“I hate her, Vincent,’ Courtney whined, clinging to his arm. “She stole my boyfriend. And I want her to suffer—like really suffer—so I can finally feel better.”

Vincent hesitated. For a moment, silence stretched thin. Then, with a sigh, he gave in. “Fine. Stop crying. We’ll do it your way.”

From the shadows, Roxanne’s lips curled into a bitter smile. Whatever warmth she had left inside her felt like it froze over completely.

***

The next morning, Roxanne stepped out of her bedroom and Vincent greeted her with a cheery grin.

“Roxy! Courtney wants to visit her hometown today. Thought you might want to tag along.”

“Okay,” she said, too quickly.

She’d never even heard of Possum Hollow before last night, yet the name stirred something oddly familiar inside her. She decided to play along—and find out what secrets that town might be hiding.

Vincent quietly exhaled in relief. Maybe she was just acting out yesterday, he thought. Maybe things would settle down.

It was a long, bumpy ride. Several hours later, they arrived in Possum Hollow. The small town felt foreign and underwhelming—until Roxanne saw Courtney’s house.

The second she stepped inside, a wave of déjà vu hit her so hard it split her head with pain.

“Achoo!” Courtney sneezed violently a few times, clinging to Vincent. “I don’t feel good… Can you take me to a doctor?”

“Roxy, just go on in. I’ll be back as soon as I take Courtney to the clinic.”

Without another glance, he swept Courtney into his arms and hurried away, never noticing how pale Roxanne had gone.

Clutching her chest, Roxanne struggled to breathe. The asthma attack came fast and hard, but she managed to pull out her emergency inhaler just in time. She leaned against the doorway, gasping.

It took her a while to recover.

She was lucky she always came prepared—otherwise, she might’ve died right there.

Then came the voices.

“Well, well… So this is the girl Courtney's been going on about. Not bad—cute face. Kinda fragile-looking, though. Think she’ll sell? good”

“Who cares? Look at that body. Damn, those curves... If she doesn’t sell, I’m keeping her for myself.”

The filth in their voices made Roxanne’s skin crawl.

She spun around and saw two sleazy-looking men grinning at her, eyes glinting with something vile. Her heart jumped into her throat. With no time to think, she turned and bolted inside, slamming the door and locking it behind her.

Dust flew up around her as she dug out her phone and frantically dialed Vincent.

He answered immediately.

“Vincent, please come back! Courtney sent traffickers after me—they’re trying to abduct me!”

Before he could speak, Courtney’s voice broke through on the other end, trembling with fake sobs.

“Roxanne, how could you say that? I know you don’t like me, but accusing me of something like this? That’s over the line.”

Vincent’s tone turned sharp. “Courtney invited you here out of kindness. And this is how you thank her? You seriously need a wake-up call.”

Then he hung up—cutting off Roxanne’s only lifeline.

She stared at her phone, stunned. This town was way too isolated. By the time the cops arrived—if they ever did—it’d be too late.

Panic clawed at her throat. She turned and bolted up the stairs, heart pounding. If it came down to it, she would rather die than end up in a human trafficking ring.

From the third-floor window, she glanced down—just as the men started pounding on the door.

“Go on, keep running, little rabbit. We like a chase,” one of them sneered. “Come quietly, sweetheart. It'll be easier that way.”

Cornered, Roxanne steeled herself. She gripped the edge of the window, preparing to jump.

And then—everything shook.

The house collapsed beneath her with a deafening roar. She was thrown into the air, pain ripping through her body as she hit the ground.

She was so angry, she had to die without getting a chance to take revenge.

When Roxanne woke, she was lying in a hospital bed.

From the hallway, she heard Courtney’s voice, tight with anger.

“Why did you go back for her? Don’t tell me you’ve actually fallen for her?”

Vincent’s reply was swift. “Calm down, Courtney. That’s not what this is. I just didn’t want a body on our hands.”

Courtney sniffled. “Fine. I’ll believe you—this time. But you owe me.”

She held up her bruised arm. “If you hadn’t insisted on turning back, I wouldn’t be hurt.”

“Okay, I’ll make it up for you. Whatever you want. Just name it.”

Her eyes lit up with a cunning gleam. “Give me that ‘My Blue’ account.”

