Chapter 9

I woke up in a silent room. For a few seconds, I was disoriented, my mind a foggy landscape.

Then the memory of the operating room flooded back. Kalea' s face, smiling down at me. Drake' s empty promises.

I panicked. I opened my mouth to call for a nurse, to say anything.

Only a broken, airy croak came out.

I tried again. And again. Nothing but a pathetic, rasping sound.

My throat felt tight, raw. My eyes burned with frantic tears.

The door opened. Drake and Kalea walked in, looking like a power couple in their white coats.

I pointed desperately at my throat, my eyes begging him for an explanation.

Drake' s gaze flickered away, unable to meet mine. "There was a... complication during the surgery," he said, his voice strained. "An accident. But don't worry, Elyse. I promise, I will find a way to fix it."

I stared at him, my mind reeling. An accident? His voice was too smooth, his apology too quick. Something was wrong.

My eyes darted to Kalea. She was standing behind Drake, and for a split second, her mask of sweet concern dropped.

I saw her true expression.

It was pure, unadulterated triumph. A smug, victorious smile played on her lips, her eyes glinting with malicious glee.

It was like being struck by lightning.

It wasn't an accident. It was deliberate.

She had ruined my voice on purpose. All of it-the falls, the poisonings, the threats, my mother's death, my voice-it all led back to her. She had orchestrated my entire nightmare.

A wave of pure, white-hot rage surged through me. My mother. My voice. She had taken everything.

With a strength I didn't know I possessed, I grabbed the water pitcher from my bedside table and hurled it at her.

Drake moved in a flash, pulling Kalea behind him as the pitcher shattered against the wall.

"Elyse, have you lost your mind?" he roared, his face a mask of fury.

I stared at him, my chest heaving, my heart filled with a hatred so intense it was suffocating.

I pointed a shaking finger at Kalea, forcing the broken words from my ruined throat. "She... did it... on purpose."

Drake' s frown deepened. "Stop it," he said, his voice like a whip. "Kalea would never do something like that. You're just lashing out because things didn't go your way. It's what you always do."

His words hit me harder than any physical blow.

He didn't believe me. He would never believe me. In his eyes, I was the hysterical, spoiled child, and she was the innocent victim.

I looked at his handsome, furious face, and a bitter, broken laugh escaped my lips.

I finally understood. Kalea was the architect of my pain, but Drake... Drake was the weapon she had used to destroy me. Without his blind trust, his blatant favoritism, his cruel neglect, she would have been powerless. He was just as guilty.

For the next few days, I was silent. A ghost in a hospital bed.

Drake visited every day, repeating his empty promises to fix my throat. I never once looked at him.

On the fourth night, a message appeared on my phone. It was from Mr. Miles. It contained flight information for a flight to another country, leaving the next morning. It also confirmed a large sum of money had been transferred to a new bank account in my name.

I hadn't told him about my mother's death. I didn't have the strength.

I simply typed back, "Okay."

A few minutes later, Drake came in to say goodnight. "I have a conference tomorrow, so I won't be here," he said. "The new surgery to fix your throat is scheduled for after the wedding."

I didn't even lift my head from the pillow.

Later, I idly scrolled through my phone. A new post from Kalea popped up. It was a picture of her and Drake, an intimate selfie. The caption read, "Looking forward to a wonderful conference weekend with my favorite mentor! "

My hand shook. I blocked her number and deleted her contact. Then I powered down the phone.

The next morning, the rain had stopped. Sunlight streamed through the window, bright and hopeful.

I changed out of the hospital gown, put on my own clothes, and walked out of the hospital without looking back.

I found the nearest trash can, took out the phone's SIM card, and snapped it in half.

I dropped the pieces into the bin.

Then, with nothing but the clothes on my back and a heart full of ghosts, I walked toward the airport, my face turned toward the sun.

I was finally, irrevocably, on my own.