Chapter 2

Delma was still on the floor, her ears ringing from the crash. Dust and debris filled the air. She was in a state of shock, her mind struggling to process what had just happened.

The first thing she saw clearly was Kobe rushing forward. But he didn't rush to her.

He ran straight to Felicie, who had stumbled back a few feet and was now clutching her arm, a pained expression on her face.

"Felicie! Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Kobe's voice was filled with a panic and concern Delma had never heard from him before.

He knelt beside her, his hands hovering over her arm, afraid to touch her.

"I think... I think my arm is broken," Felicie whimpered, tears welling in her eyes. "She pushed me, Kobe. Delma pushed me out of the way to save herself."

Kobe's head snapped toward Delma, his eyes filled with cold fury. He didn't ask if she was okay. He didn't even seem to see the splintered wood and scattered books around her.

He carefully scooped Felicie into his arms, his movements gentle and protective. As he stood up, his leg bumped hard against Delma's shoulder, sending a jolt of pain through her. He didn't notice. Or if he did, he didn't care.

She watched, frozen, as he carried Felicie away, his back rigid and unforgiving. He never once looked back.

The sharp pain in her shoulder finally broke through the numbness. She pushed herself up slowly, her body aching. Her ankle was throbbing, and she could see a dark bruise already forming on her arm where a heavy book had struck her.

She limped back to her small apartment, the divorce papers clutched in her hand. The pain in her body was nothing compared to the vast, empty ache in her chest.

She ran a bath, the hot water stinging her bruises. She didn't cry. The tears felt frozen inside her, a solid lump of grief she couldn't release.

Her phone rang. It was her lawyer, confirming the divorce was legally finalized. The papers had been filed electronically by Kobe's team. It was over.

A strange sense of relief washed over her. It was a bitter, painful relief, but it was there. She was free.

Just as she hung up, her phone rang again. This time, it was an unknown number. When she answered, a cold, authoritative voice informed her that she was being summoned to the hospital.

It wasn't a request. It was an order from Bobby Conrad, Kobe's mother.

When she arrived, she found Kobe in the waiting room, pacing back and forth. It was the first time she had ever seen him look so agitated. He had always been the picture of calm control. He had a habit of rubbing his thumb over his index finger when he was deep in thought, but now his hands were clenched into tight fists.

Bobby Conrad sat on a plush chair, her face a mask of disapproval. She looked Delma up and down, her gaze lingering on Delma's simple clothes and the visible bruise on her arm.

"Felicie has a rare blood type," Bobby said, her voice sharp. "She lost a lot of blood from a deep cut on her arm. The hospital is low on it. You're a match. You will donate."

Delma stared at her, speechless. Behind Bobby, through the glass of a hospital room door, she could see Felicie lying in bed. Even in her hospital gown, she managed to look both fragile and smug. As if sensing Delma's gaze, Felicie's eyes met hers, and a small, triumphant smile played on her lips.

This was it, then. The ultimate humiliation. After seven years of being a wife, she was now being reduced to a walking blood bag for her replacement. A self-deprecating laugh escaped her lips, dry and humorless.

"Fine," she said.

Kobe himself gripped her arm and led her to the donation room. His touch was impersonal, his face grim. She didn't resist. She sat in the chair, silent, as the nurse prepped her arm. She didn't look at him. She felt a strange sense of detachment, as if she were watching a movie about someone else's life.

The needle went in, and she watched her blood, dark and red, flow through the tube. It felt symbolic, as if the last of her love and life force for Kobe was being drained away, ready to be given to the woman he truly loved.

When it was over, Kobe was the one to help her sit up. For a fleeting moment, his hand on her back felt gentle.

"Rest for a bit," he said, his voice low.

It was the first thing he had said to her that wasn't an accusation. A flicker of her old, foolish hope stirred.

"Where are you going?" she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it. It was a habit, asking about his day, his plans.

"I need to get back to Felicie," he said, and the gentleness was gone, replaced by that same anxious concern. "She's scared. She needs me."

He turned and walked away without another word.

From her chair, Delma could see into Felicie's room. She watched as Kobe went to her bedside, his shoulders slumping with relief. He leaned down and gently brushed the hair from Felicie's forehead. The tenderness in that simple gesture was something Delma had craved for seven years and never received.

"What a joke," she whispered to herself, a bitter smile twisting her lips. She was a fool. A complete and utter fool.

She stood up, her head swimming, and walked out of the hospital. She didn't look back.

That evening, scrolling through her phone, she saw the news. Felicie had posted a picture of her bandaged arm on social media, with a caption: "A scary accident today, but lucky to have my hero by my side." She had tagged Kobe.

Kobe, who never used social media, had commented. A single word: "Always."

The public speculation exploded. Everyone was talking about the rekindled romance between the Kidd heir and his first love. Felicie's replies to the comments were coy and suggestive, fanning the flames.

Delma turned off her phone. She walked into her bedroom and began to pack. She took out the boxes she had been storing things in for years. Gifts from Kobe. A designer handbag for their first anniversary, a style she never wore. A diamond tennis bracelet for her birthday, something Felicie would love. She realized now that every gift he had ever given her had been chosen with Felicie in mind.

She remembered the one gift she had given him that he seemed to truly treasure. A simple, inexpensive watch she had bought him for his birthday one year. She had noticed he wore it often. She had thought it meant something.

Now, she understood. As she packed away her life, she found an old magazine. There was an article about Kobe and Felicie from years ago. In one of the photos, Felicie was wearing the exact same watch. It wasn't that he cherished Delma's gift. It was that he had never let go of his past.

The weight of it all pressed down on her. How could she have been so blind? So willingly foolish? She had drowned herself in a fantasy, and the reality was a cold, hard slap in the face.

She finished packing, leaving the boxes of expensive gifts in the middle of the room. When the movers came the next day, they were surprised.

"Are you sure you want to donate all this, ma'am? This stuff is worth a fortune."

"I'm sure," Delma said. "I have no use for it."

Just as they were leaving, her phone rang. It was Kobe.

"There's a charity gala tonight," he said, his voice clipped and business-like. "You need to be there. As my wife."

Delma was confused. "We're divorced, Kobe."

"The public doesn't know that yet. We need to maintain appearances for a while longer. I've had a dress and jewelry sent to your apartment." A pause. "I'll have my driver pick you up at seven."

He was still using her. Even now.

"Fine," Delma said, the single word tasting like ash in her mouth.

She went to the high-end boutique where he'd arranged for her to pick up a gown. As she walked in, she froze.

There, in the center of the store, was a scene that burned itself into her memory.