Chapter 4

Ryan clamped his hand hard over my mouth, cutting off my air. I couldn’t breathe. My vision dimmed, the light in my eyes fading like a dying flame. Was this really how it would end—at Ryan’s hands?

Just as despair threatened to swallow me whole, a familiar voice cut through the haze.

It was Alex Thorne—Ryan’s childhood friend and one of Atherton’s most respected private physicians. He’d been watching me, and now he stepped forward, concern tightening his jaw.

“Ryan, maybe you should let Emily go. She’s drenched in sweat, breathing fast—this doesn’t look like acting to me.”

He held up his medical bag. “I’ve got my kit with me. Let me check her vitals.”

His calm, steady tone pulled me back from the edge. Ryan finally released me, and I collapsed onto the cold marble floor, gasping for air.

But before Alex could reach me, Ryan blocked his path. “Don’t waste your time, Alex. She’s fine. Just throwing a tantrum because she didn’t get her way.”

“Low blood sugar,” he added with a dismissive scoff. “She’s acting like the world’s ending over a little dizziness. Everyone gets sick sometimes.”

Mia hovered close, her voice soft but laced with venom. “Emily probably just wanted attention. When I used to get so weak from hunger my stomach cramped and my vision went white, I never made a scene. I just endured.”

Alex frowned, clearly uneasy. “Emily’s skin is ashen, Ryan. Her pulse is erratic. You sure she’s okay?”

“Absolutely,” Ryan said without hesitation. “She’s playing us. And I’m not letting her get away with it. She needs to learn her place.”

His buddies chimed in immediately.

“Yeah, man, don’t let her walk all over you,” said Jake.

“Women like that need boundaries,” Tyler added with a smirk. “You’re doing the right thing.”

Ben clapped Ryan on the shoulder. “We’ve got your back, bro.”

Alex hesitated, then stepped back with a quiet sigh. He couldn’t override Ryan—not in front of this crowd.

My chest tightened. Each breath grew shallower. The room spun, darkness creeping in at the edges of my vision. My heart hammered wildly, then faltered. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

Ryan took my silence as surrender. “See? She’s calming down,” he declared.

He turned to the group. “Let’s head up to the rooftop. Fireworks are about to start.”

He glanced down at me, sprawled and trembling on the floor. “Emily can rest here. She’s tired. The party’s not over yet.”

As they moved toward the stairs, Mia bent down, her lips brushing my ear. Her whisper was sweet, triumphant.

“Emily… I won’t let your engagement happen. As long as you’re dead, Ryan will always be mine.”

Their footsteps faded. But before leaving, Mia called out sweetly, “Ryan, Emily hates the cold. Should I turn the heat up so she sleeps better?”

The thermostat on the wall blinked: 50°F.

Outside, Christmas Eve bells tolled. Fireworks exploded across the sky in bursts of gold and crimson. Inside, the icy air gnawed at my skin. My heart stuttered, each beat weaker than the last.

The alarm on my wrist monitor shrieked—beep, beep, beep—then slowed… and stopped.

I slipped into unconsciousness.

On Christmas morning, the Hayes estate buzzed with guests in formal attire. Crystal glasses clinked, string quartets played, and white roses perfumed the air. But the bride never appeared.

Gregory and Laura Hayes exchanged worried glances. Guests murmured. Waitstaff hovered nervously.

Ryan stood at the center of it all, his smile strained. Then panic flickered in his eyes.

He turned toward the grand staircase, voice cracking as he called out—too loudly, too desperately:

“Emily! Come on, sweetheart—you’re giving me a surprise, right? Show yourself!”