Chapter 1

The phone buzzed against the polished wood of her classical guitar, a jarring, ugly sound in the quiet of her practice room. Olivia Miller, Liv, ignored it. She was in the middle of a complex passage, her fingers flying across the frets with a precision that had taken her years to perfect. The phone buzzed again, insistent.

With a sigh, she stopped and picked it up. It was Jake' s number. A wave of warmth washed over her, pushing aside her frustration.

"Hey," she said, her voice soft. "I was just thinking about you."

"Liv, thank God." The voice on the other end wasn' t Jake' s. It was his assistant, Mark, and he sounded panicked. "There' s been an accident. It' s Jake. He' s at St. Mary' s Hospital, he' s lost a lot of blood. They need a transfusion, Liv. His blood type is rare, you' re the only match they can find this fast."

The world tilted. Liv' s guitar clattered to the floor. "What? Is he okay? What happened?"

"Just get here, Liv. Please. Emergency room." The line went dead.

She didn' t even change out of her practice clothes. She grabbed her keys and her wallet, her heart hammering against her ribs so hard it hurt. The drive to the hospital was a blur of red lights and blaring horns that she barely registered. All she could see was Jake' s face, his easy smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed.

At the emergency room, a nurse was waiting for her. "Olivia Miller?"

"Yes, for Jake Peterson. Is he...?"

"We need to get your blood now," the nurse said, her tone urgent as she led Liv to a small curtained-off area. "He' s in a critical state."

Liv didn' t hesitate. She sat down, offered her arm, and watched as the nurse expertly found a vein. The dark red liquid flowed from her into the sterile bag, a physical representation of her love and desperation. "Please, just save him," she whispered, the words catching in her throat.

The nurse gave her a reassuring pat. "You' re doing a great job. We' ll take this to him right away."

Liv was left alone in the small cubicle, the smell of antiseptic burning her nose. She clutched a piece of gauze to the inside of her elbow, feeling dizzy and weak, but her mind was only on Jake. She waited. And waited. An hour passed. Then another. No one came to update her. Finally, Mark reappeared, but his face was no longer creased with worry. He looked... annoyed.

"You can go home, Liv," he said, not meeting her eyes.

"What? How is he? Can I see him?" she asked, trying to stand up on shaky legs.

Mark sighed. "Look, it was just... a prank. One of Jake' s stupid jokes that got out of hand. He cut himself, made a big deal out of it. He' s fine. He left for Chloe' s party a while ago. He said you should just rest."

The words didn' t make sense. A prank? Her blood... the panic... for a prank? "But... the nurse said he was critical. I gave blood."

"Yeah, well, thanks for that," Mark said dismissively, already turning to leave. "He feels bad about it. He' ll call you tomorrow."

She walked out of the hospital in a daze. The cool night air felt strange on her skin. She passed a series of large, rolling trash cans waiting for pickup near a side exit. On top of a pile of discarded gauze and blue paper gowns, she saw it. A clear plastic bag, still half-full of dark, cooling blood. Her blood. A white label was stuck to the side, and even in the dim light, she could read her own name printed on it. Olivia Miller.

It was just thrown away. Like garbage.

A sound made her freeze. Laughter. It was coming from the same side exit. She quickly stepped back into the shadows of the building, her body moving on instinct. The door swung open, and Jake stepped out, not a scratch on him. He was holding the door for Chloe Davis, his childhood friend, his supposed muse. Chloe was beaming, her hand resting on his arm.

"Did you see her face?" Chloe' s voice was high and mocking. "She looked like her whole world was ending. So pathetic."

Jake let out a low chuckle, a sound Liv had once found intoxicating. Now it made her feel sick. "Of course she did. She' d do anything for me. It' s been three years, Chloe. I told you I' d make her pay for what she did to you. For stealing that scholarship."

Chloe pouted prettily. "You' ve been so good to me, Jakey. She deserved every bit of it."

"And there' s more to come," Jake promised, his voice turning cold. "I' m not done with her yet. Not by a long shot."

Liv leaned against the cold brick wall, the world dissolving into a meaningless hum. The scholarship. Years ago, she and Chloe had been the final two contenders for a prestigious classical guitar scholarship that could launch a career. Liv had won. She' d assumed it was based on talent. She had no idea it had planted a seed of hatred so deep it could fuel a three-year campaign of revenge.

Every memory of the last three years flashed through her mind, replaying in this new, horrific light. The time Jake "accidentally" spilled a bottle of red wine on her white performance dress moments before she went on stage. The important audition he' d made her late for because he' d "lost" his car keys. The countless small humiliations in front of his friends, all framed as jokes, all followed by his charming, irresistible apologies. "Oh, Liv, you know I' m just kidding. You' re such a good sport."

He had never loved her. It was all a performance. A long, cruel, meticulously planned act of vengeance. She had been his fool, his project, his target. The love she had poured into him, the future she had imagined, the life she thought they were building-it was all a lie. A sick, twisted joke.

The pain was a physical thing, a crushing weight in her chest that made it impossible to breathe. Humiliation burned through her veins, hot and acidic. She felt hollowed out, scoured clean of every good and tender feeling she' d ever had for him. What was left was an abyss, a vast, empty space where her love used to be.

Numbly, she fumbled for her phone. Her hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped it. She didn' t call Jake. She didn' t call a friend. She scrolled through her contacts until she found the one person she knew she could trust. Her brother.

Liam answered on the first ring. "Liv? What' s up? It' s late."

Her own voice sounded alien to her, a flat, dead monotone. "Liam? That offer... to study with the Maestro in Europe. Is it still open?"

There was a pause on the other end. "Of course it is, Liv. You know that. Why?"

A single tear, hot and sharp, finally escaped and traced a path down her cold cheek. "I' m taking it," she said. "I' m leaving. Tonight."