Steven raised his voice. "You want a divorce just 'cause I didn't save you first?"

"I told you, I didn't see you. Tammy was seriously hurt too. If I hadn't rushed her to the hospital, she could've ended up with a scar on her forehead."

A scar. That mattered more than my life.

I should've seen it coming. The second he shoved Tammy into the company—zero experience, just some old college connection—I should've known.

I looked away. "The lawyer will send the papers."

The door slammed open. Tammy charged in, face full of fake guilt.

"Bree, this isn't Steven's fault. It's mine. I shouldn't have gotten hurt where he could see. I shouldn't have asked you to drive 'cause of my stomachache. If I knew this would happen, I'd have just called in sick. I messed everything up for him."

Steven threw her a worried glance and stepped in front of her. "This is between me and Bree. Don't blame yourself."

I locked eyes with Tammy, who was suddenly real quiet behind him.

"You faked a stomachache to make me drive, then messed with the airbag. That's attempted murder. You really think I'll let that slide?"

Her face twitched, just for a second, then she snapped back into her act. "Bree, it was Steven's car. I didn't know anything about the airbag."

Steven looked at her, surprised, then came over and tried to grab my hand. I yanked it back.

Tammy frowned, her voice weirdly soft. "It was an accident, okay? Blame me if it helps. Let's just move on. You're fine now—why keep dragging this out?"

Fine?

I almost died. Tammy gets a scratch, and suddenly it's a whole crisis.

I stared straight at Steven. "We're getting divorced. And I'm finding out if Tammy tried to kill me. If I made it out alive, whoever wanted me dead won't."

Steven scoffed. "Bree Artego, you think I don't see what this is?

"You've always been paranoid about me and Tammy. And yeah—you were right. While you were off chasing deadlines on our wedding night, Tammy was the one by my side.

"You want out? Cool. But you walk away with nothing. Otherwise, no deal."

My chest squeezed like someone had their fist around my heart. I couldn't breathe.

That night, I'd been out drinking with clients, chasing a deal for our company. I landed in the ER with stomach bleeding. Called him nonstop. He never picked up. He was with her.

My mouth filled with that sharp, bitter taste. I spat blood right at him.

"Get out."

Steven's face twitched, tension flashing in his eyes. "Think twice about the divorce, Bree. This won't end well for either of us."

He left. I stood there, fists clenched, then felt my phone buzz.

A new message—last month's cancer screening.

I stared at it, breath stuck in my throat.

Late stage.

I let out a cold, dry laugh.

All these years, I ran myself into the ground trying to prove I was the best thing that ever happened to Steven. Late nights, back-to-back clients, nonstop grind. I thought I'd finally shown I was better than anyone he'd ever known.

But he was never on my side. Not from the start.

I leaned back, let out a long breath, tears slipping down.

This time... I'm living for me.

I had my lawyer draw up the divorce papers and wrote my own resignation. Both landed on Steven's desk through legal hands.

Then I checked out of the hospital, blocked him, and booked a flight to the coast.

I'd always been obsessed with the ocean. Back in college, I dreamed of beach towns, sunset walks, a dog, someone who actually gave a damn.

But Steven couldn't stand the sea. Later found out Tammy almost drowned as a kid. She was scared of water—so he bailed on Seavora for Harvon City.

***

A week after leaving Harvon City, I finally powered my phone back on.

Boom—hundreds of missed calls and texts.

Figures. Steven used to brag the company didn't need me. Guess reality's kicking in.

The screen lit up: 'Hubby.'

I paused, then answered. "Yeah?"

"Bree, what the hell is wrong with you? You ghost us now? Mr. Quandt's been blowing up my phone! You owe him that design—even if you quit. Ever heard of professionalism?"

Mr. Quandt wasn't just any client—he was one of the hardest to land.

He's the one who dragged me out for drinks on my wedding night. If I hadn't gone, we'd have lost the deal.

The company was barely crawling back then. I couldn't risk it.

So yeah, I left Steven alone on our wedding night.

Next day, I bought him that watch he always talked about—four grand.

The dress I wore? Less than fifty bucks. I'd had it for three years.

I clenched the phone as pain stabbed through my side.

"I'm sick. I resigned so I wouldn't hold the company back. Didn't you say Tammy was the real talent? That I was just dead weight? Well, congrats—you've got your shot now. Shouldn't you be thrilled?"

Silence. Then Steven snapped, "The doctor said it's not fatal. Get your ass back to work."

Not fatal?

I doubled over, coughing hard. Red smeared my palm.

"If that's all, lose my number. Sign the divorce papers. I want every cent I'm owed. From now on, talk to my lawyer."

As soon as I hung up, a new chat notification popped up.

Tammy.

Over a dozen photos—her all over Steven.

My temples pounded. I could barely breathe.

I stared at the keyboard for a while before backing out of Tammy's chat.

Not yet. It wasn't time.

Two weeks later, an unknown number lit up my screen.

The area code made me freeze. I hesitated, then answered.

Right away, Steven's voice exploded through the speaker.

"Bree! Help me! Tammy's trying to kill me!"