Chapter 4

I woke up in a white, sterile room. My head was fuzzy, and my arm ached where the IV had been. I felt weak, drained.

The door opened and Sabrina walked in.

She was wearing a plush hospital gown, but she looked perfectly fine. There wasn't a scratch on her. Her wrist, however, was adorned with a brand-new, diamond-encrusted luxury watch.

"Feeling better?" she asked, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. She held up her wrist, letting the diamonds catch the light. "Ethan got this for me. A little get-well-soon present. He felt so bad about what you put me through."

I just stared at her, silent.

"He's so sweet," she continued, moving closer to my bed. "He said he's going to buy me the whole collection once his company's funding comes through. One for every color."

She leaned over me, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He said he's tired of your sad, little country songs and your sad, little life. He wants a winner."

She picked up a glass of water from my bedside table. "You look pathetic, lying there."

Then, as she turned, she "accidentally" let the glass slip. It shattered on the floor.

Just as the door opened and Ethan walked in.

Sabrina let out a sharp cry of pain, clutching her hand. "Ow! She pushed me!"

Ethan's eyes went from the broken glass on the floor to Sabrina's hand, where a tiny shard had apparently grazed her skin. A single drop of blood welled up.

He rushed to her side, his face a storm of fury directed at me. "What the hell did you do, Jocelyn?"

"I didn't touch her," I said, my voice weak.

"Liar!" Sabrina sobbed. "She's angry about the watch!"

Ethan ignored me completely, cradling Sabrina's hand as if she'd been mortally wounded. "Don't worry, baby," he cooed. "I'll get the whole collection for you. We'll go shopping tomorrow."

He turned back to me, his eyes filled with disgust. He then looked at the nurse who had followed him in.

"Draw more of her blood," he ordered, pointing at me. "For backup. In case Sabrina has another... episode."

"Sir, we've already taken a standard donation," the nurse said, looking uncomfortable.

"I don't care. Do it," Ethan commanded. "I'm paying for this clinic. You work for me."

The nurse hesitated, then nodded grimly.

I pleaded with them, told them I was feeling dizzy and weak, but Ethan just watched, his arms crossed, as they put the needle back in my arm and drained more of my life away for a woman who was faking it all.