Chapter 1

Mike Miller lay on the recliner, the dull ache in his abdomen a constant reminder of the Crohn's surgery. He'd poured everything into Vicky's startup, Sterling Innovations, his own garage business a forgotten dream, his health a casualty. Now, Vicky was a CEO, and he was...recovering.

The sound of laughter drifted from the dining room, Julian Vance, Vicky's old college flame, was holding court. Julian, a "conceptual artist" Mike privately thought was a pretentious leech, had been a fixture since Vicky's success.

A plate appeared before him, offered by Julian himself, a smirk playing on his lips. "Thought you might like something with a bit more flavor, Mike. That bland stuff must be depressing."

It was a pasta dish, creamy and rich, exactly what his doctors had warned him against. He'd explained his strict diet to everyone.

"Julian, I can't," Mike started, his voice weak.

"Nonsense, a little won't hurt," Julian insisted, his eyes glinting.

Vicky swept in, glamorous in a designer dress. "What's this, darling?" she asked Julian, not Mike.

"Just trying to cheer Mike up," Julian said, all charm.

Before Mike could protest further, Julian had spooned a small portion onto a side plate and pushed it towards him. The pressure to not "cast a pall" was immense. He took a tentative bite.

Within an hour, fire tore through his gut. He doubled over, a gasp escaping him. Internal bleeding, he knew the signs.

He stumbled towards Vicky, who was laughing at something Julian said. "Vicky... hospital... now."

She frowned. "Mike, don't be dramatic. Julian's not feeling too well himself, actually. He thinks he's coming down with something, poor dear."

Mike clutched his stomach. "This isn't... a joke. I need... the specialist."

Vicky's eyes hardened. "I had to give your follow-up appointment to Julian. He's got a terrible sympathetic flu, all stressed from your illness. He needs to see Dr. Albright."

"He faked it," Mike choked out, agony making his vision swim. "I need the ER."

Vicky's expression turned to disdain. "You're always making things about you. Julian is sensitive." She turned her back on him.

He fumbled for his phone, his fingers slick with sweat, and dialed 911.

Vicky whirled around when she heard him speaking to the dispatcher. Her face was a mask of fury.

"How dare you?" she hissed. "You're trying to embarrass me?"

She snapped her fingers. "Brenda!"

Her executive assistant, Brenda, materialized, her face a mirror of Vicky's contempt.

"Take him to his room," Vicky commanded. "He's just jealous Julian is getting attention."

Brenda, strong despite her slender frame, grabbed Mike's arm. He tried to resist, a fresh wave of pain making him cry out.

"Please, Vicky... I'm bleeding..."

Vicky stepped closer, her eyes cold. "You're faking."

Then, she kicked his abdomen, right where the surgical scars were still tender.

Mike screamed, a raw, tearing sound, as he collapsed.