Chapter 2

The doctor said I needed to stay in the hospital.

"The wound is infected, Miss Holt. You have a high fever. You cannot be discharged."

A nurse stood beside him, her face filled with worry. "Your body is at its limit. You need rest."

But Bradley Porter's assistant, a man with a face as cold as his boss's, just handed me a set of clothes.

"Mr. Porter needs you. Miss Tyson is back."

My heart stopped for a second.

Kylie.

She was back.

The assistant didn't care about my fever or my infected wound. He just repeated his words, "Mr. Porter is waiting at the private airport."

I pushed myself up, my body screaming in protest. Every muscle ached, and my head was spinning. I gritted my teeth and followed him out of the hospital.

The wind at the airport was cold, cutting through my thin clothes. I saw them from a distance.

Bradley was standing by his private jet, and a woman with long, flowing hair was running toward him.

Kylie Tyson.

She jumped into his arms, and he caught her, spinning her around. The smile on his face was one I had never seen before. It was bright, genuine, and full of a love that was never meant for me.

The cold, ruthless billionaire was gone. In his place was a man completely besotted.

"Bradley, I missed you so much!" Kylie's voice was sweet like honey, but to me, it sounded like poison.

"I missed you too, my Kylie," he said, his voice thick with emotion. He kissed her deeply, a kiss full of longing and relief.

I stood there, a few yards away, my presence completely ignored. I was just part of the scenery. The pain in my shoulder was a dull throb compared to the sharp agony in my chest. My heart felt like it was being torn into pieces.

Kylie finally noticed me. She looked me up and down, a flicker of disdain in her eyes.

"Bradley, who is this? Why is your bodyguard a woman?" she asked, her tone demanding. "I don't like it. And my luggage is heavy. Make her carry it."

Bradley looked at me for the first time. There was a hint of something in his eyes-maybe guilt, maybe just annoyance.

"Kaci, your wound..." he started to say.

It was the first time he'd shown any concern for my injury. A tiny, foolish spark of hope ignited within me.

But it was extinguished as quickly as it appeared.

Kylie pouted, her lower lip trembling. "Oh, my wrist! I think I sprained it on the flight." She cradled her wrist as if it were broken.

"What? Let me see!" Bradley's attention snapped back to her instantly. He examined her wrist with an exaggerated concern that was almost comical. "Does it hurt? We need to get you to a doctor right away!"

I remembered the night I took a bullet for him. I had collapsed, bleeding on the floor. He had just glanced at me, his face impassive, and ordered his men to "clean up the mess."

The contrast was a slap in the face.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I forced myself to breathe, to push the bitterness down.

"Kaci," Bradley's voice was sharp, impatient. "What are you waiting for? Get the luggage."

There were five large suitcases. Each one was heavy.

I walked toward the plane, my steps unsteady. With each step, the pain in my shoulder intensified. I picked up the first suitcase, and a wave of dizziness washed over me.

The world tilted, and the edges of my vision turned black. I could feel my body giving out.

"Useless," Kylie sneered from behind me. "Can't even carry a single bag. Bradley, where did you find such a weakling?"

Bradley didn't even look at me. His focus was entirely on Kylie.

His words hit me harder than any bullet.

Endure. That's all I was to him. A thing that could withstand pain.

My heart felt like a frozen block of ice.

I remembered the bullet, the searing pain, the blood. I had looked at him, hoping for a shred of compassion. He had turned away.

I had whispered, "Sir, it's for you."

He hadn't even looked back.

Now, he was fussing over Kylie's fake sprain.

"I'm sorry, Miss Tyson," I said, my voice barely a whisper. I had to apologize for being weak, for being in pain.

"Sorry isn't good enough," Kylie said, her voice dripping with malice. "I want you to carry my shoes. My feet hurt from the flight."

She kicked off her high heels. They landed in front of me.

Bradley said nothing. His silence was his consent.

I bent down, my wound screaming in protest. The world spun violently. I picked up her shoes, the scent of her expensive perfume filling my nostrils.

It was the same perfume Bradley sometimes sprayed on my pillow.

Kylie looked at me with a triumphant smile, then turned to Bradley, her voice turning sweet again. "Bradley, dear, I'm so tired."

"I'll carry you," he said, his voice now a gentle murmur.

He picked her up as if she weighed nothing.

As he walked past me, he didn't even glance in my direction. He was completely absorbed in his perfect reunion.

I watched them go, my vision blurring. The shoes in my hand felt impossibly heavy. The pain was too much.

My body finally gave up. I collapsed onto the cold tarmac, the world fading to black.