You Can't Afford My Broken Heart

Katharine Kent POV:

"When are you going to put her out of her misery, Drew?"

The words bled through the heavy mahogany door of the VIP lounge. I froze. My fingers, wrapped tightly around the velvet box containing the vintage Patek Philippe cufflinks, suddenly went numb.

The hallway of the Manhattan elite club was dimly lit by brass wall sconces. I stood perfectly still. My heart didn't just drop; it slammed against my ribs, knocking the breath from my lungs.

I pressed my shoulder against the doorframe, peering through the slight crack.

Inside, Andrew Blackburn sat slouched on a leather Chesterfield sofa. He swirled a glass of amber bourbon. His posture was lazy. His face, usually so composed and attentive when he looked at me, held a cold, bored expression I had never seen in our eight years together.

"Soon," Andrew said. His voice was a low rumble. He took a sip of his drink. "Katharine is useful for now. She's the perfect PR shield."

Bile rose in the back of my throat. My stomach twisted into a violent knot.

"A shield for Alida?" one of the guys asked, laughing.

"Exactly," Andrew replied, setting his glass on the table. He adjusted his pristine white cuffs, a gesture he always made when he was completely in control. "The press is relentless. If they think I'm serious about Katharine, they leave Alida alone. Alida is too fragile for the tabloids. I'm setting up a fake pregnancy rumor and a highly publicized wedding with Alida down the line. But until the trust fund is secure, Katharine plays her part."

"She's obsessed with you, man," another voice chimed in. "She's not going to let go easily."

Andrew scoffed. The sound was like a physical slap to my face.

"She will when she sees the prenup," Andrew said flatly. "I'll make the terms so draconian she'll run for the hills. She's just clinging to the lifestyle."

I couldn't breathe. The air in the hallway felt too thick, too hot. My vision blurred. I took a step back, desperate to get oxygen into my burning lungs.

My heel caught the edge of a metal tray stand left by a waiter.

Clang.

The sound of the heavy metal tray striking the floor was deafening in the quiet corridor. It was immediately followed by the muffled crunch of crystal glasses shattering against the thick, plush carpet.

The laughter inside the VIP room stopped instantly.

Through the crack in the door, I saw Andrew's head snap toward the entrance. His eyes narrowed, sharp and alert.

Panic, raw and electric, shot through my veins. I spun around. My heels dug into the carpet as I sprinted toward the corner. I threw open the heavy fire door and slipped into the concrete stairwell just as the mahogany door of the lounge swung open.

I pressed my back against the freezing concrete wall. I clamped both hands over my mouth, biting down on my own fingers to stifle the sob tearing up my throat.

Through the thick door, I heard Andrew's voice.

"Just broken glass," he muttered. "Get a waiter to clean this up."

The door clicked shut.

I slid down the wall until I hit the cold stairs. My chest heaved. The eight years of devotion, the late nights helping him with crisis management, the endless patience-it was all a clinical, calculated joke. I was a meat shield for Alida Scott.

I looked down at the velvet box in my hand. My knuckles were stark white.

I stood up. My legs felt like lead, but I forced them to move. I walked down the stairs, stopping at a metal trash can on the landing. I didn't open the box. I just dropped the ten-thousand-dollar cufflinks into the garbage.

I pushed through the ground-floor exit and stepped out into the biting chill of the New York night. The wind whipped my hair across my face. I pulled out my phone and ordered an Uber.

When the black SUV pulled up to the curb, I climbed into the backseat.

"Upper East Side," I told the driver. My voice sounded hollow, like it belonged to a dead woman.

As the neon lights of Manhattan blurred past the window, I opened my phone's photo gallery. Eight years of memories stared back at me. Andrew smiling at a gala. Andrew kissing my cheek in Central Park.

My stomach lurched again. I tapped the 'Select All'button.

With one press of my thumb, I deleted every single trace of him. The screen went blank.

The car stopped in front of my apartment building. I pushed the door open, walked through the marble lobby, and rode the elevator up to my floor.

I unlocked my door and stepped inside. I didn't turn on the lights. I walked straight to the living room and collapsed onto the leather sofa. The silence of the apartment pressed down on me.

My phone buzzed on the cushion.

The screen lit up the dark room. It was a text from Andrew.

Happy birthday. Stuck in a meeting. Let's do dinner next week.

I stared at the cold, sterile words. A dry, humorless laugh scraped its way out of my throat.

I tossed the phone onto the rug. I stood up, walked into the bathroom, and turned on the cold tap. I splashed the freezing water onto my face over and over until my skin was numb. I looked at my pale reflection in the mirror. My eyes were red, but the tears were gone.

I walked back into the living room and opened my MacBook. The bright screen illuminated my face. I logged into my legal portal.

My fingers flew across the keyboard. I pulled up my asset lists, severing every joint account and trust link tied to the Blackburn family. Then, I opened a blank document.

