Chapter 4

I was done. The decision was a cold, hard stone in my gut. I moved through the penthouse, a ghost in my own home, packing a single bag. The designer clothes, the expensive jewelry, the life Cohen had built around me-it was all meaningless now. The penthouse itself, once a symbol of our shared future, now felt like a prison tainted by betrayal. Every surface seemed to hold the echo of Kiera' s cloying perfume and Cohen' s lies.

My phone buzzed. It was a message from my adoptive family' s lawyer, finalizing the details of my transfer to Case Browning. A time, a place. It was real. My escape was real.

As I zipped the bag, the front door opened. It was Cohen, his face etched with a frantic energy. Someone must have told him I was leaving.

"Aurora, stop. What are you doing?" he asked, blocking the doorway.

"I' m leaving, Cohen."

"You' re not going anywhere," he said, his voice dangerously low. He stepped forward, grabbing my suitcase. "We need to talk about this."

"There' s nothing to talk about," I said, yanking my bag from his grasp. "I' m done."

I tried to push past him, but he grabbed my arm.

"You' re just being emotional because of the dress," he said, his tone condescending. "I told you, I' ll buy you another one. We can fix it."

"You can' t fix this," I said, my voice flat. "Some things, once they' re broken, stay broken."

I looked into his eyes and saw nothing of the man I once loved, only a desperate, selfish stranger trying to cage a bird that was already flying away. The arguments, the tears, the cycle of his betrayal and my forgiveness-it was a sick, endless loop, and I was finally stepping out of it.

Suddenly, a scream pierced the air from outside the penthouse doors.

"Help!" It was Kiera' s voice, high and terrified.

We both turned towards the sound. Through the large window in the foyer, I could see the street below. A black sedan was careening down the road, swerving wildly, directly towards where Kiera stood waiting by Cohen' s car.

Cohen' s reaction was instantaneous. Animalistic.

He didn' t hesitate. He didn' t look back at me.

He shoved past me, running out the door and shouting her name. "Kiera!"

He launched himself towards her, tackling her out of the car' s path in a heroic display of affection. They tumbled onto the manicured lawn of the building, safe.

I had been standing right behind him. The force of his departure sent me stumbling forward, off balance, into the open doorway.

I didn't have time to react. The car, having missed its first target, swerved onto the curb.

I saw a flash of black metal and blinding headlights.

Then, an explosion of pain.

The impact threw me against the stone entryway. My head hit the marble floor with a sickening crack. The world splintered into a kaleidoscope of pain and darkness. Vaguely, I felt a hot, wet sensation spreading down my leg.

Through the ringing in my ears, I could hear Cohen' s frantic voice.

"Kiera? Baby, are you okay? Are you hurt?"

I tried to push myself up, my vision swimming. My arm was bent at an unnatural angle, and the pain was a roaring fire.

"Cohen..." I whispered. My voice was a faint rasp.

He didn' t hear me. He was kneeling over Kiera, his hands hovering over her as if she were made of glass, his face a mask of pure terror for her safety. She was weeping, clinging to him, perfectly unharmed.

He completely ignored me, lying broken and bleeding just a few feet away.

My vision started to fade to black at the edges. The last thing I saw before I lost consciousness was Cohen lifting Kiera into his arms, his face buried in her hair, whispering promises that he would never let anything hurt her.

He left me there on the cold ground.

When I woke up, the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room greeted me. A dull, throbbing pain radiated from my head and my left arm, which was encased in a heavy cast.

Cohen was there, sitting in a chair by my bed. He looked tired, his hair slightly disheveled.

"You' re awake," he said, a faint note of relief in his voice.

He tried to take my hand, but I pulled away.

"The doctors said you have a concussion and a broken arm. You' re lucky. It could have been much worse." He offered a weak smile. "I was so worried."

I just stared at him, my mind a cold, clear lake of understanding.

This wasn' t the first time he' d left me to fend for myself. It was a pattern. The wine cellar. The ruined dress. Now this. Each time, he chose her. Each time, he explained it away with flimsy excuses and feigned concern.

"Where were you?" I asked, my voice devoid of emotion.

"I had to make sure Kiera was okay," he explained, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. "She was in shock. I took her home and got her settled. Then I came straight here."

I said nothing. I just looked at him, and for the first time, he seemed truly unnerved by my silence. He was used to my tears, my anger, my pleas. He wasn' t prepared for this chilling emptiness.

The sharp ring of his phone cut through the silence. He glanced at the screen, and his expression softened.

He stood up. "I have to take this. It' s Kiera. She' s not doing well."

He walked to the far side of the room, turning his back to me, but I could still hear his hushed, gentle voice.

"Hey, baby, what' s wrong?... No, no, don' t cry. I' m here... I know, it was scary... Of course I' ll be there. I' ll leave right now."

He hung up and turned back to me, a flicker of apology in his eyes. "I have to go. Kiera needs me."

I just nodded, my gaze fixed on the wall behind him.

He hesitated, expecting a fight, an argument. He got nothing.

As he walked out the door, abandoning me once again, a single, bitter laugh escaped my lips.

I was just an item on his checklist. A problem to be managed later. But Kiera... Kiera was his priority. Always.