Chapter 3

Ethan "rescued" me two days later.

He burst into the dusty warehouse with a team of state troopers, his face a perfect mask of anguish and relief. He knelt by my side, gathering my broken body into his arms, whispering my name like a prayer.

"Jocelyn, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

I was too weak to speak, to fight, to do anything but let him play his part. In the ambulance, he held my hand and told me the story he had rehearsed. He told me the gang had retaliated, that they had gone to my mountain and slaughtered my family while searching for me.

He cried. Real tears streamed down his handsome face. He was a masterful actor.

At the hospital, he gave the doctors his orders. "Do whatever it takes to keep her stable. She's lost a lot of blood, she's severely dehydrated... but she's a fighter. Just keep her on life support. Don't let her die."

I heard his whispered conversation with the head doctor just outside my door.

"Keep her like this until Miss Lawrence's treatment is complete. Once Nicole's face is fully restored, we can... let Jocelyn go. Then I'll bring her back. It's better if she's unconscious for the funeral."

Disgust was a bitter taste in my mouth. He was going to let me die, attend my family's funeral with a grieving act, and then "revive" me when it was convenient.

Days blurred into a haze of pain and IV drips. I drifted in and out of consciousness, my life hanging by the thinnest of threads. But I held on. For my baby.

One afternoon, the door opened, and Nicole Lawrence walked in.

Her face was partially bandaged, but the exposed skin was red and raw, an ugly sight. She glided to my bedside, a smug, triumphant smile on her lips.

"Poor, poor Jocelyn," she cooed, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Look at you. So broken. But don't you worry. Your family's little 'miracle cure' is working wonders on me."

She held up a small, ornate mirror, admiring the unblemished skin around the edges of her bandages. "Soon, I'll be perfect again. And I'll be the one standing by his side, as it always should have been."

Something inside me snapped.

A primal rage, born of grief and betrayal, surged through my veins. It was a strength I didn't know I had left. I lunged, my hand shooting out and grabbing the water pitcher from my bedside table.

With a scream, I hurled it at her.

It shattered against the wall next to her head, sending water and glass everywhere. Nicole shrieked, stumbling back.

In the chaos, my eyes fixed on a large, sharp shard of glass on the floor.

This was my chance. A way to force his hand, to end this on my own terms. I scrambled out of bed, ignoring the searing pain, and snatched the shard.

"Jocelyn, no!" Ethan yelled, storming into the room just as I brought the glass to my own throat.

His eyes were wide with panic. Not for me, I knew, but for the loss of his precious, life-saving tool.

I didn't hesitate. I pressed the glass hard against my skin, ready to finish it.