Chapter 6

Antone spent the next two days playing the part of the devoted boyfriend. He sat by her hospital bed, spoon-fed her broth, and brought her gifts-a new book, a silk scarf, things he thought she would like.

Dallas accepted it all with a placid smile. His attentiveness felt like a performance by a stranger. She watched him, detached, as if viewing a play. His every move was calculated, every word a line from a script. The real Antone was the one she'd overheard in the hallway. This man was a ghost.

On the third day, she was discharged. Antone, claiming she needed fresh air, insisted on taking her to a high-end shopping mall.

And there, in the glittering atrium of the mall, they ran into them.

Desmond and Chelsea.

Desmond's face went cold the moment he saw her with Antone. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"Dallas," he said, his voice tight. "Did you forget what you promised me?"

Chelsea stood beside him, looking uncomfortable, her eyes darting between the three of them.

Antone, ever the performer, draped a casual arm around Dallas's shoulders. "Relax, brother," he said, a playful lilt in his voice that didn't reach his eyes. "We're just getting some air. Don't want to upset your beautiful fiancée, do you?" He winked at Chelsea.

Dallas just lowered her eyes. "We were just... picking out a wedding gift for you," she mumbled, the lie tasting like ash in her mouth.

It was a plausible excuse, a perfect way to explain their being together.

Desmond's expression didn't soften. "Fine," he said, his voice clipped. "Then you can shop with us."

It wasn't a suggestion. It was a command. He wanted to watch them, to control the situation.

Dallas caught the flicker of a triumphant smile on Antone's face. He had gotten what he wanted: more time in Chelsea's presence, under the guise of a happy foursome. And Dallas was his ticket in.

She followed them numbly, a silent fourth wheel in their twisted dynamic. They went to a jewelry store, where Chelsea tried on diamond necklaces. Then, they went to a bridal salon.

Chelsea emerged from the dressing room in a cloud of white silk and lace. She looked breathtaking.

"What do you think, Des?" she asked, twirling happily.

"It's fine," Desmond replied, his eyes glancing distractedly toward Dallas.

But Antone was captivated. He stared at Chelsea, his mask slipping for a moment, his eyes filled with a raw, undisguised adoration. It was the look of a worshipper before a goddess.

"Antone, can you take a picture for me?" Chelsea asked, handing him her phone.

He took it, his fingers brushing against hers. He angled the phone, taking shot after shot, but he only photographed Chelsea. Desmond, standing beside her, was completely cropped out of the frame. Dallas saw him discreetly airdrop the photos to his own phone before handing Chelsea's back. He was collecting relics of her.

Dallas sat on a velvet sofa, watching the scene unfold. A dull, heavy pressure settled in her chest. She was an outsider to all of it. The past with Desmond was a lie. The present with Antone was a bigger lie. And the future... the future was a disabled stranger in Seattle. She had nothing.

With a deep sigh, she stood up and walked toward the restroom, needing a moment of quiet.

When she returned, Desmond was gone, called away by a business emergency. Chelsea was now trying on suits with Antone.

"This is for you," Chelsea said, holding up a handsome gray suit. "A thank you for all your help and for being such a good friend."

Antone's face lit up with a genuine, unforced delight. He took the suit and immediately went to try it on.

He looked striking. Chelsea beamed. "Now we just need Dallas to try on a dress so we can see how you two look together!" she said, her voice full of innocent, matchmaking enthusiasm.