Vincent didn’t even blink. “Sure.”

Roxanne felt a dull ache in her chest—an ache she hated herself for feeling.

That account. My Blue. She’d created it for Vincent, spent years filling it with 382 pieces of art. Seven years of her life, all for him.

And just like that, he gave it away.

Didn’t even bother to ask.

Hearing the door creak open, Roxanne quickly shut her eyes and pretended to stir awake.

“Roxy! You’re up!” Vincent rushed to her side, pulling her into his arms. “God, I was so scared. Thank God you’re okay.”

She pushed him away gently, a cold smile curling on her lips. “You’re the one who left me there, Vincent. You sent me straight into danger.”

Vincent looked shaken—guilty, but Courtney jumped in fast.

“Don’t blame him, Roxanne. It was my idea to invite you to Possum Hollow. If you want to be mad, be mad at me.”

Roxanne laughed, cold and sharp. “Oh, you think I’m not mad at you? Don’t worry—you’ll get your turn after I’m done with Vincent. I’m definitely not letting that slide. I’m pressing charges for those traffickers you send.”

Courtney clutched her chest, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Why do you keep saying that? I just got back from overseas— how could I possibly know anything about traffickers?”

Vincent added quickly, “It can’t be Courtney. She’s not that kind of person.”

“Well, I already called the cops,” Roxanne said calmly. “She can explain herself to them.”

Vincent scowled. “You called the police? You turn this into a bigger deal than it needs to be. This is ridiculous!”

Courtney’s eyes flickered with cold calculation, but she masked it quickly.

“If that makes you feel safe, then fine. Well, I haven’t seen you eating. You must be starving. I’ll have food sent up here.”

Not long after, the door opened. A masked delivery guy stepped in, holding a bag of food.

“Hi, your order’s here.”

Vincent reached for the bag—only to be shoved aside.

Before anyone could react, the man pulled a knife from the bag and lunged straight at Courtney.

“Courtney, look out!”

Vincent threw himself in front of her, kicking at the attacker.

But the man didn’t even glance at them. He spun around and plunged toward Roxanne.

She caught the blade with both hands, blood dripping as she screamed, “Vincent! Help me!”

He moved to go—but Courtney collapsed into his arms, sobbing. “Vincent, please don’t leave me. I’m scared…”

He hesitated.

And in that split second, the knife drove deep into Roxanne’s side. 

She stared at him, wide-eyed and utterly shattered. Even now—bleeding, on the edge of death—she still wasn’t enough. Not compared to Courtney’s fear.

So this is what love looked like, huh? The difference between loving and not loving someone really was that simple. That cruel.

The man raised the knife again, but just then, security rushed in. Two guards tackled him to the ground, wrestling the blade from his hand.

A nurse hurried in, pressing gauze to Roxanne’s side, trying to stop the bleeding as she barked orders into her headset.

Vincent stood frozen. Still. The image of Roxanne’s eyes—dark with heartbreak, not pain—burned into his mind.

That look.

That look unnerved him.

He stayed with Courtney long enough to calm her down, rubbing her back as she sobbed into his shirt. Then, when she was settled, he returned to Roxanne’s hospital room.

She lay there, pale and weak, staring off at nothing, like she didn’t even notice he’d walked in.

Guilt clawed at his chest. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I swear, that’s the last time I’ll ever let you get hurt. I’ll never leave you again.”

Roxanne turned her head slightly. Her voice was soft, even. “Okay.”

Vincent hesitated. That was it? No questions? No tears?

She didn’t yell. Didn’t throw anything. She wasn’t clinging or begging.

That wasn’t like her.

Something felt off. Something he couldn’t name.

“Roxy… do you still love me?” he asked, his voice low, uncertain.

She looked him right in the eye. Calm. Composed. “I told you—I’d never marry someone I didn’t love.”

That one sentence sent a jolt through him. But then he remembered—seven days from now was their wedding.

Maybe she was just shaken. Maybe it was the blood loss.

Relief flickered in his chest. He smiled, trying to convince himself things would be okay. “Just rest up, alright? Seven days from now, you’ll walk down that aisle as the most beautiful bride anyone's ever seen.”

Roxanne nodded.

Yeah, she’d rest.

