Chapter 4

The hospital corridor buzzed with controlled chaos around Chloe' s room.

Ethan, Liam, and Noah were a frantic trio, demanding answers, hovering over doctors.

I stood by the nurses' station, a silent observer.

"It was the penicillin," a doctor explained, his voice grave. "She has a severe, unrecorded allergy. Her blood pressure is crashing. We need a direct transfusion, O-negative, and a lot of it, now."

"I'm O-negative," Ethan said instantly, rolling up his sleeve. "Take whatever you need."

No hesitation. No second thought.

He was whisked away.

The minutes stretched, taut with anxiety.

Then, another crisis.

"Her platelets are dangerously low, a complication from the anaphylaxis and the massive transfusion," another doctor announced, emerging from Chloe' s room. "She needs a specialized plasma donation. Apheresis. And quickly. We need compatible donors to give as much as they can."

Liam and Noah stepped forward simultaneously.

"Test us," Liam demanded.

"We'll both donate," Noah stated, his face pale but resolute.

They were both matches.

They were hooked up to machines, donating plasma, their faces growing increasingly drawn, their bodies weakening with every passing moment.

I watched them.

Ethan, giving his blood.

Liam and Noah, draining themselves of plasma.

All for Chloe.

It was a painful echo of my past lives, of their unwavering dedication to her, a dedication that had always excluded me, always cost me.

But this time, the pain was different. It was distant, observational.

I understood now. I truly, finally understood the depth of their fixation, their all-consuming love for her.

And I understood, with absolute clarity, that I could never, and had never, stood a chance against it.

There was a strange peace in that understanding. A liberation.

The procedures were successful. Chloe was stabilized.

Ethan, Liam, and Noah were exhausted, pale shadows of themselves, but alive. And Chloe was alive, thanks to them.

I approached a senior nurse.

"The families of Mr. Cole, Mr. Hayes, and Mr. Miller should be informed of their sons' conditions," I said coolly. "And Michael Davis, about his daughter."

The nurse looked at me, surprised by my detachment. "Are you... a relative, miss?"

"No," I said. "Just an acquaintance. I was here for an unrelated matter."

I provided their contact information and left.

Hospital staff were already gossiping, hushed whispers about the three prominent young men and their dramatic sacrifices for the estate manager's daughter.

Their devotion was, indeed, remarkable.

I returned home to find my parents in the drawing-room, a small, exquisitely wrapped box on the table.

"From Blake Sterling," Mother said, her voice carefully neutral. She pushed it towards me.

I opened it.

Inside, nestled on black velvet, was a necklace. Not a traditional heirloom. Not pearls or fussy diamonds.

It was a stunning, modern piece. A cascade of black diamonds, sharp, elegant, and utterly unexpected. A stark contrast to everything the East Coast families represented.

"It's... bold," Father commented, though I detected a note of approval.

"The matriarchs of the Cole, Hayes, and Miller families have called," Mother added, sipping her tea. "Attempting to downplay their sons'... involvement with Miss Davis. Sounded rather flustered."

"They are concerned about the optics, no doubt," Father said.

Catherine and William Vance looked at me.

"We'll leave you to handle it, Elara," Mother said. "You seem to have a clear idea of what you're doing."

Their trust was a quiet comfort.

I touched the black diamonds. They were cool, solid.

I spent the rest of the day researching Blake Sterling's preferred charities, his publicly known interests.

I selected a rare first edition of a classic economics text for his father, if he was still alive, or for Blake himself. For his mother, if she was in the picture, a modern art sculpture by a new, promising West Coast artist.

I was preparing for my new life, my new alliance. An alliance built on strategy, not on the shifting sands of unrequited love.

The next afternoon, they arrived. Ethan, Liam, and Noah.

Looking wan and tired, but impeccably dressed. Each carried an ostentatiously large gift bag from a high-end jeweler or department store.

Forced apologies, no doubt, by their scandalized families.

Gifts intended, I was certain, to be subtly passed on to Chloe.

"Elara," Ethan began, his voice strained. "We came to apologize. For the... misunderstanding at the hospital. And for our behavior."

Liam and Noah murmured their assent, their eyes avoiding mine.

The air was thick with awkwardness.

I accepted their insincere apologies with a polite nod.

As I moved to offer them tea, my purse, which I'd carelessly left on the arm of the sofa, slipped.

Blake's black diamond necklace, still in its presentation box, tumbled out onto the Persian rug.

The three men stared at it.

A beat of silence.

Then, a visible wave of relief washed over Ethan's face. Liam let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh. Noah's shoulders relaxed.

They misinterpreted. They thought it was a new trinket I' d bought for myself.

Relief that I hadn't chosen one of their families' traditional betrothal gifts. Relief that the "choice" was still, in their minds, open.

"That's... a striking piece, Elara," Liam said, trying to sound casual.

"Yes, it is," I said, picking up the box. "It's from Blake Sterling. My engagement gift."

Their faces froze. The relief vanished, replaced by a dawning, horrified understanding.

They had dodged a bullet, they thought. They were free.

Just then, Chloe Davis appeared in the doorway, leaning lightly on a cane she clearly didn't need.

Her eyes, sharp and assessing, immediately landed on the pile of luxury gift bags on the console table.

"Oh, my," she breathed, a picture of innocent surprise. "So many lovely things."

I waved a dismissive hand towards the bags.

"Take them, Chloe," I said, my voice bored. "They're clearly not for me."

Her eyes lit up, a predatory gleam she quickly masked with a shy smile.

The three men looked from me to Chloe, then back to the black diamond necklace in my hand.

The weight of my decision, my irrevocable choice, finally seemed to sink in.

They had miscalculated. Badly.