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."

Hazel POV:

The collective gasp around the table was sharp enough to cut the thick, smoke-filled air. Bianca's jaw dropped, her drunken smirk wiped clean off her face. Todd stared at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and morbid curiosity. My declaration, a blade of truth in their world of carefully constructed lies, had stunned them into silence.

Before anyone could recover, Alex returned. He must have just dropped Bianca off and come back. He took one look at the frozen tableau, at my defiant expression, and his face darkened.

"What did you just say?" he ground out, his voice a low growl that vibrated with barely suppressed fury.

He strode toward me, his presence overwhelming. "You're making a fool of yourself, Hazel. Of both of us."

He thought I was playing a game. A desperate, pathetic attempt to make him jealous. He couldn't conceive of a world where he wasn't the center of my universe.

"Let's go," he said, grabbing my arm again. This time, I didn't resist. Arguing here was pointless.

The ride back to the penthouse was a suffocating blanket of silence. Alex drove with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched so tightly I was surprised it didn't crack.

When we were finally inside the apartment, the door clicking shut behind us, he whirled on me.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded. "Humiliating me in front of my friends? Lying about not loving me? Was that supposed to make me jealous?"

He was so certain. So arrogant. He stepped closer, crowding me against the door, a faint, condescending smile on his lips. "It won't work, Hazel. I've told you before, these games are childish."

I didn't say anything. I just let him believe his own version of reality. It was easier. It didn't matter anymore.

His anger seemed to soften slightly at my silence, mistaking it for submission. "I told you I'd make things up to you," he said, his voice dropping. "I will. After Bianca's birthday, we'll go away. Just the two of us."

"Okay," I said, my voice flat.

He seemed satisfied with that. He leaned in, intending to kiss me, a victor claiming his prize. I turned my head, and his lips brushed against my cheek.

He froze. "What's wrong?"

"I'm tired, Alex," I murmured. It wasn't a lie. I was bone-deep weary of him, of this life, of the ghost I had been chasing.

His face hardened again. Rejection, even one so small, bruised his massive ego. "Fine," he snapped, stepping away. He went to the guest room and slammed the door. We hadn't shared a bed in over a year.

The next morning, he was gone before I woke up. He was always gone.

That afternoon, I got a call from his assistant, a frantic young woman named Clara.

"Mrs. Higgins," she said, her voice trembling. "Mr. Higgins collapsed in a meeting. He has a terrible fever. We're taking him to the hospital, but he's refusing to go. He keeps asking for you."

In the past, these words would have sent me into a blind panic. I would have dropped everything, rushed to his side, held his hand, and soothed his brow, grateful for the chance to be needed.

Clara continued, her voice filled with a desperate plea. "He always listens to you when he's like this, Mrs. Higgins. He gets these fevers sometimes, ever since the transplant, and you're the only one who can coax him to take his medicine."

I listened to her, my heart a placid, still pool. The Alex she was describing-the one who was vulnerable, who needed me-was a phantom. An illusion I had helped create.

"I'm sorry, Clara," I said, my voice calm and even. "I can't."

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line. "What? But... Mrs. Higgins, he's asking for you."

"That's his problem, not mine," I said. "From now on, his health is your responsibility. Or better yet, call Bianca Bernard. I'm sure she'd be thrilled to take care of him."

I hung up before she could reply.

Alex stumbled into the penthouse late that night, looking pale and haggard. His suit was rumpled, and his eyes were glassy with fever. He glared at me, his body swaying slightly.

"Clara called you," he accused, his voice hoarse. "She said you refused to come."

"That's right," I said, not looking up from the book I was reading.

"Why?" he demanded, his voice cracking with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "For four years, you've dropped everything at a moment's notice. You hover over me like I'm made of glass. And today... nothing?"

I finally closed my book and met his gaze. His confusion was so genuine, so absolute. He truly had no idea.

"You're right, Alex," I said. "For four years, I did. But people change."

He stared at me, a dawning horror in his fever-bright eyes. It was the look of a man realizing the ground beneath his feet was not as solid as he'd always believed.