Chapter 3

I woke up to the steady beeping of a heart monitor. My arm was bandaged tightly, and there was an IV drip in my other hand, this time feeding a clear liquid into my veins.

A man in a doctor's coat was standing at the foot of my bed, looking at my chart with a frown. It wasn't Ethan.

"You're awake," he said, his voice kind. "I'm Dr. Miller, Mr. Patterson's assistant. You lost a lot of blood. And you have a mild concussion. You need to rest."

"Where is he?" I asked, my voice a dry rasp. "Where's Ethan?"

Dr. Miller's expression soured. He hesitated for a moment before answering. "Mr. Patterson took his niece home. She was... distressed."

Distressed.

Mia had assaulted me, ripped an IV from my arm, and she was the one who was distressed. The bitter irony tasted like ash in my mouth.

"He left me here?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"He told me to make sure you were taken care of," Dr. Miller said, but his tone lacked conviction. He couldn't meet my eyes. "He said he would cover all the expenses."

As if money could fix this. As if money could erase the image of him coddling her after she attacked me. As if money could fill the hollowed-out cavern in my chest.

I lay in that hospital bed for two days, completely alone. Ethan never called. He never visited. The only human contact I had was with the nurses and Dr. Miller, who checked on me periodically with a look of growing pity and disgust on his face. Disgust, I realized, that was directed at his boss.

On the third day, I felt strong enough to look at my phone. My fingers trembled as I opened my social media apps. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this.

Mia had posted a photo. It was a selfie of her and Ethan in his car. She was leaning against his shoulder, a beatific smile on her face. He was looking at the camera, his expression unreadable, but his arm was wrapped protectively around her.

The caption read: "Feeling so much better thanks to my amazing Uncle Ethan! He always takes the best care of me. Some people are just a drain, but he knows who really matters. ❤️"

Underneath, in the comments, were a dozen replies from her friends, all variations of the same theme.

"So glad you're okay, Mia! Your uncle is the best."

"Ignore the haters. You're what's important."

One comment stood out. It was from one of Mia's known cronies. "I heard that actress Ava was there. Did she cause trouble again? She's so desperate for attention."

Mia had replied to that one personally. "She's just pathetic. Always trying to get in the way. Don't worry, Uncle Ethan put her in her place."

I felt a cold, dead calm settle over me. The last flickering ember of hope, the tiny, stupid part of me that thought maybe he just didn't know how to show he cared, was finally extinguished.

He knew. He saw everything. And he chose her. He always chose her. He let her hurt me, humiliate me, and then he joined in.

I scrolled through my contacts until I found the number I hadn't called in three years.

My mom answered on the second ring.

"Ava? Honey, is that you?"

The sound of her warm, loving voice was all it took. The dam broke. Sobs wracked my body, ugly and painful. I told her everything. The 99 proposals, the secret obsession, the blood, the hospital, the public humiliation. I told her about the photo of Mia, and his whispered confession of love.

She listened patiently, not interrupting once. When I was finished, my voice raw and my throat aching, there was a quiet moment of silence.

"Oh, baby," she finally said, her own voice thick with tears. "Come home. Just come home."

"I am," I choked out. "Mom, I'm coming home."

I hung up the phone. I looked around the empty, sterile hospital room. This wasn't a place of healing. It was a tomb. It was where my love for Ethan Patterson had finally, brutally, died.

And in its place, something new was beginning to grow. Something cold and hard and resolute.

I was done being a victim. I was done being a tool. I was done being a blood bag.

I was going to leave. I was going to disappear from his life so completely it would be like I never existed. And I would never, ever look back.