Chapter 2

I wake up in my own bed. The sterile white of a hospital is a memory from another life. This time, my punishment is more personal.

My arm is bandaged, but the work is clumsy, angry. My leg throbs with a deep, persistent ache. Charlotte wouldn' t waste a doctor on me for a "stunt" like that.

I reach for my phone. The screen is a beacon in the dim room. A news alert is the first thing I see.

"Tech Titans in Love? Charlotte Mayo and Howard Franklin-A Night of Drama and Romance."

Below the headline is a picture. Charlotte and Howard leaving the hotel. He has his arm around her, a protective gesture. She is leaning into him, her face turned up towards his. They look perfect together.

A wave of nausea hits me, so sharp it takes my breath away. This is what I wanted. This is the price.

My eyes drift to my desk. A thick envelope from a university on the West Coast sits there. The acceptance letter for their veterinary program. Last time, I threw it away without a second thought. My world was here, with her.

Now, it' s my only escape route.

A soft knock on the door makes me jump. It opens, and Howard Franklin steps inside. He's carrying a bowl of soup, a gentle, concerned smile on his face.

"Hey, kid," he says softly. "Charlotte is tied up in meetings, but she wanted me to make sure you ate something. She' s worried."

He sets the bowl on my bedside table. The steam rises, carrying a familiar, sickeningly sweet scent.

Peanuts.

I am deathly allergic to peanuts. One spoonful could close my throat.

Howard knows. Of course, he knows. In my past life, I saw the detailed file her assistant kept on me. Allergies, fears, medical history. Howard would have made it his business to know my weaknesses.

"I' m not hungry," I say, my voice raspy.

Howard' s smile tightens just a fraction. "Come on, Alex. Don't be difficult. Charlotte made this herself before she left this morning. She'll be so disappointed."

A lie. Charlotte hasn't cooked a meal in over a decade. But it's a lie designed to hurt.

Just then, the door opens again. It's Charlotte. She looks tired, stressed, but she forces a small smile when she sees Howard.

"I see you're playing nurse," she says to him, her voice softening.

Then she looks at me, and her face hardens. "What's wrong now? Alex, Howard is being kind to you. The least you can do is be gracious."

I look at her, a desperate, silent plea in my eyes. You know. You have to remember. She' s the one who rushed me to the emergency room when I was ten after I ate a cookie at a school party. She held my hand the whole time, whispering that she' d never let anything happen to me.

But the woman standing in front of me isn' t the same person. Love has made her blind. Or perhaps, my obsession broke that part of her long ago.

There's no recognition in her eyes. Only impatience.

This is the test. And I have to fail it. For her sake.

With a hand that feels disconnected from my body, I pick up the spoon. I scoop up the creamy liquid.

I bring it to my lips and swallow.

The reaction is violent and immediate. My throat seizes. It feels like it' s packed with hot gravel. I can't draw a breath. Wheezing sounds escape my lips as I drop the bowl, clawing at my neck.

My EpiPen. It' s in my desk drawer. I stumble towards it, vision blurring.

I manage to pull the drawer open, my fingers fumbling for the auto-injector.

"Look, he's going for something!" Howard shouts, a panicked tremor in his voice.

He "stumbles" forward, knocking into me. My hand spasms. The EpiPen flies from my grasp, skittering across the hardwood floor and under the bed.

I fall to my knees, gasping for air. I look up at Charlotte, my hand outstretched, a silent plea for help.

She sees a monster.

She sees me, a "violent, unstable" boy, reaching for the man she loves.

"Alex, stop it! You're insane!" she shrieks, her face a mask of horror and fury.

She grabs her phone, not to call 911, but to hit the speed dial for security.

"He's having another episode. Take him to the cold storage room in the basement. Let him cool off."

The cold storage room. It was a joke punishment when I was a kid, after I broke a vase. I was terrified of the dark, and she' d lock me in for a minute before opening the door and laughing, pulling me into a hug.

Now, it's a tomb.

Two guards grab my arms. I can't fight back. My lungs are on fire. Black spots dance in my vision.

As they drag me from the room, I hear Howard's soothing voice.

"It's okay, Charlotte. He didn't mean it. He's just not well."

The last thing I see before they slam the heavy, insulated door is Charlotte, allowing Howard to pull her into a comforting embrace, her back turned on me completely.

The click of the lock echoes in the freezing darkness. Then, there is only the sound of my own ragged, failing breath.