Camilla Faye and I were cornered by a cartel gang during a shootout in Colombia.
He came to our rescue—my boyfriend, Chad Colon, the family’s chief surgeon.
He shoved me aside, rushing to hold Camilla—the same woman I had just risked my life to protect, who was completely unscathed. Then he turned on me, his voice cold as he insisted Camilla was in shock and needed him.
After I died, he sobbed uncontrollably at my memorial service.
That brilliant, arrogant doctor never set foot in New York City again.
lips. "Are these three my only options?"
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1
The gunshots were deafening, leaving my head spinning. Through the haze, the acrid stench of gunpowder and blood yanked me back to the present.
The next second, I saw Chad.
"Chad, my head hurts so much!"
I reached for him, my fingers brushing the fine wool of his trousers. I thought I saw a flicker of concern in his eyes, but Camilla Faye—the very woman I was cradling, safe and unharmed in my arms—chose that exact moment to let out a piercing shriek.
"Chad, I'm so scared, it's terrifying here! Are we going to die? I want to go home!"
Her scream shattered his composure.
He dropped to his knees, shoved me aside, and frantically checked Camilla from head to toe. Then, sighing in relief, he clutched her tightly to his chest.
Instinctively, I grabbed his trouser leg. "Don't go."
Chad's face turned to ice. He shot me a venomous glare. "God, Scarlett, can't you see? It's a flesh wound. Marcus can patch you up. But Camilla is terrified. She needs me right now!"
Before he could finish, another volley of gunfire erupted around us.
Chad violently shook my hand off and turned to leave, half-carrying Camilla.
My head throbbed as if it would split open, and I had no strength left to argue. I could only watch them disappear into the smoke.
I wanted to scream. Chad, what more do you want? I protected her. I tolerated her. All because you said she was like a sister. So why do you always assume I’m the villain?
I had once craved his love, his approval. But I would never again humble myself to beg for it.
God, my head… it hurts so much. Chad… I’m so cold. Just hold me. Please?
...
A group of men in tactical vests swarmed around me. I knew them. My men. The moment they found me, they moved me to a secure area.
Chad was not among them.
He never came back for me.
Dr. Marcus desperately performed CPR, but it was to no avail. As the ECG flatlined, my soul slowly drifted from my broken body.
I watched my men discreetly wipe tears from their eyes. They formed a line, bowing their heads in a final, somber tribute.
Yet, a fierce ache seized my chest, as if my heart were being squeezed in a vise.
What is this? I’m a soul. How can I still feel my heart breaking?
I’m so sorry, my brothers. I blew our one chance to get out. I threw my life away…
Even having witnessed countless deaths, I couldn't bear to watch my men say their final farewells to the empty shell that was once "me."
I drifted away on a wave of guilt, drawn to Chad’s side like a moth to a flame.
He was standing guard over a still-trembling Camilla, staring blankly into the jungle beyond the base.
I leaned in close, gazing at his profile.
Years of constant battle had chiseled a cold, hard edge into his handsome features.
Early in the Colon family's expansion, he defied his father, the Don, who wanted him to be a traditional heir, and instead threw himself into the family’s most dangerous operations, patching up wounded soldati in a hail of bullets.
Later, he even graced the cover of a business magazine, hailed as a leader of his generation.
Reading his interview, my heart had fluttered. I made him my mission. I worked relentlessly, eventually becoming the chief strategist sent by the Brennan family to the Colon family.
At last, I could stand beside him as an equal.
Through countless battles fought side-by-side, we fell in love.
But who knew there was a sacred space in his heart reserved for someone else? Someone he called his "little sister."
She sowed chaos in our lives, turning his vows of love into the source of my deepest pain.
I desperately wanted to grab him by the hair and scream, Do you even care about her, or are you just making a fool out of me?
Just as the thought crossed my mind, Chad's gaze suddenly met mine, and for a heart-stopping moment, I thought he could see me.
When my senses returned, I realized he wasn't looking at me. His gaze passed straight through my spectral form, settling on Camilla behind me.
"Sir!" A young recruit burst into the room, his face pale as he relayed Marcus's urgent message. Unaware of the tangled history between us, he stammered, "The... the patient Dr. Marcus was working on... she's been pronounced brain-dead. He asked if you wanted to... see her."
Chad rose without hesitation, walking to Camilla's bedside. She was moaning softly in her sleep.
He replied firmly, "Marcus is one of our best combat medics. If he's called it, it's over."
The recruit froze, his eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and accusation.
I shook my head. This was Chad. He’d seen too much death to be moved by it. He focused on the living; the dead were a sunk cost, unworthy of grief.
But Chad, it’s not just anyone. It’s me. Your partner. The woman who fought by your side for years. You won’t even see me one last time? How much do you really hate me? I thought, a wave of sorrow washing over me.
His lips pressed into a thin, hard line. "I have to take care of this girl," he explained calmly.
The recruit glanced at the cot. Seeing Camilla, unharmed and merely pale, his expression soured with disgust.
He shot Chad a strange, unreadable look before turning and leaving in silence.
Moments later, Marcus stormed in. He grabbed Chad's arm, his voice grave. "Chad, there might still be a chance if we remove the shrapnel from her brain! You're a top neurosurgeon, come with me!"
Seeing Marcus's grief-stricken face, my chest ached anew.
But Chad gently freed his arm from Marcus's grip. "Marcus, calm down. You're an experienced doctor. You know when it's time to let go."
A hot, uncontrollable rage surged through me. I lunged to slap him, to make him feel something, but my hand passed right through his cheek. Useless!
Marcus’s jaw dropped, words failing him. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy with conviction. "The family needs her." His gaze flickered meaningfully toward Camilla.
A profound sorrow washed over me—for my men, fighting for me even now, and for the chilling indifference of the man who had shared my life and my bed.
Chad paused, then patted Marcus's shoulder. "My condolences. Pay my respects to our fallen comrade for me."
Marcus's eyes reddened, brimming with unshed tears. He stared at Chad. "You'll regret this," he choked out, then bolted from the room without waiting for a reply.
