Chapter 4

The scent of antiseptic and stale coffee filled my nostrils as I slowly regained consciousness. My head throbbed, a dull, insistent ache behind my eyes. My body felt heavy, sluggish, as if I' d been dragged through concrete.

"Erin? Can you hear me?" A familiar voice, warm and laced with concern, cut through the fog.

I blinked, trying to focus. Hudson. His face, usually so composed, was etched with worry. He was sitting beside my hospital bed, his hand gently clasped around mine.

"Hudson?" My voice was a croak, my throat dry and raw. "What... what happened?"

He squeezed my hand. "You're at St. Jude's. You were found unconscious at Evan's gallery opening. Someone called 911." His gaze dropped to my arm, then my abdomen, where a bandage was tightly wrapped. "You were... assaulted, Erin. And drugged."

The memories, fragmented and horrifying, began to rush back. The gallery. Evan's smirking face. Dahlia's predatory eyes. The stares. The humiliation. The pushing. The knife. The searing pain. The shame. The faces of the men, their cameras flashing. The terrifying emptiness as I fell.

My breath hitched. My body started to tremble uncontrollably, a deep, visceral shudder that wracked my entire frame. The sheer terror of that night, the utter helplessness, washed over me. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

Hudson' s grip tightened. "Hey, hey, it's okay. You're safe now. You're safe." He looked at me, his eyes filled with a fierce protectiveness. "They didn't get away with it, Erin. We have them."

"Who?" I whispered, my voice still weak.

"Dahlia. And the men she hired. We have evidence. Your phone recorded everything, Erin. Every single word she said, every order she gave to those monsters." His voice was low, firm, unwavering. "She's been arrested. They all have."

A strange calm began to settle over me, chilling and profound. Dahlia. Arrested. The woman who orchestrated my public humiliation and horrific assault. A small, dark corner of my heart felt a flicker of grim satisfaction.

"And Evan?" I asked, the name a bitter taste on my tongue. The last coherent memory I had was of him, standing over me, verbally dissecting my pain, his eyes cold and distant.

Hudson's jaw tightened. "He's... complicated. He wasn't involved in the physical assault, but he was in the next room with Dahlia while it happened. And he did nothing to stop it." His voice held a note of disgust. "He's denying everything, of course. Playing the victim."

I closed my eyes, the memory of his betrayal, his ultimate abandonment, piercing through my fragile resolve. While I was fighting for my life, being drugged and photographed, he was just a room away, with her. The thought made me physically sick.

"The photos," I whispered, opening my eyes. "The men... they took pictures. They said they were going to auction them on the dark web." The shame, hot and overwhelming, threatened to consume me.

Hudson gently squeezed my hand. "We know. And we stopped it. Or, rather, he stopped it."

"He?" I asked, confused.

"Evan. He bought them all. Every single one. And he destroyed them. Replaced them with fake images for the dark web auction, just to buy time. He told me he couldn't let those images of you be out there, Erin." Hudson paused, his gaze softening slightly. "He's a mess, Erin. A completely broken man. He's been trying to reach you constantly. Apologies, pleas... he' s begging for a chance to explain."

My phone, lying on the bedside table, suddenly lit up. A barrage of messages. All from Evan. I could almost hear his frantic voice, his desperate pleas. But all I saw was his face, cold and indifferent, as I lay bleeding on the gallery floor. All I heard was Dahlia's triumphant laugh.

He's a mess. He's broken. The words echoed in my mind, and a bitter, hollow laugh escaped my lips. "He's a mess, is he? Good for him. I don't care." My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "He made his bed. Now he gets to lie in it."

Hudson looked at me, his expression unreadable. "He's been self-destructing, Erin. His career is in ruins. The gallery opening was a disaster. His public image is shattered beyond repair. He's lost everything."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" My voice was sharper now, a cold edge entering it. "He lost his career. I almost lost my life. And my dignity." I picked up my phone, scrolled through Evan's frantic messages, and then, with a deliberate stillness, I blocked him. Permanently.

"He tried to win you back, Erin," Hudson said, his voice hesitant. "He really did. He paid a fortune for those photos. He fought to get them back. He even tried to stop the auction."

"Too little, too late, Hudson," I said, my gaze fixed on the blank screen of my phone. "His actions that night spoke louder than any words, any grand gestures now. He chose her. He watched me suffer. He abandoned me. There's no coming back from that."

A news report blared suddenly from the communal TV in the hospital waiting area, a loud, jarring noise that cut through the quiet of my room. A nurse quickly muted it, but not before I caught a glimpse of the headline: "Evan Briggs's Gallery Opening Ends in Scandal: Model Dahlia Allen Arrested, Photographer's Career in Freefall."

A strange sense of detachment washed over me as I watched the muted images. News anchors discussed the "shocking turn of events," the "downfall of a celebrated artist." They showed blurry photos of Dahlia being led away in handcuffs. Then, a brief, grainy shot of Evan, his face pale and haggard, surrounded by flashing cameras. He looked utterly defeated.

I felt nothing. No pity. No satisfaction. Just an empty space where my heart used to break for him. The man on that screen was a stranger.

"He's been trying to get in to see you," Hudson said, breaking the silence. "He's outside, in the waiting room. He's been there for hours."

My jaw tightened. "Tell him to leave." My voice was cold, unwavering. "Tell him I never want to see him again."

Hudson nodded, his expression grim. "I already did. He won't go. He says he needs to tell you something, to apologize."

"He had his chance," I said, closing my eyes. The image of him, standing over me, with Dahlia by his side, was burned into my memory. "He had his chance to be a husband. He chose to be her accomplice."

I opened my eyes, a new resolve hardening my gaze. I had survived. I would heal. And I would rebuild my life, without Evan Briggs, without his lies, without his toxic shadows.

"What about Dahlia?" I asked, my voice flat. "What's going to happen to her?"

Hudson leaned forward, his voice firm. "We've got her on multiple counts, Erin. Assault, conspiracy, attempted blackmail. Given the premeditation, the drugging, and the intent to distribute the illicit photos, she's looking at significant jail time. Her career is over. Her reputation, irrevocably tarnished."

"Good," I said, the word a whisper. "She deserves every bit of it."

My gaze drifted to the window, the city lights twinkling in the distance. A new dawn. A new life. It wouldn't be easy. The scars would remain. But I was alive. I was free. And I was finally, truly, in control of my own story.

I looked at Hudson, my steadfast friend. "Hudson," I said, a faint smile touching my lips. "Thank you. For everything."

He smiled back, a genuine, warm smile that reached his eyes. "Always, Erin. Always." He stood up, giving my hand one last squeeze. "Now, let's get you discharged. You have a new life to start."

I nodded, a sense of quiet determination settling in my chest. The fight wasn't over yet, not entirely. But the first battle had been won. And I was ready for the next. I was ready for anything. And Evan Briggs, the man who had loved and betrayed me, would soon realize that the woman he thought he owned was now completely, irrevocably, beyond his reach.