Chapter 4

The face in the mirror wasn't Jesse's. It was a distorted, ugly mask of rage.

"You think you're so smart?" Jesse snarled, grabbing a fistful of Kianna's hair and yanking her head back.

Pain exploded on her scalp.

"You're nothing. A piece of trash from the gutter that Brayden was too soft-hearted to throw away."

Smack.

The sound of Jesse's palm connecting with her cheek echoed in the small room. Kianna's head snapped to the side, and she tasted the metallic tang of blood in her mouth.

"He's mine now," Jesse hissed, her face inches from Kianna's. "He belongs in my world, with people like me. Not with you."

Kianna tried to pull away, to say something, but Jesse was stronger, fueled by a vicious, jealous rage.

Jesse shoved her against the tiled wall. "You think that little trick in the courtroom impressed him? He pities you. You're his charity project."

With a sudden, violent movement, Jesse smashed a glass soap dispenser on the counter. Shards flew everywhere. She grabbed a large, jagged piece.

"I should have done this a long time ago."

She lunged. Kianna cried out as the sharp glass sliced deep into her forearm. Blood welled up instantly, dark and red, dripping onto the pristine white floor.

Jesse laughed, a horrifying, unhinged sound. "Look at you. Pathetic."

Then, her expression shifted. A cunning, cruel idea lit up her eyes. She took the piece of glass and deliberately drew a long, shallow cut across her own palm.

"Help! Somebody help me!" she shrieked, her voice filled with manufactured terror. "She's crazy! She attacked me!"

The door burst open. Brayden stood there, his face a thundercloud. He saw Jesse on the floor, clutching her bleeding hand, tears streaming down her face. He saw Kianna standing over her, a shard of glass on the floor nearby, her own arm bleeding profusely.

He didn't hesitate. He rushed to Jesse, kneeling beside her, cradling her as if she were made of spun glass.

"Jesse, my God, what happened?"

"I don't know," Jesse sobbed, pointing a trembling finger at Kianna. "She just... she just snapped. She said I was trying to steal you from her."

Brayden's head whipped around. His eyes, when they met Kianna's, were filled with a cold, cutting disappointment that was worse than any anger.

"I knew it," he said, his voice low and venomous. "I knew you couldn't handle this. You're just like everyone else from that world. You see a good thing, and you have to tear it down."

He didn't even look at the gash on her arm, far deeper and more serious than Jesse's scratch. He only saw his new, delicate prize, seemingly threatened by his old, broken toy.

"Get out," he snarled. "I don't want to see you."

He scooped Jesse into his arms and carried her out of the restroom, leaving Kianna standing in a puddle of her own blood.

Kianna looked down at her arm, then at the shallow cut on Jesse's hand that Brayden was now so carefully tending to. A bitter, broken laugh escaped her lips. The sound was raw, painful. Tears mixed with the blood running down her arm.

He used to do that for her. When she'd cut herself on a broken dish at the diner, he would clean the wound so gently, his brow furrowed with worry. He would kiss it better, whispering that he would never let anything hurt her again.

That man was gone. Replaced by this stranger who looked at her with contempt.

A moment later, Brayden's assistant appeared, her face a mask of professional neutrality. "Mr. Berg has arranged for a car to take you to the hospital."

Kianna nodded numbly. She let the assistant guide her out, her mind a fog of pain and disbelief.

In the car, a sleek, black sedan that smelled of leather and Jesse's expensive perfume, the driver, a man she'd never seen before, glanced at her in the rearview mirror.

"Ma'am, please be careful not to get blood on the seats. Miss Collins is very particular about this car."

Shame washed over her, hot and suffocating. She pulled her bleeding arm close, tucking her legs in, trying to make herself smaller, to take up less space, to disappear.

She lay on a gurney in the emergency room for hours. A doctor finally stitched up her arm, his movements brisk and impersonal.

Later, she lay in a private room, staring at the ceiling. She thought of Brayden's disgust, his instant belief in Jesse's lies. She thought of the driver's warning. She was a stain. A dirty, inconvenient mess in their perfect, clean world.

She buried her face in the pillow, muffling the sobs that wracked her body.

The door creaked open.

Brayden stood there, holding a bouquet of flowers and a bag of food from her favorite takeout place.

For a dizzying moment, her heart leaped with a stupid, treacherous hope.

"I brought you dinner," he said, his voice soft. He avoided looking at her stitches. "I know this is your favorite."

Kianna didn't say anything.

"Listen, about what happened in the courtroom..." she began, needing to make him understand, just once. "I wasn't trying to show Jesse up. I just saw-"

"I know," he interrupted her.

He stepped closer. "And I know you didn't attack Jesse."

Kianna froze.

"I know," he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. He reached out and gently took her hand. "I know it was her."