I began typing a Non-Disclosure Agreement. I made the terms ironclad. Total separation.

I attached the draft to an email and sent it to my private lawyer with a single line: Execute this first thing tomorrow.

A wave of exhaustion hit me, heavy and absolute. But my eyes were clear.

I picked up my phone, dialed a number, and waited for the voicemail beep.

"This is Katharine Kent," I said, my voice steady. "I need to book a full international relocation service to Paris. As soon as possible."

Katharine Kent POV:

The morning sun sliced through the gaps in the blinds, hitting me right in the eyes.

I woke up stiff on the living room sofa. My laptop was still open on the coffee table. I sat up, my joints aching, and picked up my phone from the rug.

There were three new texts from Andrew.

Where were you last night?

Why aren't you answering?

Call me.

I stared at the screen. My pulse didn't flutter. My chest felt completely hollowed out. I typed a single letter.

Busy.

I hit send and tossed the phone onto the cushion.

Miles away, in the penthouse office of the Blackburn Tower on Wall Street, Andrew stared at his phone. His jaw clenched. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, a spike of irritation flaring in his chest.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Blackburn?" his assistant asked, holding a stack of briefing folders.

"No," Andrew said coldly. "Katharine is playing games. She thinks playing hard to get will give her leverage for the prenup."

"Should I cancel the dinner reservation for tonight?"

"Yes," Andrew snapped. He adjusted his cuffs. "Call Alida. Tell her I'm taking her to Ethan's birthday gala at the Waldorf tonight instead."

By early evening, I stood in my walk-in closet. The racks were filled with vibrant, expensive gowns Andrew had bought for me over the years. I ignored all of them.

I reached into the back and pulled out a simple, long-sleeved black velvet dress. It was modest, severe, and completely devoid of flash. I slipped it on. I didn't bother with makeup, leaving my face pale and my features sharp.

I took a black car to the Waldorf Astoria.

The grand ballroom was a sea of gold and crystal. As I walked through the heavy double doors, the suffocating heat of a hundred bodies and expensive perfumes hit me. People turned to look. Fake smiles stretched across the faces of the socialites as they murmured greetings.

I nodded politely, my face a mask of polite indifference. I walked straight past the crowd and positioned myself near the champagne tower in the far corner.

Suddenly, the heavy doors swung open again.

A flurry of camera flashes erupted from the lobby. Andrew walked in. His hand was resting possessively on Alida's lower back.

My eyes locked onto Alida's dress. It was a limited-edition haute couture gown-the exact one I had pointed out in a magazine last week. Andrew had told me it was sold out.

My fingers tightened around the stem of my champagne flute. The glass dug into my skin. Then, slowly, I forced my fingers to relax. It was just absurd now.

Andrew scanned the room. His eyes cut through the crowd and landed on me in my plain black dress. His brow furrowed. He shot me a look of warning, expecting me to look away in shame or jealousy.

I met his gaze dead-on. My eyes were flat, devoid of any recognition. I looked at him like he was a stranger waiting for a bus.

Andrew's jaw tightened. A muscle ticked in his cheek. He looked visibly annoyed by my lack of reaction. He pulled Alida closer and guided her toward the center of the room.

A few minutes later, Alida detached herself from Andrew and swayed over to my corner. She held a crystal flute, her smile dripping with fake sweetness.

"Katharine," Alida cooed, stepping uncomfortably close. "You look so... tired. Are you feeling okay? Drew bought me this dress today. He said it matched my eyes."

I looked at the dress, then at Alida's face.

"It suits you," I said, my voice completely flat. I turned to walk away.

As I pivoted, Alida's eyes flashed with malice. Alida subtly shifted her weight and brought the sharp heel of her stiletto down hard onto the trailing hem of my black velvet skirt.

I took a step, but the fabric yanked me backward. My ankle twisted. I stumbled hard, my arms flailing as I fell toward the edge of the dessert table.

A strong hand shot out and gripped my bicep, yanking me upright before I hit the marble floor.

It was Ethan. My brother's face was red with sudden fury.

Ethan turned his glare onto Alida. "What the hell are you doing?" he barked, his voice carrying over the music.

Alida gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth, and her eyes instantly filled with tears. She stumbled backward, looking terrified. "I-I didn't! She tripped!"

Andrew materialized from the crowd instantly. He stepped in front of Alida, shielding her with his body. He glared at Ethan, then turned his furious eyes on me.

"Are you out of your mind?" Andrew hissed at me, his voice vibrating with anger. "You're going to bully her at your own brother's birthday party? Grow up, Katharine."

The surrounding guests fell silent. Whispers broke out. Eyes darted toward me, filled with pity and mockery.

I stood perfectly still. I looked at Andrew's broad shoulders, positioned to protect Alida from me. The last remaining warmth in my chest turned to solid ice. I didn't feel angry. I just felt exhausted.

