Chapter 2

I woke up alone in a hospital room.

The only company was the system panel hovering at eye level:

Strike back progress: 5%.

Death flag countdown: 2 days, 20 hours.

I stared at the ceiling and let myself remember how it started.

Three years ago, I first understood what I was.

I'd muttered "that project of Cole's is going to tank"—and the next morning his firm was raided and shuttered.

I'd said "that streetlight looks like it's about to fall"—and a second later it collapsed on top of him, putting him in the ICU.

So I went quiet. For him. Three years of swallowing every word.

He held me and said, "It's okay, Zoe. I don't blame you."

I thought it was grace. It was grooming.

He was fattening the lamb.

The door opened. Cole walked in carrying a thermos, looking hollow-eyed and raw.

"You're up."

He crossed to the bed fast, shadows under his eyes, voice scraped thin. "You scared me. Doctor says it was acute stress—sudden hemorrhage."

"Why did you just start bleeding like that?"

He filled a small bowl from the thermos and held it to my lips. "Here. Eat something."

I turned my head away.

"Still upset with me?" He set the bowl down, patient as ever, and took my hand—the one without the IV. His voice turned careful, sincere. "Zoe. This was therapy. The doctor said the only way to break a psychological block is to face it—say the thing you're afraid of saying."

"I was doing this for you."

Right. For me.

If I hadn't seen the script, I'd already be crying.

[This man deserves an Oscar and a restraining order.]

["Therapy." Sure. It's called energy transfer, but okay!]

[Something just went wrong on the female lead's end—Cole's here to refuel. Classic move.]

His phone buzzed.

One glance at the screen and something shifted in his face.

His grip on my hand tightened. Eyes sharpening. "Zoe—can you do one more thing for me?"

I said nothing.

"The new development site. There might be an issue."

He frowned like a man carrying a great weight. "If something goes wrong, I'm finished. Everything gone."

"Just say the building's going to collapse. Say it, and it won't. Negative times negative."

He watched me hopefully.

I almost laughed.

When had I never noticed how full of holes his logic was?

If negatives cancelled out, why did every curse I spoke land on me?

"Cole."

I pulled my hand back. My voice came out flat and dry. "I'm tired."

"I'm done talking."

He went still.

Like the version of me that had always said yes was a person he hadn't prepared for losing.

"Zoe." The warmth drained from his tone. "Don't be difficult."

"Think about the workers. Dozens of them. Their families."

"Could you really live with yourself if something happened to them?"

There it was. The move he always fell back on.

Old me would have caved—stammered a curse through the guilt, bled for it, called it love.

But I had seen the script:

[Iris just arrived at the construction site! CURSE IT NOW—a steel beam is about to go!]

Right.

Not workers. Not lives at stake.

Iris Langford had decided to take a site visit.

I leaned back against the pillow and closed my eyes. "If it's going to fall, stop building it."

"You—" Cole shot to his feet.

The chair scraped back like a slap.

"You've changed, Zoe."

He looked down at me from above, and all the patience had gone out of his voice. "You used to be reasonable."

You used to be easy to manipulate, he meant.

"My throat hurts," I said. "I can't talk."

Cole breathed in sharply, reining himself in.

Then the script flashed red:

[DANGER. Beam's loose! Ten seconds!]

[Male lead—FORCE IT. Now!]

He lunged forward and grabbed my jaw.

His fingers bit in hard enough to bruise.

"Say it." His eyes had gone somewhere far and wild. "Say the building falls! Say it right now!"

"Zoe. Don't make me hate you."