Chapter 4

Allie POV:

I woke up to the familiar hum of hospital machinery, the scent of disinfectant filling my nostrils. Another night, another fight for my life. The doctors had worked through the night, pulling me back from the brink of anaphylactic shock. My body felt heavy, bruised, but I was alive. Barely.

August sat by my bed, his head in his hands, looking utterly defeated. His eyes were red-rimmed, his suit rumpled. His presence here, after all that had happened, felt like a cruel joke.

He lifted his head, his gaze accusatory. "Why, Allie? Why didn't you take your medication? You almost died again! You deliberately put yourself in danger."

"Where were you?" I asked, my voice raspy. "When I was dying, where were you?"

His shoulders slumped. "Harper had a false alarm. It was nothing. Just stress. I had to be there for her. For the baby." The same old excuse, the same old hierarchy of concern. My life was always less important than Harper's comfort.

My heart, which I thought had turned to stone, twisted with a dull, aching pain. It wasn't the sharp, piercing pain of betrayal anymore, just a weary numbness. I was tired of fighting, tired of hoping, tired of expecting anything from him.

A tear escaped, tracing a lonely path down my temple. I quickly wiped it away. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. With a surge of adrenaline, I grabbed the small bag of tranquilizers he had swapped for my allergy medication. With all my strength, I hurled the bag at him. The plastic clattered against the wall, the pills scattering across the sterile floor like tiny, white lies.

August flinched, his eyes wide. He looked at the pills, then back at me, his face pale, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. "Allie..." he started, his voice barely a whisper.

"You switched them, didn't you?" I accused, my voice trembling with rage. "You replaced my life-saving medication with sedatives. You tried to kill me."

He looked at the floor, then back at me, his eyes filled with a desperate, pathetic plea. "I... I just wanted to make sure you didn't do anything reckless. Harper was so distressed. It was a mistake, Allie. I swear." He didn't deny it. He couldn't.

"She suggested it, didn't she?" I pushed, the pieces clicking into place. "She always finds a way to make me the villain."

"No!" he insisted, but his eyes darted away. "She... she was just concerned for the baby. She said you were too unstable, that you would hurt yourself and, by extension, her baby." He was still deflecting, still protecting her.

A hysterical laugh bubbled up from my chest, bitter and hollow. "Unstable? Reckless? Or just inconvenient?" I choked, the laughter turning into sobs. "Get out, August. Get out and never come back."

His eyes filled with tears, his hand reaching for mine. "Allie, please. Don't say that. I can make this right. I promise."

Just then, a nurse peeked her head in. "Mr. Dalton, Harper is looking for you. She's very agitated."

August froze, his gaze torn between me and the door. He hesitated for a long, agonizing moment, then sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I'll be right there." He gave me one last, lingering look, his eyes full of a mixture of regret and something else-a desperate need to escape. "I'll be back, Allie," he mumbled as he closed the door, the words hollow and meaningless.

I closed my eyes, a single tear tracing a burning path down my cheek. The promises were always just out of reach, always just an excuse for his absence. Everyone told me to be patient, to endure, that he would come back. They said love was worth fighting for, worth waiting for. But I had lost everything. My love, my baby, my future. There was nothing left to wait for.

The next day, my hospital room was overflowing with expensive gifts. Designer clothes, rare jewelry, exotic flowers. A parade of nurses, their eyes wide with envy, congratulated me on having such a devoted husband.

"He certainly knows how to make amends," one whispered, rearranging a bouquet of crimson roses. "You're a lucky woman, Mrs. Dalton."

I looked at the glittering piles of useless items, a bitter smile twisting my lips. He wasn't making amends. He was buying absolution. These were reparations, a desperate attempt to erase his guilt, to smooth over his crimes with cold, hard cash. It was his way of saying, "I'm sorry I tried to kill you, but here, have a diamond necklace."

The phone rang. It was August. "Allie, I'm picking you up from the hospital tomorrow. We're going to talk." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.

The next morning, I stood by the hospital entrance, waiting. Minutes stretched into an hour. He wasn't there. He never was. Just as the familiar ache of abandonment began to settle in, a blur of motion. A screech of tires.

A car, black and sleek, surged towards me, accelerating. My eyes widened in terror. It wasn't slowing down. It was aiming for me. A primal scream tore from my throat as the world spun, and I was thrown backwards, my body hitting the pavement with a sickening thud. Pain exploded through my legs, a blinding, searing agony. My vision swam, white spots dancing before my eyes.

"Help me!" I gasped, my voice thin, desperate.

Blackness claimed me, only to be replaced by the familiar sterile scent of an emergency room. Again. The cycle of pain, betrayal, and near-death. Through the haze of painkillers, I heard voices from outside my door. August.

"I need her to stay put," August said, his voice low and cold. "Make sure her recovery is... prolonged. No visitors. No contact with the outside world."

"Sir, are you sure?" a younger voice, his assistant probably, asked hesitantly. "This seems... extreme. She could sue you for this."

"She attacked Harper," August snarled, his voice laced with a fury I had never heard before. "She threatened our baby. This is for Harper's protection. For my child's protection."

My blood ran cold. The car. It wasn't an accident. It was him. He had done this to me. The mugging, the shattered legs, the agonizing pain. All of it, orchestrated by the man who had vowed to protect me.

The voices outside faded, replaced by the deafening roar of betrayal in my ears. He had tried to kill me. Not once, but twice. And he had succeeded in crippling me. My own husband. The man I had loved more than life itself.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and furious. I covered my mouth with my hand, stifling the sobs. There was nothing left. No love, no hope, no future. Just a gaping wound where my heart used to be, and the chilling realization that my tormentor wore the face of the man I had married.