Ethan stepped forward, his fists clenching. "Andrew, you son of a-"

I reached out and wrapped my cold fingers around Ethan's wrist.

"Let's go," I said. My voice was a quiet, chilling whisper.

I didn't wait for a response. I turned my back on Andrew, Alida, and the staring crowd, and walked toward the opposite side of the ballroom.

Katharine Kent POV:

The gala moved into the speeches. The main chandeliers dimmed, and a bright spotlight hit the center stage.

I stood in the deep shadows near the heavy velvet curtains at the edge of the room. I kept my distance from the crowd.

In the center of the dance floor, directly under the massive, multi-tiered crystal chandelier, Andrew stood with Alida. They were the focal point of the room, bathing in the ambient light.

High above them, near the vaulted ceiling, a sharp, metallic groan echoed.

It was a sickening sound. The grinding of steel giving way.

A few tiny shards of glass rained down first. They hit the champagne tower with sharp, crystalline pings.

The crowd gasped. Heads tilted upward.

The heavy steel cable holding the thousand-pound chandelier snapped.

The massive structure plummeted. It was falling directly toward Alida.

Instinct took over. Andrew's eyes went wide. In a split second, he lunged forward, his arms extending with explosive force to shove the person nearest to him out of the danger zone, creating a clear path to grab Alida.

He didn't look at who he was pushing.

His heavy hands slammed into my shoulders. Ethan had spotted me hiding in the shadows just moments before. He had walked over, gently taking my arm to guide me away from the drafty curtains and closer to the warmth of the room's center, insisting I at least have a proper view of the speeches. The shifting crowd had closed in behind us, trapping me in the inner circle.

The force of Andrew's shove lifted me off my feet. I flew backward, my spine colliding violently with the edge of the marble dessert table.

A fraction of a second later, the chandelier hit the floor exactly where I had been standing.

The impact sounded like a bomb detonating. The floor shook. Thousands of razor-sharp crystal shards exploded outward like shrapnel.

The flying glass ripped through the air. Several large, jagged pieces sliced deep into my calves and forearms.

I hit the floor hard, landing directly on a bed of shattered glass. The breath was knocked out of me. A searing, blinding pain tore through my legs. Warm blood immediately soaked through the black velvet of my dress, pooling on the white marble.

Screams erupted. The ballroom descended into absolute chaos. People trampled over each other to reach the exits.

"Katharine!" Ethan's roar tore through the noise. He shoved people aside, sprinting toward the wreckage.

Andrew was crouching near the edge of the dance floor. He had his arms wrapped tightly around Alida, shielding her head. They were completely unharmed.

Hearing Ethan's scream, Andrew's head snapped up.

He looked across the debris. His pupils dilated. He saw me lying in an expanding pool of dark blood, my skin ashen.

Andrew's breath hitched. His brain short-circuited. His arms loosened around Alida as his body instinctively tried to rise, to move toward the blood.

Alida felt his grip loosen. She immediately let out a weak, pathetic whimper and let her head loll back against his chest. She went completely limp, faking a dead faint.

The dead weight of Alida's body snapped Andrew's attention back. He looked down at her pale face.

He gritted his teeth. He scooped Alida up into his arms, holding her tight against his chest. He stood up and turned his back on the wreckage. With long, urgent strides, he carried Alida toward the exit doors.

He didn't look back at me. Not even once.

Ethan dropped to his knees in the glass. He ripped off his expensive tuxedo jacket and pressed it brutally hard against the deepest gash on my leg.

"Hold on, Kat. Just hold on," Ethan begged, his hands slick with my blood.

The wail of ambulance sirens pierced the New York night, growing louder as they approached the hotel.

Paramedics burst through the doors with a gurney. They shouted orders, lifting my limp body onto the stretcher. My face was the color of chalk.

As they rolled me rapidly toward the exit, I fought through the black edges of my vision. I forced my eyes to stay open. I looked toward the doors where Andrew had disappeared.

The space was empty.

The last ember of hope inside my chest sizzled and died. There was nothing left but cold ash.

The ambulance doors slammed shut. The vehicle lurched forward, speeding through the Manhattan streets.

Lying on the narrow cot, the siren screaming in my ears, I moved my uninjured left hand. I reached into the pocket of my ruined dress and pulled out my phone. My fingers were smeared with my own blood.

I unlocked the screen, my vision swimming with dark spots. I tried to open my email to contact my lawyer, but my thumb smeared thick, dark blood across the glass. The phone slipped from my weak grip, clattering onto the metal floor of the ambulance. I couldn't do it now. My body was shutting down, the piercing wail of the siren fading into a dull, distant hum. I closed my eyes, letting the darkness pull me under, but my mind locked onto a single, unbreakable vow: the moment I opened my eyes again, I was leaving this city forever.