Chapter 2

Pain and numbness fought for dominance in my body, but my mind had never been clearer. The moment the nurse stepped out, I dragged myself upright and made an encrypted call.

It rang five times before Mason Clifton answered. He was my lawyer, my oldest friend and my only real ally. "Jocelyn? Christ, how you feeling?"

"I'm still alive, for now," I said succinctly. "But time is running out. Mason, initiate Plan B."

There was a brief silence on the other end.

Then he said, "Done. Assets are already moved—your family's, plus what you're owed for three years of playing perfect corporate wife. Legal team valued your PR and domestic labor at triple market rate. It's all in your secret foreign account."

"Good," I said, closing my eyes. "Prep the divorce papers. Property waiver too. I'll signal when it's time."

"Jocelyn, are you sure you don't want to wait a bit longer? Maybe..." Mason hesitated.

"No," I cut him off. "It's time to close the books on this project. Write off the bad debts, recognize the losses, and walk away while we still can."

Then I hung up. The call drained what little energy I had left.

Serena's "visit" that afternoon reeked of family obligation. She dumped some gifts on the table like it was contaminated, staying well out of reach.

"Jocelyn, are you feeling better? Alaric says money's no issue," she recited woodenly. "Just... get better."

I studied her. She'd once been sweet, but now she was just Vivian's eager disciple, always targeting me.

"Mm," I answered blandly.

She fidgeted when I didn't rise to the bait. "Don't blame him, okay? Vivian's just... fragile. He has to protect her."

Ah, the official Goodwin family motto. Vivian was always the fragile one who needed coddling, while I was expected to be the endlessly patient saint—the sensible, selfless wife with a bottomless well of generosity.

I couldn't be bothered to argue, so I just closed my eyes.

She lingered awkwardly before leaving. At the door, she muttered, "You're... kind of pathetic."

Pathetic? Maybe.

But not for much longer.

Alaric's assistant Chris's evening appearance with overpriced flowers and a corporate-speak card was peak Alaric.

"Mrs. Goodwin, Mr. Goodwin's tied up with a cross-border acquisition. He wishes you a speedy recovery. And if you need anything, just tell me," Chris said, all business.

A cross-border acquisition?

I almost choked.

Sure. Vivian always required such hands-on management.

I gestured for Chris to take the flowers away but leave the card.

"Tell Mr. Goodwin," I said, gazing up at the ceiling, my voice light, "I appreciate his... efficiency."

After Chris left, I had the attendant cut up the card.

Alaric's money. Alaric's guilt payments. Alaric's hollow concern.

None of it was mine anymore.

Jocelyn POV

Early the next morning, the attending doctor rushed in with what could only be described as a miracle.

He said, "Mrs. Goodwin, we just got word—there's a kidney available that's a 95% match for you! It came from a brain-dead donor. If we act fast, your chances are excellent."

He was practically glowing with excitement, his grin impossible to hide.

I'd been in a daze for days, but this news left me frozen in shock.

Turned out, sometimes the line between life and death was paper-thin.

Then the doctor's expression faltered, his smile fading. "But we're on a tight clock. We need to prep you and get all the paperwork signed within 12 hours. And... the donor's family has some additional requests. There's a financial settlement involved, not to mention the surgery and recovery costs."

I understood. This lifeline still depended on Alaric.

After a beat of silence, I pulled out my phone and dialed that all-too-familiar number.

First call—no answer.

Second call—it rang forever before he finally picked up.

The background noise was chaotic, and Alaric's voice was pure irritation. "Jocelyn? What is it? I'm busy!"

"Alaric," I said, forcing my voice steady, "the doctor found a kidney—a near-perfect match. But I need you here now to sign the papers and handle the arrangements—"

"A kidney?" He sounded thrown for a second, then even more impatient. "Yeah, I heard you. Can't Chris deal with this? I can't leave right now. Vivian's—"

In the background, Vivian's tearful voice cut through. "Alaric... I didn't mean to... I didn't know the medication would—"

"Alright, alright, don't cry. It's not your fault," he said, his tone immediately turning gentle to comfort her.

Then, back to me, he said, his voice clipped and cold, "I'll deal with this later."

He hung up on me without a second thought.

I stared at the darkened screen, my insides hollow.

So even life-or-death couldn't compete with her latest drama.

Good. No more hesitation. No more false hope.

I called the doctor back in and said calmly, "Thank you, but I'm refusing the surgery."

The doctor stared at me in shock. "Mrs. Goodwin, do you realize what this means?"

"I do," I said, my voice lighter than it had been in years. A real smile touched my lips. "It means freedom."

I nodded to the attendant, who handed the doctor the documents I'd prepared earlier. "This is my directive."

Then I dialed Mason. "It's time. Deliver the divorce papers to Alaric. Don't wait for him to be 'free.'"

I'd let him get those papers from his dying wife while he was still wrapped up in comforting Vivian.

If that wasn't the perfect goodbye, I didn't know what was.