Chapter 4

Aimee Ramirez POV:

The days in the hospital bled into a gray, monotonous blur. I was a ghost haunting the sterile halls, my existence marked only by the nurse' s chart at the foot of my bed. From Karma's room, there was a steady stream of visitors, laughter, and the scent of expensive flowers. Kyle had ordered a private chef to prepare her meals, the delicious aromas wafting down the corridor to mock my own untouched trays of hospital food. A bitter, acidic anger festered in my gut. I was the one who had given my blood, yet I was being treated like a drained-out inconvenience.

I was mostly ignored, a forgotten piece of a puzzle Kyle had already solved. Then, one afternoon, he appeared in my room, a disturbingly cheerful smile on his face.

"Get dressed," he announced. "We're going sailing."

I stared at him. "I'm not going anywhere."

"It's the annual corporate retreat. The board will be there. We need to present a united front," he said, his smile not reaching his eyes. It wasn't a request; it was an order. "Karma's feeling much better. The doctor said some fresh sea air would be good for her and the baby."

His words were a casual twist of the knife. I was being summoned as a prop for his corporate theater, all for the comfort of the woman who had destroyed my life. The fight had gone out of me, replaced by a weary resignation. Arguing was pointless.

"Fine," I said.

The yacht was obscenely luxurious, a floating palace of teak and polished brass. Karma was the center of attention, lounging on a deck chair like a pregnant Cleopatra, surrounded by fawning board members. She wore a flowing white dress, her hand resting proprietorially on her slight bump. I stood alone by the railing, a pale, silent specter in a navy blue dress, my bandaged arm a stark reminder of my sacrifice.

"Time for the annual tradition!" Kyle called out, holding a bottle of champagne. "A toast to another year of success!"

He popped the cork, and everyone cheered. He went around, pouring a glass for each board member. Then it was my turn.

"Oh, Aimee can't have any," Karma chirped from her throne. "She needs to pilot the jet ski for the celebratory lap. It's tradition, isn't it? The co-founders leading the way?"

My blood ran cold. I hadn' t been on a jet ski in years. After the transfusion, I barely had the strength to stand, let alone control a powerful machine on open water.

Kyle hesitated for a fraction of a second. I saw the conflict in his eyes. But one look at Karma' s pouting face, and he caved. "It's tradition," he agreed, avoiding my gaze.

The sea was choppier than it looked. My body ached with every wave that slapped against the jet ski. Beside me, Kyle effortlessly cut through the water, laughing as Karma, riding behind him, squealed with delight. She kept urging him to go faster, to create a bigger wake for me to cross. Each jolt sent a fresh spike of pain through my head and arm.

Then, the sky began to darken. A sudden squall was rolling in. The wind picked up, whipping the waves into a frenzy.

"Kyle, we need to go back!" I yelled over the roar of the engine.

He gave a dismissive wave. "One more lap! For the team!"

Karma turned, a malicious glint in her eye. "Don't be such a spoilsport, Aimee. A little rain won't hurt you."

The storm hit with ferocious speed. Rain lashed down, blurring my vision. A huge wave slammed into me, nearly knocking me off. My safety line, the cord connecting my life vest to the jet ski's kill switch, was the only thing keeping me attached.

"Ky, I'm scared!" Karma shrieked, her act of bravery forgotten. "My stomach hurts! Take me back now!"

Instantly, Kyle' s priorities shifted. He turned his jet ski, racing back toward the yacht, leaving me to fend for myself in the churning sea.

I watched them go, a new level of despair washing over me. He was abandoning me. Again. As I struggled to turn my own machine, I saw Karma lean over the back of their jet ski. She was doing something with her hands, something near the water.

Then I felt a sudden, sharp tug, followed by a sickening release. My safety line had been severed.

"He's all mine," I heard her scream over the wind, her voice a triumphant shriek.

Another monstrous wave crashed over me, and this time, there was nothing to hold me. I was thrown into the violent, churning water. The waves dragged me under, the cold a crushing weight on my chest. I fought my way to the surface, gasping for air, my limbs heavy and useless.

"Kyle!" I screamed, my voice swallowed by the storm. "Help me!"

I saw him on the yacht, pulling a blanket around Karma' s shoulders. He looked back, his eyes scanning the waves. For a heart-stopping moment, our gazes met. I saw a flicker of panic in his face. He knew I was in trouble.

"My a-arm..." I managed to choke out, just as I was dragged under again. My injured arm was on fire, useless. My head was pounding.

I surfaced again, spitting out saltwater, my energy fading fast. I was going to die. He was going to let me die.

I made my way toward a small, rocky islet, my only hope. Every movement was agony. The waves crashed against the sharp rocks, tearing at my dress and my skin. After what felt like an eternity, my fingers closed around a jagged edge of rock. I hauled myself out of the water, collapsing onto the small patch of land, my body a mass of cuts and bruises.

From my miserable perch, I could see the yacht. I saw Kyle, his phone to his ear, his back to the sea where I was fighting for my life. He was comforting Karma.

He hesitated, turning back to the storm-tossed ocean for a moment, a flicker of something-guilt? concern?-crossing his features.

"Kyle, the baby!" Karma's manipulative cry carried across the water. "I think something's wrong!"

That was it. The choice was made. He turned his back on me for the last time, disappearing with her into the yacht' s cabin.

The yacht's engines roared to life, and it began to move away, leaving me to die on a desolate rock in the middle of a raging storm.