Chapter 3

The Italian bistro's warm amber lighting cast a deceptive glow over our table, making everything seem more intimate than it was. Seated across from me, Victoria dabbed at her lips with a napkin, her fragility on full display. Ryan's hand rested on her shoulder, his thumb tracing small circles against the silk of her dress. I stared at my plate, pushing pasta around with my fork, my knees still throbbing beneath the table from yesterday's ordeal on the concrete steps.

"We should celebrate," Ryan announced, his voice carrying the artificial cheer he used when others were watching. "Victoria's feeling better after your cleansing ritual, Chloe."

I looked up, searching Victoria's face for any sign of the illness that had supposedly plagued her. Her complexion was rosy, her eyes bright. If she'd been sick, I couldn't see it.

"I'm so grateful," Victoria murmured, reaching across to squeeze my hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong for someone supposedly at death's door. "Your sacrifice has made all the difference."

The waitress approached with our coffee, setting down the steaming cups with a smile. "Anything else I can get for you?"

"Yes," Ryan said before I could speak. "Could we get some almond milk for her coffee?" He gestured toward me.

My stomach dropped. "Ryan, I can't have—"

"It's part of the cleansing," he cut me off, his eyes flashing a warning. "Julian was very specific about this step."

The waitress nodded and walked away. I leaned forward, keeping my voice low. "Ryan, you know I'm allergic to nuts. Severely allergic."

"It's just a small amount," he dismissed, not meeting my eyes. "Julian says the protein in almond milk will bind with the negative energy you're still carrying."

"But I could go into anaphylactic shock," I insisted, panic rising in my throat. "My EpiPen is at home."

Victoria gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "Oh, Chloe, don't you see? This is the final sacrifice you need to make for me." Her eyes widened with theatrical sincerity. "My body is rejecting my own spirit because of your energy. I need this from you."

The waitress returned, placing a small pitcher of almond milk beside my cup. "Here you go."

Ryan poured it into my coffee before I could stop him, the creamy liquid swirling into the dark brew. He pushed the cup toward me, his expression hardening. "Drink it."

I stared at the cup, my hands trembling. "I can't."

"You can and you will," Ryan hissed, leaning close. "After everything I've done for you, this is how you repay me? By refusing to help Victoria?"

His words hit their mark. Five years of conditioning, of believing I owed him everything, pushed my hand forward. I lifted the cup to my lips, tears blurring my vision.

The first sip burned going down, not from heat but from something deeper. Within seconds, my tongue began to tingle, then swell. I set the cup down hard, coffee sloshing over the rim.

"Ryan," I gasped, my voice already changing, thickening. "I need... hospital."

My throat was closing. Each breath became a desperate struggle, the air whistling through a passage growing narrower by the second. I clutched at my neck, panic exploding through my body.

"Oh my God," Victoria exclaimed, her hand flying to her mouth. "I feel it too! It's an anaphylactic reaction of empathy!"

Ryan immediately turned to her, his face contorted with concern. "Victoria! Are you okay?"

I slid from my chair, my knees hitting the hardwood floor. The room tilted around me, faces blurring as I fought for air. Through my dimming vision, I saw Ryan gathering Victoria in his arms, helping her toward the door.

"Ryan," I wheezed, reaching out a hand that he didn't see—or chose to ignore.

"I need to get her home," I heard him tell someone. "She's having a severe reaction."

He was leaving. He was actually leaving me here, choking to death on the floor.

The last thing I saw before darkness crept in from the edges was the young waitress's horrified face as she knelt beside me, phone pressed to her ear.

"Yes, emergency!" her voice seemed to come from far away. "A woman is having an allergic reaction... Yes, she can't breathe!"

I drifted in and out of consciousness in the hospital corridor, the harsh fluorescent lights pulsing above me like distant stars. My body felt leaden, disconnected, as if I were floating just above it. The epinephrine they'd given me in the ambulance had opened my airways, but left me shaking, my heart racing painfully in my chest.

Voices drifted through the cracked door of a nearby room—familiar voices that cut through my medicated haze.

"You should have seen her face," Ryan's laugh, casual and amused. "Absolutely priceless."

"Did she actually drink it?" Julian's voice, laced with disbelief and something like admiration.

"Every drop. Even as she was gasping for air." Ryan's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper that somehow carried to my ears. "She'd literally die for me—what a prize."

Their laughter filtered through the gap, sharp and cruel. I closed my eyes, hot tears sliding down my temples into my hair.

Something shifted inside me then—a tectonic plate moving deep beneath the surface of who I thought I was. The realization crashed through me with the force of a breaking wave: This wasn't love. It had never been love.

And for the first time in five years, I allowed myself to wonder if I deserved something more than this slow death disguised as devotion.