Chapter 4

As I waited for my Uber near the hotel entrance, Izzy appeared beside me.

The cold night air swirled around her expensive wrap.

"Leaving so soon, Ellie?" she asked, her voice laced with mock concern.

She held out a small, beautifully wrapped gift bag.

"A little something. For your new life. Consider it a parting gift."

I didn' t take it.

"I don' t want anything from you, Izzy."

"Oh, don' t be like that," she purred. "It' s just a small token. To remember us by."

Her eyes gleamed with malice.

"I have everything I want now, Ellie. You can go."

"I am going," I said, my voice tight. "Don' t worry. You won' t see me again."

She laughed, a short, sharp sound.

"We' ll see."

Just then, a commotion erupted from the ballroom entrance. Shouts. Screams.

A loud crash.

My Uber pulled up.

But before I could move, I saw Marcus. He was running out, his face pale.

He wasn' t looking at me. He was looking past me, towards the street.

Towards Izzy.

A decorative piece of scaffolding from the hotel' s facade, loosened by the earlier storm and the night' s wind, was toppling.

Right where Izzy stood, admiring her reflection in the glass doors.

"Izzy!" Marcus screamed.

He lunged, not towards me, but towards her.

He threw himself at Izzy, knocking her clear.

The heavy metal structure crashed down.

I felt a searing pain in my leg, a sickening crunch.

Then darkness.

The last thing I saw was Marcus, cradling Izzy, his face a mask of terror.

For her.

Not for me.

I was just collateral damage.

I woke up in a hospital room.

Bright lights. The smell of antiseptic.

A dull ache throbbed in my leg, which was encased in a heavy cast.

Marcus was sitting by the bed, his head in his hands.

He looked up when I stirred.

Relief washed over his face. But it felt... practiced.

"Ellie. You' re awake. Thank God."

He reached for my hand. I pulled it away.

"How' s Izzy?" I asked. My voice was hoarse.

He flinched. "She' s fine. A few scratches. Shaken up, of course. I got her home."

Of course.

"You should go to her," I said. "She needs you."

"Ellie, I..."

"Go," I said, turning my face to the wall.

I heard him sigh. Then the sound of his chair scraping back. His footsteps receding.

The door clicked shut.

I closed my eyes, feigning sleep when the nurse came in.

He came back later, with flowers I didn' t want and apologies that sounded hollow.

He said he' d stay.

He sat in the chair, scrolling through his phone.

After an hour, his phone buzzed. A text.

He read it, his expression softening.

He stood up. "I have to go. Izzy needs... something. I' ll be back later."

He didn' t come back later.

The nurses tutted sympathetically.

"Your husband seems so devoted," one of them said the next morning. "He called three times last night to check on you, even though he couldn' t come."

Dramatic irony. It wasn' t funny.

My friend, Chloe, who worked at a gossip magazine, sent me a link later that day.

Page Six.

A blurry photo of Marcus and Izzy, arm in arm, leaving a trendy restaurant late last night. Izzy was laughing, leaning into him. Marcus was smiling.

The caption: "Real Estate Mogul Marcus Thorne and Socialite Isabelle Hayes: Rekindled Romance After Dramatic Hotel Incident?"

Chloe texted: He was with HER while you were in the hospital. The bastard.

I knew.

I' d always known, deep down.

Izzy' s cruel game, the nine abandonments, it just forced me to see the truth I' d been avoiding.

Marcus never loved me.

He loved her.

The pain in my leg was nothing compared to the cold, hard clarity of that.

It was a necessary pain. A final lesson.

The orthopedic surgeon came in to check on my leg.

"Your husband signed the consent forms for the surgery last night, Mrs. Thorne," he said, smiling kindly. "He was very worried."

"Actually, Doctor," I said, my voice clear and steady. "It' s Ms. Vance. And he' s not my husband. We' re divorced."

Just as I said it, the door opened.

Marcus stood there, a take-out coffee cup in his hand.

He stopped short.

His eyes widened.

"Divorced?"