Chapter 8

I woke up in a quiet hospital room. It was empty. For days, no one came to visit me.

The nurses would whisper in the hallway.

"Did you hear? Mr. Payne is here every day, in the VIP suite."

"For Cassie Tate, right? He never leaves her side. He even feeds her himself."

"What about this one? The one in room 302?"

"No one's been to see her. Not once. The bill is paid, but that's it. It's so sad."

When a nurse came to change my bandages, she asked, "Don't you have any family?"

I gave a bitter laugh. "No. No family."

I heard the whispers every day. How devoted Adrian was to Cassie. How everyone was sure they'd get married as soon as she recovered. And I heard something else, a phrase that stuck with me.

"The one who isn't loved is always the third wheel."

It was true. I finally accepted it.

I hoped they would be happy together. I hoped they would get married and live a long, miserable life with each other. And I hoped, more than anything, that Adrian would stay away from me forever.

As soon as I could walk, I checked myself out. I limped back to the penthouse. It felt cold and empty.

I went through every room, gathering up every gift I had ever given him. The watch I'd saved for months to buy. The custom-made suit I'd designed. The scrapbook filled with five years of our memories.

I carried it all to the kitchen and dumped it in the trash.

Just as the last photo fluttered into the bin, the front door opened. Adrian walked in, with Cassie leaning on his arm.

"What are you doing?" he asked, seeing the overflowing trash can.

"Just throwing out some garbage," I said, my voice flat.

Cassie gave me a pitying look. "Ellery, I'm so sorry about what happened on the cliff. Adrian had to choose me. My family is more influential than yours. It was the logical choice to save his company."

I just looked at her. "I know."

Adrian seemed unsettled by my calmness. He was used to my tears, my hysterics. This quiet acceptance was new. He frowned, then pushed the strange feeling aside.

"Cassie will be staying here for a while to recover," he announced.

"Fine," I said.

He led her upstairs. A moment later, his voice floated down. "Ellery, make dinner. Cassie likes spicy food, but not too spicy. And no cilantro."

I looked down at my hands, still wrapped in bandages. I thought about the hundreds of meals I had cooked for him, trying to learn his favorite dishes, only to have him push them away because he "wasn't hungry."

No more.

"No," I said, loud enough for him to hear.

He came to the top of the stairs, his face darkening. "What did you say?"

"I said no. I'm not cooking."

Cassie immediately jumped in, playing the peacemaker. "It's okay, Adrian. I can cook!"

"No, you can't," he said, rushing to her side. "Your hands are too delicate. You'll burn yourself."

He shot me a dirty look, then followed a "protesting" Cassie into the kitchen.

I watched them for a moment, his arm protectively around her waist as she fumbled with the pots and pans. The sight was so ridiculous, so utterly foreign, that I just turned and walked back to my room, closing the door on them and on my past.