Chapter 4

Farah Moore POV:

I woke up in a hospital room that smelled of antiseptic and despair. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest. My back was a single, throbbing mass of fire.

Brandon was sitting by my bedside, his expression unreadable as he held a bowl of medicine.

"You're awake," he said, his voice flat. "Drink this."

I turned my head away, the movement sending a fresh wave of pain through me. "I don't want it."

My eyes fell on his wrist. He was wearing a string of sandalwood prayer beads. I'd never seen them before. They were a stark contrast to the Patek Philippe he usually wore. Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Danial, the reckless actor, wouldn't wear something so... ascetic. This was the real Brandon. The cold, calculating CEO. The man who had ordered my beating.

"Caryl didn't mean to hurt you," he said, as if that explained everything. "She's been through a lot. She's not stable."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "She's not unstable, Brandon. She's a liar."

"Farah," he warned, his voice taking on a hard edge.

"Don't call me that," I snapped. "My name is Aurora." Then, correcting myself, I said, "You can call me Ms. Valois."

He stared at me, a flicker of surprise in his cold eyes. "What did you just say?"

I didn't answer. I used to call him "Bran," an intimate nickname that felt like ash in my mouth now. He had been my world. Now, he was just Brandon Carlson, a man I no longer knew. A man I no longer wanted to know.

"Do you love her?" I asked, the question hanging in the sterile air between us.

"She's my sister," he stated, his voice clipped.

"You know what I mean," I pressed, my voice low and shaking with suppressed rage. "Are you in love with Caryl?"

"No," he said, his denial too quick, too sharp. "My responsibility is to you. You are my fiancée."

Liar. My heart screamed the word, but I remained silent. What was the point? He would deny it all.

His phone rang, breaking the tense silence. He answered it, his voice instantly softening. "Caryl? What's wrong? ...No, don't cry. I'll be right there."

He hung up and stood, his attention already gone from me, from the woman whose back was shredded because of his "sister's" instability.

"I have to go," he said. "Caryl needs me."

"Go," I said, my voice hollow. "You don't need to come back. I don't need you here."

He left without another word.

The next few hours were a blur of pain and fever. The wounds on my back had become infected. I drifted in and out of consciousness, trapped in a hazy nightmare.

In a moment of lucidity, I heard voices just outside my door. Brandon and Danial.

"Is she okay?" Danial asked, a hint of genuine concern in his tone. "She looks terrible."

"She'll live," Brandon replied dismissively. "The nurse is about to draw her blood. Caryl's been feeling weak. The doctor wants to run some tests, and we need a fresh sample for the cross-matching."

My blood. They were taking my blood for her.

The door opened, and a nurse entered with a syringe. Brandon was right behind her. I was too weak to fight, too feverish to even speak. I could only watch as she tied a tourniquet around my arm and slid the needle into my vein.

My blood, dark and vital, filled the tube. My life force, being siphoned away for the woman who was systematically destroying me.

I felt a tear slip from the corner of my eye and trace a hot path down my temple. The injustice of it all was a physical weight, pressing down on me, suffocating me.

Brandon noticed the tear. He reached out and, with a surprising gentleness, wiped it away with his thumb.

"Be good, Farah," he murmured, his voice a low whisper. "I'll be back as soon as Caryl is settled."

Another lie. Another empty promise.

He took the vial of my blood and left.

I closed my eyes, the world fading to black. I felt the last vestiges of my love for him drain away, leaving behind a cold, desolate emptiness.

He was no longer the man I loved. He was my tormentor. And in that moment, in the sterile silence of the hospital room, I knew with absolute certainty: I no longer loved Brandon Carlson. I was free.