Chapter 3

I looked at the glass Catalina offered me. I didn' t move.

"No, thank you," I said. My voice was quiet, but it cut through the silence.

A wave of murmurs rippled through the guests.

"How rude."

"Catalina is trying so hard, and she just shuts her down."

"She' s ungrateful."

"Alec, what is wrong with her?" someone asked, their voice dripping with pity for him.

I saw the conflict in Alec' s eyes. He glanced at Catalina, who looked like she was about to shatter. Then he looked back at me. I saw the moment he made his choice. He always chose her.

He took the glass from Catalina' s hand.

"Haven," he said, his voice low and dangerously soft. He moved closer, blocking me from the view of the others. "Take the glass."

It wasn' t a request. It was an order.

"Nana isn' t doing well," he whispered, his words a precise, calculated blow. "It would be a shame if her nursing care was suddenly... interrupted."

My grandmother. The only person in the world who had ever loved me without condition. The thought of her, frail and alone, made my stomach clench with fear.

My hand trembled as I reached out and took the champagne flute. I brought it to my lips and drank. The bubbles burned my raw throat.

The tension on the patio eased. The guests smiled, relieved.

The toasts continued. One after another, people raised their glasses to me, to Alec, to their twisted idea of a happy reunion. Each time, I was expected to drink. I looked to Alec for help, for a sign, for anything.

He just gave me a small, encouraging nod. Play along.

He was too busy watching Catalina, making sure she was okay, leaving me to drown in a sea of champagne and fake smiles. I could feel Catalina' s eyes on me, a subtle, triumphant gleam in their depths.

I drank. And I drank.

A sharp pain began to build in my stomach, a familiar ache from the ulcers that had plagued me in prison. It grew with every glass they forced on me.

The pain sharpened, twisting into a knot of fire.

Catalina approached with one last glass, her smile wide and predatory. "One for the road?"

Suddenly, a wave of nausea washed over me. I doubled over, a strangled cough escaping my lips. I felt something hot and wet splash onto the pristine white tablecloth.

Blood.

The partygoers gasped in horror.

Alec' s first move was not toward me. He rushed to Catalina' s side, pulling her away as if I were contagious.

The world tilted. The pain in my stomach was a white-hot agony. The faces around me blurred, their voices a distant buzz. Then everything went black.

I woke up to the blinding glare of fluorescent lights. The smell of antiseptic filled my nose.

I was in a hospital bed.

Alec was sitting in a chair by the window, his back to me.

"You' re awake," he said, his voice laced with accusation. He turned, and I saw the anger in his eyes.

"What was that, Haven? Trying to make a scene? Trying to embarrass me?"

"I wasn' t..." My voice was a weak rasp. It was the first time we had spoken, really spoken, since my release.

He stood up and walked to my bedside. He looked at me, really looked at me for the first time. I saw his eyes trace the sharp angle of my jaw, the new gauntness of my cheeks. I had lost over thirty pounds in prison.

A flicker of guilt crossed his face. Just a flicker.

He reached out to touch my hair, his fingers brushing against my temple. "We' ll get you healthy again," he murmured, his tone softening into the one he used when he was promising the world. "We' ll go to Italy, just like we always planned. We' ll buy that little house by the sea. It will be just us."

He painted a beautiful picture of a future that felt like a lie.

I didn' t care about Italy. I didn' t care about the house. There was only one thing I cared about.

"Nana," I whispered. "How is she?"

He looked surprised. He had been launching into a monologue about our future, and I had interrupted him to ask about my grandmother.

"She' s... she' s fine," he said, a little too quickly.

Just then, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. It was Catalina.

He stood up immediately, his face a mask of concern. "I have to go. Catalina' s having a panic attack. The blood... it triggered her."

He walked to the door without a second glance back.

Of course. Catalina was triggered. And me? I was just the prop that caused the trigger.

A dry, hollow laugh escaped my lips. He didn' t even hear it. He was already gone.