Chapter 4

Alycia Kennedy POV:

The laughter and whispers faded into a dull roar in my ears. The faces around me, once familiar, now seemed grotesque, twisted into masks of judgment and amusement. I felt nothing, a strange, terrifying hollowness where my heart used to be. Their mockery, their scorn, it all bounced off a protective shield of numbness.

"Apologize," I said, my voice barely a whisper, but it cut through the lingering echoes of their laughter. My eyes were fixed on Jackson, unwavering. "Apologize for this public humiliation. For denying our history. For calling me a delusional stalker."

A woman from the back, one of the junior assistants who always fawned over Jackson, scoffed loudly. "Apologize? She should be apologizing for embarrassing Mr. Johnson! Who does she think she is?" Her words fueled the collective disapproval, their eyes burning into me.

Jackson, his expression a mixture of irritation and impatience, sighed dramatically. "Alycia, are you mad? Apologize for what? For saving you from your own delusions? You're dismissed. Now, please, leave." His dismissal was a final, crushing blow.

"You know those photos are real, Jackson," I stated, my voice gaining strength. "You know every memory, every secret shared, every promise broken was real. Five years, Jackson. Five years of my life. Don't you think a simple apology for tearing it all apart is the least you owe me?" My throat was tight, but I refused to let my voice tremble.

For a fleeting moment, a flicker of something, perhaps guilt, perhaps unease, crossed Jackson's face. His eyes, usually so hard, softened just for an instant, a crack in his impenetrable facade. He looked almost... conflicted.

But then Campbell, ever the master manipulator, let out a theatrical cough, a dry, rattling sound that seemed to rack her slender frame. She clutched her chest, her face paling. "Oh, darling," she wheezed, "I'm not feeling so well. The stress..."

Jackson immediately sprang into action. He was by her side in an instant, his arm circling her protectively. He turned to me, his eyes blazing with fury. "Look what you've done, Alycia! Are you trying to deliberately upset her? Can't you see she's delicate?" His voice was a harsh whip, lashing out at me, completely ignoring my pain, my pleas.

"You're being cruel, Alycia," he accused, his voice dripping with venom. "You know her condition. This is just vindictive."

Campbell, with a show of extreme effort, pushed herself away from Jackson. She took a wobbly step towards me, her face a mask of feigned compassion. "It's alright, Jackson, darling," she said, her voice weak but firm. "She's just hurting. I understand." But as her eyes met mine, I caught it-a fleeting, triumphant glint, a spark of pure malice that betrayed her act.

She continued her slow, deliberate walk towards me, her eyes locked on mine, that unsettling smirk returning to her lips. She lunged then, not at me, but past me, her body twisting, and with a soft cry, she crumpled to the floor. The sound of her fall seemed to echo in the sudden, stunned silence of the office.

A few gasps erupted from the onlookers. But then, a voice, clearer than the rest, pierced the quiet. "She tripped herself! I saw it!" It was Mark, the IT guy, his face pale, his eyes wide with shock. Other murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. They had seen it. She had done it to herself.

Jackson, however, didn't hesitate. His face contorted with a primal rage, he lunged across the room, his eyes fixed on me. "You bitch!" he roared, his hand flying out and shoving me with brutal force. I stumbled backward, my head hitting the edge of a heavy oak desk with a sickening thud. A sharp, searing pain exploded in my lower abdomen, radiating outwards. My vision swam, and my legs buckled. My face felt cold, clammy.

He didn't even look at me. His focus was entirely on Campbell, cradling her head, his face a mask of frantic worry. "Campbell, my love, are you alright?" he crooned, his voice thick with concern. He completely ignored me, lying crumpled on the floor, clutching my stomach, the pain a fiery inferno consuming me from the inside out.

He glared at me, his eyes burning with an almost insane fury. "If anything happens to her, Alycia," he snarled, his voice low and menacing, "I swear, I will make you regret the day you were born. You will suffer more than you can possibly imagine." His words, once terrifying, now held no meaning. All I could feel was the searing pain, the betrayal, the utter emptiness. He had broken me, utterly and completely.

A profound, chilling realization washed over me. This was it. There was no going back. Any shred of hope, any lingering echo of love I had harbored for Jackson, had just been brutally extinguished. He had pushed me, harmed me, for her. He didn't care. He never did.

Suddenly, a woman screamed, a high-pitched, piercing sound that cut through the haze of my pain. "Oh my God! She's bleeding!" My eyes, unfocused and blurry, drifted downwards. My black dress, once pristine, was now stained a dark, horrifying crimson. My hand, still pressed against my abdomen, came away slick and warm. Blood. So much blood.

A cold, icy terror gripped my heart. My baby. Our baby. The tiny life I had just discovered, the secret hope I had nurtured in my heart, now threatened, now draining away. No. It couldn't be. The world spun, the pain intensified, and a wave of nausea washed over me.

Then, a familiar face, a blur of frantic movement, was there. Jacob. My brother. His arms were strong, pulling me gently against his chest. His voice, usually so steady, was trembling, ragged with fear. "Alycia! Alycia, what have they done to you?" He scooped me into his arms, holding me tight, his body shaking. "It's going to be okay, sis. I got you. I swear, I'll make them pay."

Jackson, still cradling Campbell, looked up, his eyes widening in shock when he saw the blood. But his concern was fleeting. He quickly gathered Campbell in his arms and rushed out of the office, shouting, "Get a car! To the emergency room! Now!" He disappeared down the hallway, leaving me in a pool of my own blood, his concern for his "terminal" wife outweighing any consequence of his actions.

Jacob, his face a mask of grim determination, pulled out his phone, his voice shaking with a barely contained rage. He barked orders into the phone, his eyes never leaving my pale, blood-streaked face. "Get me Dr. Evans at St. Jude's! Alycia Kennedy, emergency! Trauma!" He carried me out, his steps heavy, his breathing ragged.

As we were rushed through the emergency room doors, a phone rang. It was Jacob's. He answered, his voice tight. "Jackson! How dare you call me after what you did?" He paused, listening. "What do you mean, is Campbell okay? What about Alycia? You monster! Do you even know what you've done?" His voice rose, filled with an incandescent fury. "She's losing the baby, Jackson! Your baby!" The words ripped through the sterile air, echoing with a devastating finality.