Chapter 3

Inside the box was a Saint Christopher medallion. Platinum.

The Reed family heirloom. Passed down only to the lady of the house.

On my eighteenth birthday, Donovan had placed it in my palm. He told me: Kayla, whether you like it or not, you will always be my most precious little princess.

I had guarded it with my life. In the worst times, with loan sharks beating me down, I had never sold it.

Now the chain was new. And the back was engraved with a new name.

Peggy.

Applause swelled. Donovan clasped it around Peggy's slender neck himself.

"My little princess," he said. "Congratulations. Wish granted."

I don't remember how I got out of that blinding glare of lights.

My phone kept buzzing in my pocket.

「I recognized you at the Hilton, you know. Sister.」

「Did you get a good look? The medallion is mine. Donovan is mine.」

「You're so pathetic. Still waiting for a man who will never choose you?」

「Living such a miserable life. Why not just die? Do us both a favor. Disappear.」

「Oh, and I had Donovan prepare a 'birthday gift' for you. Please—enjoy it.」

I walked down the street. I don't know for how long. Every step was waiting for the tumor to rupture. I walked until my feet blistered. Walked until the sky bled from gray to black.

I kept telling myself—I only saw him clearly today. He never loved me.

What I wasted wasn't five years. It was an entire life.

But I wouldn't let him know I died quietly.

I would make him know. I just—what if I ran out of time?

Night had fallen by the time I got back to that old rental apartment.

And then I understood. What Peggy's "gift" was.

The door was wide open. The place had been ransacked.

Donovan was on the floor. Hands pinned behind his back. His expensive suit was covered in shoe prints. He thrashed. The veins in his neck bulged.

"Sweetheart. Long time no see." The man in charge had a toothpick between his teeth. He grinned at me. "This month's payment. Time to settle up."

My voice came out wooden. "I cleared every debt. All of it."

"Cleared?" He snorted. His foot pressed down on Donovan's back. "I say it's not cleared. It's not cleared. What, you don't want to pay? Let's see how many hits your precious guardian here can take."

"Kayla—don't! Just go! Get out of here! Let them beat me to death—I'm a useless—"

The same words. I'd heard them a thousand times over five years.

I closed my eyes.

They had "come to collect" countless times. Not once had they ever actually hurt Donovan. And me—to protect the man who had lied me to death, I'd had ribs broken. Gone lame. Nearly bled my life out.

The taste of copper filled my throat.

"What," I said, voice scraped raw, "do you want?"

The man looked me up and down. A smile pulled at his mouth. "You—get on your knees. Beg. Tell us you're worthless. That you're trash no one wants. Do that—and we'll call it even. Consider it free entertainment for the boys."

"No! Kayla! Don't kneel!"

Donovan's scream tore through the room. His eyes were bloodshot. He struggled wildly to get up. They held him down harder.

My mouth twitched. That last thread inside me—the one that had held for five years—snapped. I didn't even hear it break. I just felt the hollow place it left behind.

"Fine," I heard my own voice say. Flat. Almost calm. "If this is what you want. Then we're even after today."

The words were directed at those men.

But Donovan's head snapped up. A flash of something—real panic—flickered through his eyes.

Then he remembered his promise to Peggy. This was the last time. Kayla would get through it. Then he'd bring her home. He had a lifetime to make it up to her.

So he looked away. Used the struggle as cover. Pressed the shutter on the micro-camera hidden in his cuff. Click. The image of me kneeling before those men. Sent.

The men dispersed.

I lay on the floor. It took a long, long time to gather enough strength to push myself up.

Donovan crawled over, eyes still red. He was about to start the pity performance again. Then he saw my eyes. Every word died in his throat.

The next day, the doctors came to take Donovan to Europe for his "breakthrough treatment."

Before getting into the car, he gripped my hand. Let go. Gripped it again. Every step toward the gate looked like a farewell.

"Kayla, wait for me. I swear I'll get you back to Cornell. Back to being that brilliant star. No one will ever bully you again—I swear it."

I smiled. Didn't answer.

Just stood there. Quiet. Watching the car disappear around the corner.

Then I bent double. Both hands clamped over my mouth. Blood gushed through my fingers.

The doctor had said it—when the tumor ruptures, that's the end.

Strange. As I fell, I felt not a trace of fear.

What flooded my mind were those fragmented, fading pieces of warmth from long ago.

The day Donovan brought me home from the cemetery. Fumbling clumsily to braid my hair.

The first time I bombed a business simulation competition. He scolded me with a stern face. Then he turned around and secretly stuffed an entire box of chocolates into my backpack.

That night I was burning with fever, delirious. He sat by my bed. Held my hand. Said it over and over: Kayla, don't be scared. I'm here.

He said: Our Kayla deserves the best this world has to offer.

Something warm slid down my cheek. My blood-smeared fingers trembled as they tapped at the phone screen. One word. Then another.

「Donovan, I'm not waiting anymore.」

「This life—it repays you for raising me. And it makes up for Peggy's grievances. Bury me… next to my parents.」

Send.

This isn't your punishment. It's just me—finally free from living for you.

I closed my eyes.

The phone vibrated. Kept vibrating.

I let it go.