Chapter 5

Claire Costa POV:

I woke up to the sterile scent of antiseptic and the soft beep of a heart monitor. A hospital. My hand was professionally bandaged, a dull throb echoing up my arm.

A nurse bustled in, her expression kind. "You're awake. You gave us all quite a scare. Your husband was worried sick. He hasn't left your side."

My husband. The words were a bitter joke. She smiled and left the room, leaving me alone with the silence and the beeping.

My mind replayed the words I' d heard before I passed out. Elliot' s plan. He had sent those men. He had orchestrated my terror.

A phone buzzed on the nightstand. It wasn' t mine. It was a sleek, black phone I recognized instantly. Killian's. He must have left it when he went to talk to the doctor.

The screen was lit up with a group chat notification. The messages were right there, impossible to ignore.

Tech Heir: Bro, that was too close. Elliot is a psycho. You saved her.

Another Friend: What the hell was he thinking? You should have seen Killian' s face. He almost killed those guys.

Tech Heir: So, what' s the plan now? Elliot' s probably gonna lose his mind when he finds out you interfered.

I scrolled up, my fingers numb.

Killian: He can lose his mind all he wants. I have her now.

Killian: Saving her was just part of the performance. Had to make it look good. She' s so gullible, she'll believe anything as long as I act like him.

Tech Heir: Classic. You two have been fighting over her since you were kids. This whole swap was just another game for you to win, wasn' t it?

Killian: Maybe. But staying with Kassie is what he wants. He gets his 'true love,' and I get... a little fun. It' s a win-win.

Another Friend: Fun? That 'fun' is going to get you killed when Elliot is done with Kassie. Anyway, since they're getting married, can you share the wealth? Let the boys have a taste of Mrs. Callahan?

My heart stopped. The beeping of the monitor sped up, a frantic rhythm against the roaring in my ears.

Killian: Fine. Once I'm tired of her, she's all yours.

The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the floor.

A sound, a raw, strangled gasp, tore from my throat. It didn't even sound human. My heart wasn' t just breaking; it was being systematically ripped apart, piece by bloody piece. He was playing a role. He was going to get tired of me. He was going to pass me around to his friends like a party favor.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, forcing the scream back down. My eyes burned, but no tears came. There was nothing left to cry.

The pain was so immense, so all-consuming, it transcended feeling. It became a state of being. I was no longer a person. I was a hollowed-out shell, filled with nothing but cold, dead silence.

For the next few days, Killian played the part of the devoted husband flawlessly. He brought me food from my favorite restaurants. He read my favorite books aloud to me. He handled my work emails, his replies perfectly mimicking Elliot' s professional tone. He was attentive, gentle, and loving.

He was a monster wearing my husband's face.

The performance was so perfect, so convincing, that the nurses cooed over him. "You have the most wonderful husband," one of them told me as she changed my dressing. "A true modern-day prince."

I just smiled, a dead, empty curve of my lips.

One afternoon, he got a call. I heard his side of the conversation, his voice tight with annoyance. "What does she want now? Fine, I'll be right there."

He came back into the room, his expression smoothing back into one of gentle concern. "That was work. I have to go, but I'll be back as soon as I can." He leaned down to kiss me, but I turned my head, and his lips brushed my cheek. He froze for a second before straightening up, his jaw tight. He gave detailed instructions to the nurse and then left in a hurry.

He' d left his tablet on the nightstand. Curiosity, a morbid, self-destructive impulse, made me pick it up. He had left Kassie's social media page open.

The latest post was a picture of her and Elliot. The real Elliot. They were on a private jet, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. The caption read: He always comes when I call. My hero.

The post was from five minutes ago.

He hadn't gone to a meeting. He'd gone to her. The prince had rushed to his real princess's side.

I laughed. A dry, rasping sound.

I didn't wait for him to come back. I checked myself out of the hospital, took a cab to the penthouse, and began to pack.

But I wasn't packing my things. I was packing his.

Every suit, every tie, every pair of cufflinks he had worn while pretending to be my husband. Every book he had read to me. Every gift he had given me, masquerading as Elliot. I put it all in boxes.

This penthouse was mine. It was in the postnuptial agreement, the one Elliot had signed. And while Kassie and her coffee had ruined the physical copy, the digital record was binding. He had bought my silence, and I was going to make him pay the price.

I would not be the one to leave. I was done being a victim in their games.

The liars, the cheats, the men who had broken me-they would be the ones to go.