Seven Years for Nothing

Z·Nyra

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Chapter 3

The hospital room door opened without a knock.

Of course. Dylan Knight had never learned boundaries where I was concerned.

"How are you feeling?" His voice carried that practiced concern I'd heard him use with reporters.

Like I've been hit by a chandelier. "I'm alive. Thanks for asking."

He shifted uncomfortably beside my bed, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets. "Look, about what happened at the party—"

"You saved your fiancée. Very heroic." I kept my voice flat, emotionless. Don't give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

"Lena, it wasn't like that. I saw the chandelier falling and I just reacted—"

"You reacted to save the person you love." The words tasted like blood. "I understand perfectly."

Dylan ran a hand through his hair—that gesture I'd once found endearing now just looked frustrated. "Vivienne's been getting death threats since our engagement went public. The stress is affecting her health."

Her health. I almost laughed. "And that's my problem how?"

"Some of the threats... they mention you."

The accusation hung in the air like poison gas. "Excuse me?"

"People know about your... feelings. They think you might do something desperate."

Desperate. There was that word again. "Are you seriously suggesting I'm threatening your precious fiancée?"

"I'm not suggesting anything. I'm telling you what the police told us."

Police. My chest tightened. "You went to the police about me?"

"Vivienne was scared. She wanted protection." Dylan's eyes wouldn't meet mine. "Look, I know you'd never actually hurt anyone, but—"

"But you filed a police report anyway." The heart monitor beside my bed started beeping faster. "You actually think I'm dangerous."

"I think you're hurting. And hurt people sometimes do things they regret."

Like waiting seven years for a man who thinks I'm a stalker.

"Get out," I whispered.

"Lena—"

"GET OUT!" The machines around me screamed in harmony with my pulse.

A nurse rushed in, shooting Dylan a disapproving look. "Sir, you need to leave. The patient needs rest."

Patient. That's all I was to him now. A problem to be managed.

Three days later, they discharged me with enough painkillers to numb an elephant and strict instructions to avoid stress.

Avoid stress. Right.

Ethan had arranged for a car to take me home, but I asked the driver to stop at Central Park instead. One last walk before Florence.

The fountain sparkled in the afternoon sun, children laughing as they threw pennies and made wishes. I used to make wishes like that.

"Lena?"

I turned to find Vivienne Rhodes approaching, picture-perfect in a white sundress that made her look like an angel. An angel with venom for blood.

"Vivienne. What a surprise."

"I wanted to talk to you. About Dylan."

Of course you did. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Isn't there?" She moved closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You were at the club last week. Before the show."

My blood turned to ice. She knows I heard them.

"I saw you run out into the rain." Vivienne's smile was sharp as broken glass. "Poor little Lena, finally learning the truth."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" She tilted her head with mock sympathy. "Seven years of pining after a man who was never yours. It must hurt, knowing he chose me the moment we met."

Stop talking. But I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

"He wrote songs about me, you know. Beautiful songs he'll never release because they're too personal." Vivienne's hand drifted to her stomach. "And this baby... he's so excited to be a father."

Baby. The fake pregnancy they'd planned. Except... was it fake anymore?

"You're lying."

"Am I?" Vivienne pulled out her phone, scrolling to a sonogram image. "Twelve weeks. Dylan cried when he saw it."

No. The world tilted sideways.

"He loves me, Lena. He's always loved me. And now we're building a real family together."

This isn't happening.

"The best part?" Vivienne leaned closer, her breath warm against my ear. "He never even thinks about you anymore. You're ancient history. A childhood mistake he's embarrassed about."

Something inside me snapped.

I shoved her away from me, harder than I intended. Vivienne stumbled backward, her heel catching on the fountain's edge.

Time slowed.

She fell into the water with a splash that sent children screaming and mothers rushing. Her white dress bloomed around her like a water lily as she thrashed in the shallow pool.

"Help! Someone help me!" Vivienne's voice carried across the park.

It's only three feet deep. But she was acting like she was drowning.

"Lena!" Dylan's voice cut through the chaos.

How did he get here so fast?

He dove into the fountain without hesitation, gathering Vivienne into his arms like she was made of spun glass. "Baby, are you hurt? The baby—"

"She pushed me!" Vivienne sobbed against his chest. "She tried to kill me!"

All eyes turned to me. Parents pulled their children closer. Someone was already filming with their phone.

This is it. This is how my story ends.

"You're insane," Dylan snarled, his wet hair plastered to his skull as he lifted Vivienne from the water. "Stay away from us. Stay away from our family."

Our family.

"I didn't—she fell—"

"I saw what you did." His voice was ice-cold fury. "You're sick, Lena. Get help."

Sick. Insane. Stalker.

The crowd pressed closer, their whispers building to a roar. Someone was calling the police. Cameras flashed like lightning.

This is what seven years of love gets you.

I ran.

Behind me, Dylan's voice carried over the water: "If I ever see you near my fiancée again, I'll have you arrested."

Arrested. For loving him. For waiting. For believing his lies.

Florence, I thought through my tears. Florence can't come soon enough.

But first, I had to survive the headlines I knew were coming.

"OBSESSED FAN ATTACKS PREGNANT FIANCÉE."