But not for him.

She was healing up so she could leave him behind—once and for all.

Maybe it was guilt. Or maybe he was trying to patch things up the only way he knew how—but Vincent had suddenly turned into the picture-perfect boyfriend. He barely left Roxanne’s side. Even moved his entire office into her hospital room.

Courtney had stopped by a few times, trying to drag him out. No luck.

Roxanne watched him as he busied himself with work just feet away. Her face stayed blank.

She knew Vincent cared. That wasn’t the issue.

But love that comes late… it’s cheap. And she had no use for it.

After a few days of recovery, Roxanne was finally cleared to go home.

“Hey Roxy,” Vincent said casually, helping her gather her things, “I was thinking we could swing by a little get-together tonight. Just dinner with some of my friends.”

Roxanne paused, thrown off.

In the past seven years, Vincent had never—not once—brought her to a single gathering with his circle. Even when she asked, he always had some excuse ready.

Eventually, she stopped trying.

So why the sudden invite? A guilty conscience? Or something else?

Whatever it was, she didn’t care anymore.

“I’d rather just go home and rest,” she said flatly.

Vincent kept his voice light. “C’mon, it’s just dinner. A chance to unwind. Weren’t you always saying you wanted to meet them?”

She hesitated. At this point, saying no would just make a scene. So she nodded.

As Vincent pushed open the door to leave, voices filtered in from the other room—his friends talking over each other, clearly unaware they had an audience.

“Courtney, seriously, what does that pretty-boy you’re into have that Vincent doesn’t? You two would make way more sense.”

“Exactly. Everyone thinks you and Vincent are a perfect match.”

“You’re gonna regret it for the rest of your life if you let a guy like Vincent slip away.”

Vincent cleared his throat loudly, a few awkward coughs to shut them up. He glanced behind him.

Roxanne had her head down, typing something on her phone, completely unfazed. Or at least pretending to be.

Relieved, he reached for her hand and led her into the room.

The second she stepped inside, the chatter stopped. Everyone went quiet, their eyes flicking between her and Courtney.

Courtney’s gaze landed on their joined hands. A flash of something dark—jealousy, maybe even hate—passed through her eyes.

Midway through dinner, Courtney suddenly grabbed two drinks and walked over with a bright smile.

“Roxanne,” she said, handing one over, “I owe you an apology. Let me toast to you.”

Roxanne took one look at the offered drink and sidestepped it with practiced ease. “Still recovering. Can’t drink.”

Courtney didn’t miss a beat. She picked up a different glass. “Juice, then. Let’s toast with that. Mind pouring me a glass too?”

Roxanne watched her closely. Her face seemed sincere enough. Reluctantly, she poured the orange juice and handed it over.

Courtney downed hers in one go.

Roxanne took a polite sip, just to be courteous, then set it down.

Courtney’s grin widened. She leaned in, dropping her voice to a whisper.

“I’m going to show you who really matters to Vincent.”

Before Roxanne could even process that cryptic warning, Courtney’s glass clattered to the floor.

She doubled over, clutching her stomach, her face turning paper-white.

“It hurts!” She shouted. “Oh God—what did you put in that juice?!”

Vincent was on his feet in a flash, glaring at Roxanne like she’d pulled a gun

“She apologized to you,” he snapped. “Why would you do this?”

Roxanne blinked, stunned. Then something in her face shifted—cool, bitter amusement.

“You really think I did this?”

His expression darkened. “Who else could it be? You’re the only one who touched that pitcher.”

Courtney whimpered weakly, tears glistening in her eyes. “It’s my fault… I saw Roxanne sip some and thought it was safe, so I…”

That was all it took. Vincent snapped.

He grabbed Roxanne by the neck, shoved the pitcher to her lips and forced the rest of the juice down her throat.

“You like poisoning people?” he growled. “Now, get a taste of it. Drink it all!”

Roxanne coughed violently, tears springing to her eyes, but she still locked eyes with him, refusing to break.

“I… didn’t… do it…”she rasped out.

Vincent looked at her like she was the scum on his shoes. “Still playing the victim?

He threw the empty pitcher aside. Roxanne collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath.

Without another word, Vincent scooped Courtney into his arms and walked out, not sparing her a single glance.