Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The enormous chandelier, a glittering cascade of crystal and bronze, plummeted with terrifying speed. Its trajectory was undeniable: straight towards Jax and Cinda, who stood frozen in the center of the dance floor, bathed in its dying light.

A collective gasp ripped through the crowd. Panic swelled.

Jax, his eyes wide with a terror I had never seen, reacted in a split second. He shoved Cinda forcefully out of the way, throwing her clear of the falling mass. He didn't have time to save himself. The chandelier crashed down, a deafening explosion of shattered glass and twisted metal. Jax screamed, a raw, tormented sound, as the heavy debris rained down on him.

Chaos erupted. Screams filled the air. People scattered, pushing and shoving, a wave of pure primal fear. Cinda, miraculously unharmed, lay sobbing on the floor, surrounded by broken glass, while Jax lay motionless beneath the wreckage, a dark pool spreading beneath him.

My parents, their faces ashen, grabbed my arms, pulling me away from the danger. "Kylie! Are you okay?" my mother cried, her voice trembling.

"Jax!" I whispered, my voice barely audible. A strange mix of shock and something akin to a primal fear for him gripped me. Despite everything, the sight of him lying there, broken and bleeding, was a punch to the gut.

The ambulance arrived, sirens wailing, their piercing cry cutting through the frenzied atmosphere. Paramedics rushed in, their movements swift and efficient. They stabilized Jax, his body covered in blood and dust, and carefully lifted him onto a stretcher. He was unconscious, his face pale and still.

We followed the ambulance to the hospital, a somber procession of stunned family and friends. The waiting room was a sea of anxious faces. Cinda, her clothes torn and smudged, wept inconsolably in Mrs. Mathews' arms, periodically glancing at me with a look of pure hatred.

Hours crawled by. The air was thick with unspoken questions, with fear, with the lingering stench of smoke and disaster. Finally, a doctor emerged, his face tired but relieved.

"He's stable," the doctor announced, his voice calm. "The surgery was successful. He has multiple fractures, a deep laceration to his arm, and a severe concussion, but he's out of immediate danger. He's lucky to be alive."

A collective sigh of relief swept through the room. Mrs. Mathews broke into fresh tears, this time of gratitude.

My mother, ever the optimist, turned to me. "Kylie," she said, her voice soft, "he saved her. He was so brave. Doesn't that... doesn't that change anything for you? Maybe he really does care."

I looked at her, then at Cinda, who was now being led away by a nurse to get checked herself, still sniffling dramatically. I thought of Jax, lying broken in that room, the man who had abandoned me twice, who had called my pain "drama," who had systematically dismantled my life. He had saved Cinda, yes. But he had chosen to save her. Not me. Not the future we had built.

"No, Mom," I said, my voice steady, resolute. "It doesn't change anything. He still made his choice. And I've made mine."

My father, who had been listening silently, put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "She's right," he said, his voice firm. "We've seen enough. If this is where your heart is, Kylie, then we'll follow. We're moving to Napa Valley."

My head snapped up. "What?"

"You heard me," he said, a small, knowing smile on his face. "Your grandmother's house needs fixing up anyway. It's time for a new adventure. For all of us."

Tears welled in my eyes, but they were tears of pure, unadulterated joy. My parents, my rock, were giving me not just their blessing, but their presence. They were uprooting their lives for me, to help me build my new one. It was the greatest gift they could have given me.

"Thank you," I choked out, embracing them both tightly. "Thank you so much."

The hospital, once a place of fear, now felt like a launching pad. I was going to be free. Truly free.

The next few weeks were a blur of packing boxes, farewells, and the bittersweet pangs of leaving behind a lifetime of memories. I kept my distance from Jax, though I heard updates from mutual friends. He was recovering, slowly. Cinda was constantly by his side, milking his "heroic" act for all it was worth.

Before we left, I made one final visit to Mrs. Mathews. She was sitting in her sunroom, looking pale and fragile.

"Kylie, dear," she said, her voice weak. "Are you really going? Please, don't leave. Jax... he needs you. He's been asking for you."

I sat beside her, taking her hand. "Mrs. Mathews, I truly wish I could. But I can't. It's too late. There's nothing left between us."

She looked at me, her eyes filled with a desperate plea. "But he saved Cinda! Doesn't that count for something? He's a good boy, Kylie. He just got confused." She pulled out her phone, her fingers fumbling with the screen. "I'll call him. He'll talk to you. He'll tell you how much he misses you."

She dialed, holding the phone to her ear. I heard the distant ring. Then she pulled it away, her face falling. "He... he hung up. He said he's too busy with Cinda. He said she needs him." Her shoulders slumped, a wave of shame washing over her. She looked utterly defeated.

I squeezed her hand. "It's okay, Mrs. Mathews. He's made his choice." I stood up, my heart heavy with a genuine sadness for her. She was a kind woman, caught in the crossfire of her son's arrogance and Cinda's manipulation. "Goodbye, Mrs. Mathews. Take care."

She looked up at me, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Goodbye, Kylie. I'm so sorry."

I left, a profound sense of finality settling over me. As the plane soared into the sky, carrying me away from the city that held so much pain and so many broken dreams, I pressed my face against the window. Below, San Francisco twinkled like a distant, fading memory. I felt an exhilarating lightness, a sense of boundless possibility. The past was behind me. The future, a blank canvas, stretched out before me.

Meanwhile, back in San Francisco, Jax lay in his hospital bed. Cinda was there, as always, fussing over him, feeding him grapes. He patted her hand, but his eyes were distant, unfocused. He had done the "right thing," saved his sister. But an inexplicable emptiness gnawed at him. Kylie was gone. Really gone. He tried to tell himself it was for the best, that she was too much drama. But a cold fear began to seep into his bones.

When he was finally discharged, he went straight to the university registrar. "I need to confirm Kylie Baxter's enrollment," he told the clerk, his voice confident. "She's my... my fiancée. We're supposed to start classes next semester."

The clerk typed away, her fingers flying across the keyboard. After a moment, she looked up, her brow furrowed. "Kylie Baxter? I'm sorry, sir. There's no one by that name enrolled for the upcoming semester. Her acceptance was rescinded after she didn't confirm."

Jax's world tilted. "What? No! That's impossible! She wouldn't just... not show up." He remembered the shredded letter he' d glimpsed, the signed forms. A cold dread gripped him. She had meant it. She had really left.

He pulled out his phone, his fingers trembling, and dialed her number. It rang once, twice, then a robotic voice cut in: "The number you have dialed is no longer in service."

Chapter 8

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