.

I pulled my arm from his grasp. "No."

His eyes widened in genuine shock. It was the first time I had ever defied him so directly.

Bianca seized the opportunity, her voice taking on a tearful quaver. "Alex, she's scaring me. Can we just go?"

He hesitated, torn for a fraction of a second. His gaze flickered between me and her. That flicker was everything. He was actually considering me. But habit, and years of obsession, won out. He let out a frustrated sigh.

"Fine," he snapped, turning his back on me and wrapping a protective arm around Bianca. "Let's go."

As he led her away, I saw the briefest flash of relief on his face. He was glad to be escaping the confrontation, glad to be retreating to the familiar comfort of placating Bianca.

The party resumed around me, the incident already becoming a piece of juicy gossip. I was left standing alone, sticky and humiliated, but also strangely liberated.

Todd, emboldened by Alex's departure, decided to continue the fun. "Alright everyone, let's play a game! Never Have I Ever!"

A cheer went up from the table. I should have left. But something held me there. A need to see this farce through to its bitter end. I sat down in an empty chair, a silent observer.

The game started, filled with predictable boasts of promiscuity and wealth. Then, it was Bianca' s turn.

"Never have I ever," she said, her eyes finding mine across the table, "been with someone for their money." She took a delicate sip of her champagne, the challenge hanging in the air.

I didn't drink. I just stared back at her.

A few rounds later, it was Todd's turn. He grinned, clearly enjoying himself. "Never have I ever had a password that was someone else's birthday."

A few people drank. Then Todd looked directly at Alex's empty seat. "Higgins would have to drink to that one. Poor bastard's had Bianca's birthday as his password for everything since high school. 0-8-1-4."

August 14th. My blood ran cold. My own birthday was in August, too. August 18th. For four years, I'd seen Alex type in his password, always assuming that '0-8' was for me. Another delusion. Another piece of the fantasy I'd constructed, crumbling to dust.

Then it was Bianca's turn again. She was drunk now, her malice sharpened by alcohol.

"Never have I ever," she slurred, her smile venomous, "slept with a man who was in love with someone else." She looked directly at me. "Your turn to play, Hazel. Or are you going to sit there like a ghost all night?"

Something snapped. I reached across the table, took the shot glass in front of me, and downed the fiery liquid in one gulp. Then I picked up the deck of cards from the center of the table.

"My turn," I said, my voice clear and steady.

I drew a card. The question was simple. 'Who is the person you love most in this world?'

Everyone at the table smirked, looking at where Alex had been sitting. They all knew the answer. The pathetic Mrs. Higgins, obsessed with her husband.

I looked at the card, and then I looked at each of them, my gaze lingering on Bianca. I felt a slow, cold smile spread across my face.

"Dale Heath," I said, the name a sacred thing on my tongue. "The person I love most in this world is Dale Heath."

And then, looking directly at Bianca, I added, "I have never, not for a single second, loved Alexander Higgins."