Chapter 4

From her perch at the bar, Kennedy watched them. Elliot never left Camille' s side. He fetched her drinks, laughed at her jokes, and kept a protective hand on the small of her back. The stoic, controlled man she knew was gone, replaced by someone attentive and warm.

A devastating realization hit her. Elliot wasn't cold and incapable of affection. He just wasn't capable of it with her. The warmth, the tenderness, the public displays of devotion-all of it was reserved for Camille. Kennedy only ever got the cool, detached CEO, the man who managed her as a problem and desired her as a secret.

The whispers around her confirmed it.

"They look so perfect together."

"He's so good to her. She's been through so much."

"I heard his last girlfriend was that wild Hall girl. He must be so relieved to be with someone stable like Camille."

Each word was another twist of the knife. She downed her drink, the burn of the alcohol a welcome distraction from the ache in her chest.

A host took the stage, announcing a party game. "Truth or Dare, with a tech twist!" he boomed. Questions would appear on a large screen, and a chosen guest would have to answer. Elliot was, of course, the first one chosen.

The first question was simple: "Beach or mountains?"

Elliot answered without hesitation. "Beach." A photo of a smiling Camille on a sandy shore flashed on the screen.

"Camille loves the beach," he explained, a soft smile touching his lips. "We used to go all the time when we were younger."

The crowd 'awed' and 'oohed'. Kennedy felt sick. She hated the beach. She loved the mountains. She'd told him that once, on a rare night when they had talked about something other than their clandestine affair. He clearly hadn't been listening.

The game continued. "Coffee or tea?" He chose tea, Camille's favorite. "Dogs or cats?" He chose dogs, because Camille had a golden retriever. Every choice, every answer, was a testament to his devotion to Camille, and a stark reminder of how little he knew, or cared to know, about Kennedy.

Then came the final question. The host grinned. "Alright, Elliot. For the final round. You have to choose. If you could only save one person in a disaster, who would it be?"

Two photos appeared on the screen, side by side.

One was of Camille, smiling sweetly, the picture of innocence.

The other was of Kennedy, a candid shot from a press event, her expression fierce and defiant.

The room fell silent. Every eye was on Elliot. He stood there for a long time, his face unreadable. Kennedy held her breath, a tiny, stupid flicker of hope igniting in the ruins of her heart. Maybe, just maybe, in this one moment, he would choose her. He would see her strength, her fire, and choose it over Camille's manufactured fragility.

He finally spoke, his voice clear and steady.

"I choose Camille."

The hope inside her died instantly, extinguished as if it had never been. The room erupted in applause. It was the perfect, romantic answer. The strong man choosing to protect the delicate woman.

Kennedy didn't hear it. She just placed her glass on the bar with a soft click, turned, and walked away. She fled to the restroom, the sound of the party fading behind her. She splashed cold water on her face, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Fool. You are such a fool.

She took a deep breath, composing herself. She would not let them see her break. She would walk back into that party, head held high, and act as if her heart wasn't bleeding out on the floor.

As she stepped into the dimly lit hallway, a man blocked her path. It was one of the drunk men from the park, his eyes filled with a leering familiarity.

"Well, well. Princess is all alone now," he sneered, stepping closer.

"Get out of my way," Kennedy said, her voice low and dangerous.

He laughed and reached for her. "I don't think so."

Just then, she saw Elliot at the far end of the hall. Their eyes met. For a second, she saw a flash of concern on his face. He started walking towards her. Relief, unwanted but potent, washed over her.

But then, a small, frightened cry came from the party room. "Elliot! Help!"

It was Camille.

Elliot stopped. He looked from Kennedy, who was being cornered by a predator, to the doorway where Camille's voice had come from. He didn't hesitate for a second.

He turned and rushed back into the party, abandoning Kennedy in the hallway.

The man in front of her grinned. "Looks like your knight in shining armor is busy."

In that moment, something inside Kennedy snapped. The pain, the humiliation, the endless betrayals-it all coalesced into a white-hot rage. She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She reached back to the small bar cart standing against the wall, grabbed an empty wine bottle, and smashed it against the cart's edge.

The drunk man's eyes widened in fear as she advanced on him, the jagged edge of the bottle held out like a weapon. He scrambled backward and fled.

She was left alone in the hallway, her hand bleeding from where she' d gripped the broken glass. The physical pain was a dull throb compared to the gaping wound in her soul.

She heard footsteps and looked up. Elliot was walking towards her, with Camille clinging to his arm, looking perfectly unharmed.

"Oh, my goodness, Kennedy, your hand!" Camille cried, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "What happened?"

Kennedy ignored her, her eyes locked on Elliot. "Did you save her?" she asked, her voice flat. "Was she in terrible danger?"

Elliot' s jaw tightened. He had seen what was happening. He knew Camille had faked her distress. And he had still chosen her. "She was scared. You can handle yourself."

Those words were the final nail in the coffin of her love. You can handle yourself. It wasn' t a compliment. It was an excuse. An excuse to abandon her, to always choose the easier path, the path that led to Camille.

"You're right," Kennedy said, a strange calm settling over her. "I can."

She looked down at her bleeding hand, then back at him. This was the end.

But the night wasn't over. As she walked out of the mansion and waited for a taxi, a car came screeching around the corner, its tires squealing on the pavement. It was moving too fast, out of control. It was headed straight for the spot where she stood, with Elliot and Camille just a few feet away.

Time seemed to slow down. She saw Elliot' s eyes widen in panic. She saw him move.

He didn't move towards her.

He threw himself in front of Camille, shielding her with his body without a second thought.

Kennedy was left completely exposed.

The impact was a brutal, jarring explosion of pain and shattering glass. The world went black.