Time seemed to warp and slow down. I watched the doll spin helplessly in the air. The blue dress. The delicate, painted smile. My mother's hands pressing it into mine, a memory overlaying the present.

I lunged for it.

But I wasn't fast enough. My body was too slow, too heavy.

The report of its impact cracked through the office, as sharp and final as a gunshot.

The doll flew into a hundred jagged pieces.

I stood frozen. I stared at the fragments. It felt like my ribs were cracking open, one by one.

I saw my name written on the porcelain doll. It was shattered, just like my life. Probably beyond repair.

In that moment, I had a premonition. I was probably really going to die.

A ceramic head rolled across the floor—and stopped right at Dante's shoe.

A muscle in Dante's jaw ticked.

"Oops," Sofia said. Her voice was light. Dripping with mockery. "Butterfingers."

Something inside me finally snapped. The leash I had held on my anger for ten years broke.

I screamed. It was a raw, animal sound that tore from my throat. I threw myself at her.

It wasn't a graceful attack. I stumbled, my weight pitching forward as I grabbed for her hair. I didn't have the strength to slam her. I just let gravity take us both down. We hit the sofa, then the floor.

"You bitch!" I screamed, my voice weak and breathless. "You evil bitch!"

Sofia shrieked. She clawed at my face. Her nails dug into my cheek, drawing blood. I didn't feel it. I just wanted to hurt her. I wanted her to feel a fraction of the agony that was consuming me.

"Elena!" Dante's voice was a roar.

He was there in a second. He grabbed me by the waist. He ripped me off her with bruising force.

A white-hot, blinding agony exploded in my side.

"Are you insane?" he yelled, his chest heaving. "Look at you! You're acting like a wild animal!"

I opened my mouth to speak. But nothing came out. Just a warm rush.

My nose started to bleed again. But this time, it wasn't a trickle. It was a river.

And it wasn't just my nose. I coughed, a wet, hacking sound, and blood splattered onto Dante's pristine white shirt.

He froze. He looked down at the red stain spreading rapidly across his chest.

"Elena?" he said. His voice changed. The anger vanished instantly, replaced by confusion and suspicion.

I felt my legs give out. The room tilted violently. The floor rushed up to meet me. I didn't try to stop the fall.

I hit the ground. Darkness swam at the edges of my vision.

I saw Dante drop to his knees beside me. He turned me over. His hands were covered in my blood.

"Elena!" he shouted. There was panic in his eyes. Real, terrified panic.

"Call the medic!" he screamed at the guards. "Now!"

He was helpless, just watching my blood spill more and more.

I looked up at the ceiling. It was spinning.

"I'm tired, Dante," I whispered. My voice bubbled with liquid.

I closed my eyes. I let the dark water take me under.

The sound was rhythmic. Relentless. Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sharp sting of antiseptic filled my lungs.

I tried to force my eyes open, but my eyelids felt heavy, sewn shut by exhaustion.

I heard voices. Loud, fractured voices.

"She's dying, Dante! How did you not see it?"

It was Giulia. My best friend. My sister in everything but blood.

She was screaming, her voice torn raw with a fury I had never before heard her aim at a man of his station.

"I thought she was lying," Dante's voice said. His voice was a ruin, as if he had been gargling with broken glass. "I saw the video. I thought it was a game. Another ploy for money."

"A game?" Giulia yelled. "Do you imagine coughing up one's own lungs is a parlor game? That this skeleton in the bed is some grand performance?"

I summoned what little strength remained in me and forced my eyelids apart. A sliver of light.

I was in a hospital room.

Dante was standing by the window. He looked disheveled, a jarring departure from his usual, severe perfection. His shirt was still stained with my blood. He hadn't changed.

"Fix her," he said to the man in the white coat, his tone admitting no possibility of refusal.

The doctor shook his head, his expression one of profound gravity. "Mr. Cavallaro, it doesn't make sense. She stopped treatment months ago."

"Why?" Dante demanded, striding forward. "Why did she stop?"

"She couldn't afford it," the doctor said quietly. "The course of immunotherapy she required is not covered by any conventional insurance. It demanded substantial cash payments, up-front."

Dante staggered back as if he had been dealt a physical blow.

"Money?" he whispered. "She stopped treatment over money?"

He looked down at his own hands, which had begun to tremble.

"I have millions. I have billions."

Silence stretched, suffocating and heavy.

"I cut her off," he said. The realization hit him as a physical impact. "I froze everything. Even her jewelry. I left her with nothing."

I saw his knees buckle. He grabbed the windowsill to stay upright, his knuckles bleaching white from the pressure.

"I killed her," he whispered.

Giulia stepped forward. She slammed a folder onto the table.

"This is her Living Will," she said. Her voice was cold. Deadly.

Dante looked at the folder as if it were a venomous snake. "What is this?"

"It says Do Not Resuscitate," Giulia said.

Dante shook his head, his features contorting in denial. "No."

Giulia continued, unrelenting. "It says no extraordinary measures. It says she wants to go without pain. It says she doesn't want you to extend her suffering just to make yourself feel better."

"Burn it," Dante said. He lunged for the folder. "I'm taking her to Switzerland. I'm taking her to the best specialists. I will buy every doctor in the world."

"You can't buy life, Dante!" Giulia screamed. She pushed him back, with surprising force. "She saved you!"

Dante froze. "What?"

Giulia was crying now. Tears coursed down her angry face. "She didn't leave you because you were poor, you idiot! She left you because her father was going to put a bullet in your brain!"

The room went silent. The only sound was the monitor. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Dante stared at her. His face was pale. Ghostly.

"She broke your heart to save your life," Giulia sobbed. "She has loved you every single day for ten years. And you... you treated her like garbage."

Dante turned slowly to look at the bed. He looked at me. He saw the tubes. The bruises. The skeleton under the sheets.

He was, at last, looking upon the truth of his own making.

He walked over to the bed. He fell to his knees. He took my hand. He was seized by a violent tremor.

"Elena," he whispered. He pressed his forehead against my palm. "Open your eyes, baby. Please. Tell me it's a lie."

I looked at him. I saw the man I loved. And I saw the man whose cruelty I had so carefully cultivated.

I didn't have the strength to speak. I just pulled my hand away.

It was a small movement. But it broke him.

He let out a sound that wasn't human. A howl of pure, unadulterated agony.

But I didn't care. I closed my eyes again.

I was, at last, ready for the sleep from which there is no waking.