Chapter 2

A hand touched my shoulder.

"Miss? Are you okay?"

It was a waiter, his face etched with concern. My eyes were fixed on the booth where Ethan and Olivia were laughing, completely unaware of my presence. The world was a blur of hazy lights and muted sounds.

I couldn' t breathe here. I couldn' t think.

"I' m fine," I mumbled, pushing myself off the wall. My body felt like lead. The pain in my side was a raging fire now, a physical manifestation of the betrayal that was consuming me.

I turned and fled, leaving the bag of money, the symbol of my utter foolishness, lying on the floor. I stumbled through the crowd, ignoring the annoyed glances, and pushed my way into the women' s restroom.

The cold, sterile tiles and fluorescent lights were a harsh contrast to the lounge' s dim opulence. I locked myself in a stall, my back sliding down the cool metal until I was sitting on the floor. My breath came in ragged, painful gasps.

I looked down at my hands. They were shaking. These were the hands that had held his, that had stroked his hair when he pretended to have nightmares. They were the hands of a nurse, meant to heal. And I had used them to help destroy myself.

Slowly, shakily, I lifted the hem of my sweater. Underneath, a large, crude bandage was taped to my skin. It was already starting to peel at the edges. I had been so careful, so terrified of infection. All for a lie.

The memory of our first meeting flooded my mind. He was playing a guitar on a street corner near campus, a sad, beautiful melody that had pulled me in. He looked so vulnerable, with his worn-out jeans and soulful eyes. He told me he was trying to make it as a musician, that his family had disowned him for choosing art over business. He was a starving artist. An orphan. He was just like me.

Every part of it was a lie. A perfectly constructed character designed to prey on my compassion, my loneliness, my deep-seated desire to fix broken things. He didn' t need fixing. He was the one who had broken me.

A surge of something cold and hard replaced the hollow ache in my chest. It wasn' t just grief. It was rage. A quiet, burning fury. They wouldn' t win. They wouldn't destroy me.

My fingers, still trembling, fumbled for my phone in my pocket. I scrolled through my contacts until I found the name: Professor Thompson. My art professor. The one person who had seen a spark in me that had nothing to do with nursing or caring for others.

He had been the one to encourage me to apply for the Florence study abroad program, the very scholarship Olivia had stolen out of spite.

My thumb hovered over the screen. It was late. But I had to do it. Now. Before this fragile new resolve could shatter.

I typed out a short, simple email.

Dear Professor Thompson,

I know the deadline has passed, but is there any possibility of reapplying for the Florence program? My circumstances have changed unexpectedly. I need to leave.

Sincerely,

Chloe Davis

I hit send before I could second-guess myself. It was a desperate, foolish hope, but it was the only one I had left. It was a life raft in the middle of an ocean of deceit.

Just as I put my phone away, the restroom door opened. Footsteps approached my stall.

"Chloe? Are you in there?"

It was Ethan. His voice was laced with a fake, manufactured concern that made my stomach churn.

I took a deep breath, forcing my features into a mask of neutrality. I stood up, unlocked the door, and faced him.

He looked me up and down, his eyes filled with feigned worry. "I was so scared. You just disappeared. Did you bring it? Do you have the money?"

The question hung in the air between us, obscene in its casual cruelty.

I met his gaze, my own eyes cold and empty.

"Yes, Ethan," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I have it. It' s all for you."

I would play his game. Just for a little while longer. But this time, I knew the rules. And I knew the price wasn' t just money. It was everything. And I had already paid it.

I thought about the money I' d left on the floor. Let him have it. It was a cheap price to pay for the lesson I had just learned. I considered it a tuition fee for my real education.