Chapter 5

Christie stood in the doorway, her eyes sweeping over the lavish party with disdain. She looked at the flowers, the food, the smiling guests, and her lip curled. Then her sharp gaze found me.

"Emily," she said, her voice dripping with false concern. "I can' t believe you. How could you be so selfish?"

The music screeched to a halt. The room fell silent. Everyone stared.

"Declan just got you out of the hospital," she continued, her voice rising, accusing. "You were nearly killed! And you force him to throw you a party? Don' t you care about his health at all? The stress, the noise... it' s terrible for his recovery!"

She was a master manipulator, twisting reality into a weapon.

One of Declan' s friends, braver than the rest, spoke up. "Christie, you' ve got it wrong. This wasn' t Emily' s idea. Declan planned this as a surprise for her."

Declan nodded, stepping forward. "She' s right, Christie. Emily didn' t know anything about it." His tone was placating, but there was a coldness in it. He was annoyed that his little show was being disrupted.

Christie' s composure faltered for a second. She hadn' t expected to be contradicted. But she recovered instantly, her eyes filling with tears.

She turned to Declan, her voice a wounded whisper. "So what am I to you, Declan? Just the therapist you call when you need help? I put everything into your recovery. I told you to avoid stress, to rest. And you ignore my advice for... for this!"

She gestured wildly at the room. "I can' t do this anymore. I' m leaving."

And there it was again. The ultimate threat.

Declan' s face tightened with familiar anxiety. He needed her. Or at least, he believed he did. He started to move toward her, a frantic look in his eyes.

"Christie, wait-"

He threw a quick, apologetic glance over his shoulder at me. "Something' s come up with work. I have to go."

It was a pathetic, transparent lie.

I just watched him, my face a mask of indifference. I didn' t call him out. I didn' t fight. What was the point?

"I' m tired anyway," I said, getting to my feet. "I think I' ll head home."

I walked out, leaving the dying party behind me. I didn't go home. Instead, I walked down the hall and stopped around a corner, hidden in the shadows. I knew he would follow her.

A moment later, they appeared. Declan had Christie pinned against the wall, his expression a mixture of frustration and desperation.

"What do you want, Christie?" he pleaded.

She just stared at him, her chin trembling, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. It was a perfect performance of a wronged woman.

His frustration melted away. He sighed, his voice softening. "Don' t be like this. You know I need you." He promised her anything she wanted, just like he always did.

She finally spoke, her voice a childish, pouting whisper. She looked over Declan' s shoulder and her eyes met mine across the hall. A triumphant, vicious smile flickered across her lips before she hid her face in his chest.

She whispered something in his ear. I couldn' t hear the words, but I saw his face change. He looked conflicted, then resolute. He nodded.

I didn' t know what she' d asked for, but a cold dread slithered down my spine.

Declan left her there and walked back towards me. He appeared in front of me so suddenly I jumped.

His eyes were full of a strange, conflicted apology. "Emily," he said, his voice low. "Go wait for me in the car. I' ll be right there."

I nodded, not questioning him. I was too numb to feel anything but a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. I took the elevator down to the parking garage.

The moment the elevator doors slid open, a hand clamped over my mouth from behind. Another arm wrapped around my waist, lifting me off my feet.

I struggled, but the grip was like iron. A sharp, sweet smell filled my nostrils from a cloth pressed against my face.

My vision blurred. My limbs went heavy.

The last thought that drifted through my mind before I blacked out was that this was Declan's doing. This was Christie's price.