Chapter 2

I shouldn't have come to Ethan's birthday party.

But I promised him before everything fell apart.

The penthouse buzzed with Manhattan's young elite, all designer clothes and practiced laughter. I clutched my wine glass like armor, counting the minutes until I could escape.

"Well, well. Look who decided to show up."

Logan's voice made my skin crawl. He appeared beside me with Tyler in tow, both wearing matching smirks that screamed trouble.

"Shouldn't you be packing for Italy?" Tyler asked loudly, drawing stares from nearby guests.

Don't engage. Just walk away.

"Ethan told us about your little European escape plan," Logan continued. "Running away from reality, are we?"

"I'm not running from anything." My voice came out steadier than I felt.

"Right." Tyler's laugh was cruel. "The head groupie finally figured out she's not special."

Head groupie. Heat flooded my cheeks.

"Dylan's number one fan since what, fifteen?" Logan stage-whispered to the growing crowd of onlookers. "Seven years of pining after a guy who barely knows she exists."

"That's enough." I set down my wine glass with shaking hands.

"Oh, but we're just getting started," Tyler grinned. "Tell them about the shrine, Logan."

There was no shrine. But their lies were building an audience.

"Posters covering every inch of her bedroom walls," Logan announced. "Our boy Dylan's face watching her sleep every night."

Whispers rippled through the crowd. They're making me sound insane.

"And the letters!" Tyler added with theatrical flair. "Pages and pages of love letters she never sent. Ethan showed us one once—pure cringe."

Ethan would never. But doubt crept in anyway. Would he?

"Stop," I whispered.

"The best part?" Logan leaned closer, voice dropping to a mock-whisper that somehow carried to every ear. "She actually thought he'd choose her over Vivienne Rhodes."

The crowd erupted in barely suppressed laughter.

This isn't happening. This isn't real.

"Speak of the devil," Tyler said, looking toward the entrance.

My heart stopped.

Dylan walked in with Vivienne clinging to his arm, her engagement ring catching the chandelier light like a weapon. She was stunning in a way that made me feel like a child playing dress-up.

He chose her. Of course he chose her.

"Dylan! Vivienne!" Logan called out. "Come settle a debate."

No. Please, no.

They approached, Dylan's eyes finding mine with something that might have been guilt. Vivienne smiled like a shark scenting blood.

"What kind of debate?" Dylan asked carefully.

"Just explaining to everyone about your biggest fan," Tyler gestured toward me. "Seven years of dedication deserves recognition, right?"

Vivienne's smile widened. "Oh, you mean little Lena's crush?" Her voice dripped false sympathy. "Darling, we've all been there. Teenage infatuation is so intense, isn't it?"

Teenage. Like I was still fifteen instead of twenty-two.

"It's sweet, really," Vivienne continued, her hand tightening possessively on Dylan's arm. "But don't you think it's time to grow up? Find someone more... age-appropriate?"

The crowd tittered with anticipation.

Say something. Defend yourself.

But the words wouldn't come. Seven years of hope had just been reduced to a "teenage crush" in front of Manhattan's social elite.

"Vivienne," Dylan said quietly.

"What? I'm trying to help." Vivienne's eyes glittered with malice. "She needs to understand that fantasies don't come true just because you wait long enough."

That's when I saw it.

Above us, the art installation that had been Ethan's centerpiece—a massive crystal chandelier sculpture—was swaying. The mounting hardware looked loose, stressed by the crowd's vibrations.

It's going to fall.

Time slowed as I watched the fixture tear free from its moorings, a thousand pounds of glass and metal plummeting toward the crowd below.

Dylan moved without thinking, shoving Vivienne clear with desperate strength.

What about me?

I stood frozen as the world exploded around me, glass shards raining down like deadly snow. Pain bloomed across my scalp, my shoulder, my arm.

He saved her. Not me.

The last thing I saw before the darkness took me was Dylan cradling Vivienne in his arms while I bled alone on the marble floor.

Of course. Even in disaster, I was invisible.

When I woke up in the hospital, Ethan was holding my hand, his eyes red-rimmed with worry.

"Hey, sis," he whispered. "You scared me."

I touched the bandages covering half my head, feeling the tender spots where glass had cut deep. "Did everyone see?"

"See what?"

"How he saved her and left me to die." The words came out flat, emotionless.

Ethan's face crumpled. "Lena—"

"He made his choice, Ethan." I looked out the window at the city I was about to leave forever. "And so have I."

Florence couldn't come soon enough.

But as I closed my eyes, I couldn't shake the image of Dylan's arms around Vivienne while my blood painted the floor.

Some choices, once made, can never be undone.