Chapter 5

I didn't go to the hospital.

I sat out on the balcony until the sky turned dark.

I knew that if I went, everything would fall apart.

I'd be back where I started, a thousand nights, reconnecting that thread, counting his days, letting them call me the girl who throws herself at him, the one who couldn't get him but couldn't let go.

But if I didn't go, would he...I forced myself to keep thinking.

Six years ago, he was twenty-three, had nothing, not even the strength to keep living.

I was the one who pulled him back from the edge.

By then he was thirty, had his own company, money, a whole team, a personal doctor, and staff at his beck and call.

That scar on his wrist was barely visible by then.

He was not that guy anymore, the one who was sitting in a pool of his own blood.

If a thirty-year-old guy who had the world at his feet couldn't make it without a text from me every night, then maybe his life was never meant to depend on me alone.

I dialed Adam's number.

I needed to hear from someone completely outside of Ryan's world.

"Can I ask you something that's not about your work?" I said.

"If someone's been relying on another person for support for years, and when that person steps away, they can't cope, does that mean it's the fault of the one who left?"

Adam was quiet for a moment. "The real issue is, all these years, nobody taught him how to stand on his own two feet. The one who's been supporting him all this time doesn't owe him anything more."

I closed my eyes.

"Thanks," I said.

The next day, things got messy.

The Lewis family's circle was small and full of gossip, so the whole story was everywhere by morning.

The rumors got juicier: [Vivian had chased after Ryan for six years, and when he finally had money and power, she tried to hit him up for a big payout.

[When that didn't work, she dumped him and went off to find someone else, Ryan was so pissed he ended up in the hospital.]

The woman in the silk dress somehow dug up old posts from my social media. All those sappy, embarrassing things I'd written about Ryan years ago that now just looked pathetic.

She screenshotted them one by one and captioned: [The real face of a green tea bitch. Pretended for six years, now her true colors are out.]

Hundreds of comments poured in, people trashing me, mocking me, and pitying Ryan.

[Girls like her are the worst, first they act sweet, then stab you in the back.]

[Mr. Lewis must've been blind as a bat to ever go for her.]

[Heard her new guy's loaded, she's just jumping ship for someone richer.]

My mom called again, her voice thick with tears. "Vivian, what on earth did you do?

"The Grants have all heard about it. They're asking if you were the one who pushed your ex into the hospital. How am I supposed to talk about your blind date now? You've totally embarrassed our family!"

"Mom," I said, "it wasn't me."

My mom wouldn't hear it. "Then who was it? He's a big shot. If you hadn't gotten involved, would he have ended up in the hospital?

"Even if you couldn't win him over, couldn't you have just ended things quietly? Did you really have to turn it into a whole city-wide drama?"

I opened my mouth.

But I realized I couldn't bring myself to say it.

The truth was, six years ago, I dragged him out of the bathroom and saved his life.

The truth was, those three words weren't just for show, and they were how I let him know I was okay.

The truth was, I was the one who kept him going for six years.

But if I said it out loud, it wouldn't be me who got destroyed; it'd be him.

It would mean tearing open Ryan's secret, the one he tried to bury for six years, soaked in his own blood.

That scar was his lifeline.

I was holding onto over a thousand chat logs, my only trump card to prove I was innocent.

If I ever played it, I'd clear my name, but it would tear Ryan's life apart.

I sat there, drowning in a flood of hate comments, and for the first time, I realized what it meant to have no way to defend myself.

If I chased after him, I was just some pathetic, clingy girl.

If I walked away, I was instantly branded the villain.

Turned out, no matter what I did, I was damned either way.

My phone buzzed again.

It was an unknown number, but the caller ID said "Hospital."

I picked up.

A weary man's voice came on the line. "Is this Vivian Joyce? I'm Ryan Lewis's primary doctor. His condition is stable, but he keeps refusing treatment. He says he won't sign anything unless you're here.

"We checked, and he doesn't have any local immediate family. If you can, would you please come to the hospital?"