Chapter 6

I returned to the ballroom, my stomach churning with a mixture of alcohol and apprehension. The gala was winding down, but the atmosphere was tense. I saw Graves scanning the crowd, a worried look on his face. He was looking for Alex.

I was about to leave when it happened.

A massive crystal chandelier, the centerpiece of the ballroom, suddenly creaked and shuddered. A collective gasp went through the crowd. People started to back away, pointing up at the swaying fixture.

I saw Graves standing directly underneath it, frozen, looking up in horror.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of white. It was Alex. She screamed Graves's name and ran towards him, pushing him out of the way with all her might just as the chandelier came crashing down.

It landed with a deafening roar of shattering crystal and twisted metal, right where Graves had been standing a second before. And right on top of Alex.

The room erupted in screams. Graves, who had stumbled and fallen a few feet away, scrambled to his feet, his face pale with shock and terror.

"Alex!" he screamed, rushing to the pile of debris. "Alex!"

He started pulling at the wreckage with his bare hands, heedless of the sharp, broken glass. Others rushed to help him.

I stood frozen, watching the chaos unfold. But my mind was crystal clear. It was a setup. A perfectly executed, horrifyingly brilliant setup.

I had seen the whole thing. Alex hadn't pushed him. She had run towards him, yes, but at the last second, she had positioned herself so the chandelier would hit her, but not fatally. The main weight of it had been caught by a large marble table next to her. She was injured, yes. But it was a calculated injury. A plan of enduring physical pain to win an advantage. She had made herself a martyr to solidify her place in Graves's heart.

No one else saw it. They only saw a brave young woman who had sacrificed herself to save the man she loved.

Graves finally pulled her out from under the wreckage. She was unconscious, her white dress stained with blood. He cradled her in his arms, his face a mask of agony.

"Someone call an ambulance!" he roared.

As the paramedics rushed in and took Alex away, Graves's eyes found mine across the room. They were filled with a wild, accusing fury. He thought this was my fault. He thought I had somehow orchestrated this.

I didn't wait for him to confront me. I turned and walked out, my own body aching in sympathy. The stress and the alcohol were taking their toll. I needed to get to a hospital myself, but I couldn't go to the same one as them. I drove to a small, private clinic on the other side of town.

I was in an examination room, getting my stomach pumped, when the door burst open. It was Graves. His suit was torn and stained with blood, his hair was a mess, and his eyes were wild.

"You!" he snarled, pointing a trembling finger at me.

"Graves, what are you doing here?" I asked, my voice weak.

"She's dying, Kimberly!" he yelled, his voice breaking. "The doctors... they said she has massive internal bleeding. She lost a kidney. She needs a transplant, or she'll die!"

He grabbed my shoulders, his grip desperate. "They tested me, but I'm not a match. But you... you are. The hospital still has your records from your last check-up. You're a perfect match."

My blood ran cold. This couldn't be happening.

"Graves, it was a setup," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "She did it on purpose."

"Liar!" he screamed, his face contorted with rage. "You're a monster! You did this to her! You've always hated her!"

He was completely unhinged, blinded by his grief and his obsession. He wouldn't listen to reason.

"Please, Kimberly," he begged, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. He fell to his knees, clutching my hand. "Please, save her. I'll do anything. I'll give you anything. Just please, donate your kidney. Save her life."

I looked down at the man kneeling at my feet, the man who had betrayed me, beaten me, and tried to destroy me. He was now begging me to mutilate my own body to save his mistress.

The memory of the beating in the garage, the pain, the humiliation, flashed through my mind. I remembered his cold voice on the phone, promising to protect Alex from me. If I refused now, he would be convinced I was a murderer. He would stop at nothing to make me pay. He would kill me.

I was trapped.

To save my own life, I had to agree to be cut open for the woman who had taken everything from me.

"Alright, Graves," I said, my voice hollow. "I'll do it."

I woke up in a private hospital room, a sharp, searing pain in my side. I felt weak, drained. Graves was sitting in a chair by my bed, looking haggard.

"You're awake," he said, his voice soft. "The surgery was a success. Alex is stable."

He stood up and walked over to the bed. "Thank you, Kimberly. You saved her life."

He was trying to be gentle, to show gratitude. He even brought me a bowl of soup. "I had the chef make your favorite-butternut squash soup."

I looked at the soup. It wasn't my favorite. It was Alex's. He had mentioned it once, how much she loved it. He didn't even know me anymore. The woman he thought he knew was just a faint memory, replaced by the vibrant, demanding presence of his new love.

"I need to go check on Alex," he said, already moving towards the door. "I'll have the nurse look in on you."

"Graves," I said, my voice raspy.

He stopped, his hand on the doorknob.

"Go to her," I said. "She needs you more than I do."

He looked confused by my lack of anger, by my quiet acceptance.

"I'm just doing what you've always wanted, Graves," I said, a bitter smile on my lips. "I'm getting out of your way."

He stared at me for a long moment, a flicker of doubt in his eyes, before he turned and left, leaving me alone with the pain in my side and the gaping hole in my life.