Chapter 3

I woke to the buzzing of my phone. Sunlight streamed through the curtains I'd forgotten to close, making me squint as I reached for the device. A notification from Celebrity Insider flashed on the screen, and my stomach twisted as I read the headline: "THE ABANDONED FIANCÉE: Matthews Leaves Bride-to-Be at Their Own Engagement Party."

I sat up, scrolling through the article with trembling fingers. Photos of me standing alone on that platform, diamond glittering on my finger and tears streaming down my face, filled the screen. The caption beneath read: "Natalie Parker, left stunned as billionaire fiancé Ryan Matthews abandons her for mystery woman."

They didn't know the half of it.

More notifications poured in—texts from friends, calls from family, all asking if I was okay. I silenced the phone and let it drop onto the sheets. The bedroom door opened, and Ryan appeared, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit despite having spent the night at the hospital.

"Good morning," he said, his voice carefully modulated. "I see you've been reading the tabloids."

"How is she?" I asked, surprised by the steadiness in my voice.

"Stable, but critical." He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for my hand. I let him take it, fighting the urge to recoil. "Her kidney function is deteriorating faster than expected."

"And what does that mean for me?" The question hung between us, heavy with implications.

Ryan's eyes softened with practiced concern. "Natalie, I know how this looks. Last night was... unfortunate. But Isabella needs us—needs you—more than ever."

"Us," I repeated. "Your ex-wife and your fiancée. What a team."

"Please." His fingers tightened around mine. "We need to keep Isabella's condition private. The press can't know about her relationship to me—it would only complicate things. As far as anyone is concerned, she's a family friend who collapsed at our party. Nothing more."

I stared at him, searching for a crack in his perfect mask. "And what do you need from me, Ryan?"

"Just come with me to the clinic today. For some routine testing." His thumb traced circles on my palm—a gesture that once sent shivers up my spine. "If you're a match, you could save her life. Isn't that worth something?"

Guilt twisted in my chest. Despite everything, the thought of letting someone die when I could help felt impossible. Was I really considering this? After what they'd done?

"Just testing," I said finally. "Nothing more until I decide."

Relief washed over his face. "That's all I'm asking."

---

The private clinic gleamed with sterility and wealth. Nurses in crisp uniforms guided me through a series of tests, drawing vials of blood and conducting ultrasounds of my kidneys. Ryan stayed close, his hand at the small of my back, guiding me from room to room like a prized possession.

"You're doing great," he murmured as a technician prepared another needle. "This will help us determine tissue compatibility."

I nodded, watching my blood fill the vial. Was this how they'd planned it all along? Groom me, love me, propose to me—all to harvest a piece of my body?

"Almost done," the technician said with a reassuring smile. "You're very brave."

I wasn't brave. I was a fool.

---

Back at the estate, Ryan led me to his private study. "Wait here," he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Isabella wanted to speak with you herself. She's being discharged for a few hours."

I sat rigidly in one of the leather armchairs, staring at the Rothko painting that concealed the safe. Behind it lay the evidence of their betrayal—the divorce papers, the medical files with my name. My fingers itched to grab them, to confront Ryan with physical proof of his lies.

The door opened, and Isabella entered. She looked frailer than ever, her skin ashen and her steps uncertain. Ryan guided her to the chair across from me, his hands gentle on her shoulders.

"I'll give you two some privacy," he said, closing the door behind him.

Silence stretched between us. Isabella's dark eyes studied me with an intensity that made me shift uncomfortably.

"I'm so sorry about last night," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "What terrible timing."

"Yes," I agreed flatly. "Terrible."

She leaned forward, reaching for my hand. I let her take it, noticing how cold her fingers felt against mine. "Ryan told me you're considering being tested as a donor."

"I already was tested," I corrected. "This morning."

A smile flickered across her face. "You're an angel, Natalie. Truly."

She reached for her purse, a small designer clutch that matched her pale blue dress. "I brought you something. A small token of my appreciation."

As she opened the clasp, I caught a glimpse of something glass inside—not jewelry, but a small vial. Her movements suddenly shifted, becoming quick and deliberate as she rose from her chair.

"Isabella—"

The liquid hit my face before I could finish her name. Searing pain exploded across my skin as she stumbled backward, the empty vial clattering to the floor.

"Oh my God!" she screamed, her voice transformed from a whisper to a shriek. "I slipped! Help! Someone help!"

Through the burning agony, through my own screams, I saw her face—no longer frail or grateful, but twisted with a cold satisfaction that chilled me more than the acid burning through my skin.