Chapter 2

My arm was getting redder by the second, clusters of red spots spreading everywhere and itching like crazy.

I couldn't help myself. I started scratching, trying to suppress the discomfort as much as I could.

William caught me.

He muttered a curse under his breath and kicked me aside, the disgust in his eyes stabbing right through my heart.

He snapped, "Gross! Get that mango away from me!

"Let's not eat anymore, Yara. Who knows what kind of filthy disease you might catch from her?"

My fingertips trembled, and it felt like a giant fist was squeezing my heart, making it almost impossible to breathe.

I threw away my pride and crawled painfully to his feet, clutching his clothes and begging, "William, please, take me to the hospital. I think I'm dying."

Yara scoffed, "Wow, you really know how to put on a show," then turned on her heel and walked away.

Any trace of hesitation in William's eyes disappeared, replaced by pure disgust as he looked down on me.

He said coldly, "Just a little allergy. I'll swing by tomorrow and see if you actually die."

I pleaded, "William, please, it's not like that, I..."

I stretched out my hand, grasping at the last bit of hope.

But all I could do was watch helplessly as the door slammed shut.

The last spark of hope in my eyes died.

I lay sprawled on the floor, broken and helpless, shutting my eyes as I waited for death to take me.

*****

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back in my room.

When I saw William and Yara entwined together on the bed, holding each other close, my fingertips trembled, and my throat closed up, making it impossible to breathe.

Yara lifted her head slightly, a mocking smile on her lips. She asked, "Aren't you worried that mutt Winnie might actually die in that suite?"

William frowned and pressed a kiss to Yara's neck.

He said, "If she dies, so what? Honestly, I'd be glad if she just kicked the bucket sooner."

Yara snickered.

It was like getting slapped right in the face, even though no one touched me.

I clenched my fists, and for the first time, I wished I could unhear it all.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang. William paused and glanced back. Our wedding photo on the wall had fallen to the floor for no reason at all.

Yara shoved him away, her face icy. She said, "Forget it. We'll talk about this later."

After Yara left the room, William ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

He got out of bed, walked over to the fallen wedding photo, and pressed his foot down on the glass frame, grinding it slowly, watching the cracks spread across the surface.

He spat, "You're such bad luck, Winnie Lynch. Everything about you disgusts me. Are you deliberately making my life miserable?"

A crack slowly crept right down the middle of the photo, splitting us apart.

As the glass shattered, it felt like something inside me broke, too.

I let out a bitter laugh. I was already dead, and he still couldn't even stand the sight of my photo.

When Yara came back into the room, she was carrying a birthday cake in a box.

She said, "Happy birthday. I especially ordered this cake for you."

William's face froze for a second, and after a long moment, he forced out a smile.

He never celebrated his birthday, and he never touched cake.

When he was little, his parents died in a car crash on their way to buy him a birthday cake.

From then on, his birthday became the one thing nobody could touch: a wound that cut deeper than any other.

As Yara brought a piece of cake to William's lips, I held my breath, watching him without blinking.

I could clearly see the resistance and turmoil in his eyes, but after a moment, he gave in and ate the cake.

I closed my eyes, fighting back the sting inside.

The first year we were together, I spent two weeks planning his birthday, pouring my heart into baking William a cake.

But when he saw it, he slapped me so hard my head spun.

He grabbed the cake and smashed it on the floor, then, with a chilling threat, told me if he ever saw another cake, he'd yank my mom off life support.

That night, I crouched on the floor, picking up bits of frosting one by one, as if I was gathering up the pieces of my broken heart.

I tried to comfort myself, telling myself it was just because of what he'd been through as a kid.

Someday, I thought, maybe I'd be the one to heal him.

But now I finally got it. It was never about his childhood trauma. The real problem was me. I wasn't the one he wanted.

I wasn't Yara. I was nothing more than her stand-in.

That was why William would never give me his affection or make any compromises for me.