Chapter 3

The next morning, Carter had his lawyer send me an addendum to the divorce agreement.

The lawyer's tone was strictly professional.

"Daisy, Mr. Vance said that if you record a video admitting to cheating during the marriage, he will give you an extra million dollars."

Clutching my water mug, I asked, "And if I refuse?"

"Then the chat logs, the hotel photos, and the agreement you voluntarily signed will be sent to both of your families and friends."

The lawyer paused before adding, "Mr. Vance also said if you don't cooperate, he will leak these to your company, your Snapchat group chats, and your late parents' old friends."

Hearing him mention "hotel photos," I looked down and smiled bitterly.

That day, Zev had asked to meet me at a coffee shop downstairs from a hotel, claiming he was in a terrible mood.

I never went inside.

I only stood at the entrance for two minutes, took an emergency call, and left.

So, even those two minutes could be captured and framed as evidence.

I nodded. "I'll record the video."

The lawyer let out a visible sigh of relief.

I hung up, opened my laptop, and saved the call recording into an encrypted folder.

At ten in the morning, I went to the hospital.

Looking at my charts, Dr. Evans' frown deepened.

"Have you been under a lot of emotional stress lately?"

I remained silent.

"Daisy, you need to be admitted immediately." He tapped my chart. "This isn't just a regular heart condition anymore. You could have acute heart failure at any moment."

"If a matching donor becomes available, do you still want to go through with the transplant?"

I looked down at my hands.

Carter used to love holding my hands. He said my fingers were long and perfect for rings.

Later, he took off his own ring and threw it in my face.

"Daisy, who are you wearing that ring for every day? It makes me sick just looking at it."

I looked up at Dr. Evans. "If I don't do the surgery, how long do I have?"

Dr. Evans froze. "Maybe a few months. Or you could just slip away suddenly."

I nodded. "Then I won't wait."

Dr. Evans' voice grew heavy. "You're only twenty-nine."

I smiled softly. "But I'm so tired."

When I walked out of the hospital, I saw Samantha's new Instagram post.

In the photo, she was standing in my old walk-in closet, wearing my silk nightgown.

Her caption read:

[Some spots belong to those who actually deserve to be loved.]

I stared at it for two seconds and liked the post.

Not long after, Carter called. His voice was laced with anger.

"Daisy, what the hell is your problem?"

"My finger slipped."

He let out a cold laugh. "Stop playing dumb. Do you think your passive-aggressive behavior is going to make me feel guilty?"

I took a shallow, painful breath. "Carter, I'm not that free."

He went quiet for a second, probably catching the strain in my voice.

"Are you sick?"

"No."

His tone turned irritated again. "Stop talking to me with that half-dead voice."

I looked out at the gloomy, overcast sky. "Then hang up."

He was silent for a moment before saying coldly, "You sure got brave after leaving me. I hope you keep that energy."

He hung up.

Three minutes later, Zev sent a message.

[Have you been crying?]

Staring at the words "been crying," a sudden, sharp pain flared in my chest.

I fumbled for my pills and swallowed two.

Then I typed:

[Zev, can you accompany me somewhere tomorrow?]

He replied almost instantly.

[Of course. Anywhere you want to go, I'm there.]