Chapter 4

A few days later, Julian hosted a small dinner party.

It was for some of his most important clients, the wealthy patrons who funded his art restoration projects.

Clara was the perfect hostess, glowing and beautiful on his arm.

Julian himself looked magnificent in a dark suit, but I could see the fatigue around his eyes, the tension in his jaw.

His gaze kept flicking to me, searching for a reaction, a hint of the old Amelia.

He found none.

He introduced me to his guests with a strained smile.

"And this is my niece, Amelia. She's staying with us for a while."

His niece.

The word was a public branding, a formal declaration of my place.

Clara, standing beside him, placed a proprietary hand on his chest.

"We're so happy to have her," she said, her voice sugary sweet.

"It's a full house now, with the baby on the way. Amelia is such a help."

The conversation flowed around me.

They talked about art, about money, about their upcoming wedding.

Julian was attentive to Clara, pouring her sparkling water, placing a cushion behind her back.

At one point, he laughed at something a guest said and casually remarked, "Clara is the center of my world now. Everything else is just background noise."

He didn't look at me when he said it, but I felt the sting of his words as if he had shouted them in my face.

I was the background noise.

The evening wore on.

Clara was descending the grand staircase to join the guests in the garden, holding a glass of juice.

I was at the bottom of the stairs, speaking to one of the gallery owners.

As Clara reached the last few steps, her eyes met mine across the space.

There was a flicker of something malicious in her gaze.

Then, it happened.

She gasped dramatically, her hand flying to her stomach.

Her ankle seemed to twist under her, and she pitched forward, tumbling down the last three steps.

The glass shattered on the marble floor.

She let out a piercing scream of pain as she landed in a heap.

"Clara!" Julian's roar of terror cut through the party chatter.

He was at her side in an instant, his face a mask of pure panic.

"My baby! Is the baby okay?"

Clara was writhing on the floor, clutching her belly, her face contorted in agony.

"Amelia," she sobbed, pointing a trembling finger at me.

"She... she was standing right there. She tripped me. She pushed me!"

Every head in the room swiveled to look at me.

I stood frozen, the accusation hanging in the air like poison.

"What?" I whispered, my heart pounding.

Julian looked up from Clara, and the look in his eyes was something I had never seen before.

It was pure, unadulterated fury, directed entirely at me.

He didn't question it.

He didn't ask for my side.

He simply believed her.

"You," he seethed, his voice low and dangerous.

"How could you?"

He scooped Clara into his arms and rushed toward the door, shouting for his assistant to call an ambulance.

The party guests stared at me with a mixture of horror and disgust.

In a matter of seconds, I had been tried and convicted.

The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights and the sterile smell of antiseptic.

Clara had been taken into a private room.

I sat in the waiting area, numb.

Julian finally emerged, his face pale and grim.

He told me that Clara had started bleeding.

She might lose the baby.

"She's lost a lot of blood," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion.

"Her blood type is rare. The hospital's supply is low."

He paused, and his eyes locked onto mine.

"It's the same as yours."

I understood immediately what he was asking.

Or rather, what he was demanding.

"They need a donation. Now," he said.

It wasn't a request.

It was an order.

I didn't argue.

I didn't protest my innocence.

What was the point?

He had already made his judgment.

A nurse led me to a small room, and I felt the sharp prick of the needle in my arm.

I lay on the cot, watching my blood, my life force, drain from my body into a plastic bag.

The blood that was meant to save the child of the woman who had destroyed my life, and the man who had let her.

The room began to spin.

The nurse' s voice sounded far away.

As the darkness closed in, I found myself doing something strange.

I started counting.

One.

For the promise he broke.

Two.

For the love I had to kill.

Three.

For the final, complete realization of his heartlessness.

I would keep counting.

I had a deal to fulfill, a debt to pay to my past self.

When the count was complete, I would be free.