Chapter 5

They didn't believe me, of course. They thought it was another tantrum, another dramatic gesture.

"She's just upset," I imagined them saying to each other. "She'll change her mind."

They proposed a trip to a private ranch upstate, a place we used to go as kids. Horseback riding, fresh air. They thought it would cheer me up, make me forget.

"No," I told them flatly when they called.

But they didn't listen. The next morning, they were at my door, their smiles bright and insistent. They wouldn't take no for an answer. They practically dragged me into the car, a black SUV with tinted windows.

The ranch was just as I remembered it, sprawling green fields under a vast blue sky. For a moment, a flicker of nostalgia warmed me. Then I remembered why we were there. It wasn't for me. It was for them. To manage me. In my past life, this was where they had staged the first "accident" to frighten me into submission, leaving me with a broken leg and a warning.

I tried to find a quiet corner, away from their suffocating presence. I walked towards a far paddock, hoping to be alone with the horses. My heart pounded, knowing what was likely coming.

That's when the chaos erupted.

A sudden, loud noise-like a gunshot-cracked through the air. The horses in the nearby corral went wild, their eyes rolling in terror. Someone had left the gate unlatched. They stampeded out, a thundering wave of panicked flesh and hooves, heading straight for the open fields where I stood.

I tried to run, to get out of their path, but I wasn't fast enough. A massive chestnut stallion crashed into me, its shoulder hitting me like a freight train.

The impact sent me flying. I landed hard on the unforgiving ground.

I heard a sickening crack.

My leg. It was broken.

Agony, white-hot and blinding, shot through me. I tried to crawl, to drag myself to safety, but the pain was paralyzing.

The stampede was all around me. Hooves thundered past my head, missing me by inches. Then, a hoof came down hard on my ribs. I screamed. Another one trampled my arm.

I was being trampled to death.

Through a haze of pain, I looked back towards the main house. I saw them. Alaric, Darrius, and Jefferey. They were standing on the porch, watching. Just watching. They weren't moving. They weren't calling for help.

Their faces were blank, devoid of any emotion.

They were letting it happen.

The last thing I saw before I blacked out was their three still figures against the bright blue sky.

I woke up in a hospital bed again. The pain was a living thing, a monster with its claws sunk deep into every part of my body. My leg was in a cast, my ribs were wrapped tightly, and my arm was a canvas of purple and black bruises.

The door to my room was slightly ajar. I could hear voices.

It was Alexander, talking to the others.

"You went too far," he said, his voice sharp with anger. "A stampede? Are you insane? I wanted to scare her, not kill her! Not yet, anyway."

"It was an accident," Alaric insisted, his voice defensive. "We just fired a starter pistol to spook the horses a little. We didn't think they'd actually trample her."

"We wanted to teach her a lesson for rejecting us," Darrius added. "To show her she needs us to protect her."

"And now she has a broken leg and cracked ribs," Alexander snapped. "How does that help me? The Kidd family will be watching her like a hawk. This complicates everything."

My blood ran cold. It wasn't an accident. It was planned. They had done this to me. On purpose.

My friends. The boys I had grown up with. They had tried to have me trampled to death because I had bruised their egos. The casual cruelty of it, the absolute lack of remorse, shattered the last remaining fragments of my naivety.

The pain in my body was nothing compared to the agony in my soul. I was drowning in it, and this time, there was no water.

I must have made a sound, because the voices stopped. A moment later, I squeezed my eyes shut, feigning sleep as the door opened. The pain was so intense, so overwhelming, that my body gave in, and I slipped back into genuine unconsciousness.

When I woke again, the room was empty. The silence was a welcome relief. My phone was on the bedside table. It was filled with messages from them.

Azalea, we're so sorry. It was a freak accident. We're praying for your recovery.

We feel terrible. We should have been watching you more closely.

Anything you need, just ask. We're here for you.

I read the messages and felt a cold, dead calm settle over me. The pain was still there, a constant, throbbing reminder of their betrayal. But the shock was gone, replaced by something harder. Something colder.

I just wanted to be left alone. I wanted to heal, not just my broken bones, but the shattered pieces of my trust, my heart.

But of course, they wouldn't leave me alone.

A few days later, just as I was starting to feel a little more human, my door opened.

It was Isolde.