Chapter 3

I laughed — a hollow, gutted sound — and stepped out of the car.

I'd almost forgotten.

After Stella's faked death, her father had shown up at our door with a canister of acid. My mother pushed me out of the way.

It took him instead. She'd been in the hospital ever since.

In the rearview mirror, Liam caught one last glimpse of my silhouette — gaunt, soaked through — and felt something snag in his chest.

Then Riley's crying pulled him back, and he drove away.

I watched the taillights dissolve into the rain.

Something ran into my eye. Hot. Then the sting hit.

I pressed my fingers to my face. They came back red.

Before I could process it, the compound in the vial detonated through my bloodstream.

The world tilted. Then it went sideways entirely.

I hit the ground and dragged myself to the nearest wall, fingers scrabbling at the wet concrete.

My heart felt like it was being wrung apart.

It was a long time before Liam called.

His Porsche split the rain and lurched to a stop in front of me.

He pulled me up, and when he saw my forehead — still bleeding — his expression shifted.

"We need to get that cleaned. I'm taking you in."

He drove fast. The hospital was lit and white and loud.

Once my wounds were dressed, he led me by the hand down a corridor and stopped outside a set of surgical doors.

He held out a consent form.

I stared at it.

He wouldn't meet my eyes. His voice came out rough.

"Stella went into acute kidney failure. Riley can't lose her right now. We can't wait."

"Riley is going to call you Mom someday. You owe Stella this. One kidney isn't a death sentence — think of it as making things right."

So this was why he'd come back for me.

I didn't move. He frowned.

"The dressing already cost us time. If something happens to Stella, your mother's treatment—"

I cut him off quietly.

"Fine."

"But you cover every cent of my mother's ongoing care. All of it. Up front."

I turned and pushed through the surgical doors before he could respond.

He stood watching my narrow frame disappear inside a gown three sizes too large.

Something twisted in his stomach.

From the adjacent table, Stella coughed — weak, deliberate.

He was at her side in an instant, hand over hers.

"You're going to be fine. I promise."

The anesthesia needle went into my arm.

That's when I heard the surgeon hesitate.

"Mr. Mercer — her vitals are very poor. There are signs of cardiac distress. Forcing a donation right now could trigger acute shock. Honestly, Stella's condition isn't yet critical enough to—"

Liam laughed, short and sharp.

"Did Ava put you up to this? Her health has always been fine. I'm a doctor — don't tell me about cardiac distress. Your job is to make sure Stella comes out of this intact. Everything else is secondary."

The dull, grinding pull of extraction began.

He crossed to my side only once, leaning in close.

"Almost done, Ava. Just a little longer."

I didn't have the strength to form an answer.

When consciousness finally left me, the last things I heard were the flat scream of the cardiac monitor, shoes running on linoleum, and Liam's voice — sudden, frantic, stripped of everything controlled.

Three days later, I opened my eyes.

Two nurses were murmuring just outside the curtain.

"That woman in the next bay is so lucky — her husband is there every night. Changes her dressings himself, sleeps in the chair."

"And he's gorgeous on top of everything. Some people really do have it all."

"Then there's this one. Lost a kidney, nearly died, and not a single visitor."

I pressed my nails into my palm until it hurt.

The door opened. Liam walked in carrying a thermos.

"You're awake. How do you feel? Is anything hurting?"

He ladled soup and lifted the spoon to my mouth with practiced ease.

I turned my head away.

His hand stalled. Irritation surfaced behind his eyes. He set the bowl down on the nightstand with a crack.

"What is your problem? I went through all this trouble and you can't even—"

"I lied to you once. Once. And I was trying to give you a family — something you could never give yourself. Can you not be reasonable about this for five minutes?"

I thought about what the nurses had said.

"I heard you've been making Stella bone broth every day. Your choice of cut, her choice of what she's in the mood for."

I looked at him steadily.

"The fat's already congealed on top. This is what's left over. I don't eat other people's leftovers, Liam."

His face went rigid.

He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. What came out was:

"You're being completely irrational."

"I'll come back tomorrow."

The door slammed hard enough to rattle the frame.

Tomorrow didn't come. Neither did the day after, or the one after that.

My body grew weaker by the hour.

Then a call came in.

When I heard what they said, the world went silent.

I threw off the blankets and ran — down the corridor, through the double doors at the end, into the room I never wanted to see.

My mother was lying there.

Cold. Still. Her fingers still curled around a letter she hadn't finished writing.