Anya's birthday was the day after mine, and I was sure she and Giovanni had already celebrated it earlier. The thought lingered in the back of my mind, but I didn’t want to feel bitter about it. I couldn’t let myself break down, not today. Instead, I chose to focus on my work, burying myself in tasks that would keep my mind busy. If I just kept going, if I kept my head down, maybe I wouldn’t think about them.

But that didn’t last long.

I was halfway through answering emails when I heard a knock at my door. I groaned, thinking it was just another package or delivery, but when I opened it, there stood Palmer, his familiar, teasing grin in place.

"Hey, Sam," he said, leaning against the doorframe casually, as if he hadn’t just shown up unannounced. "Guess what day it is?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I don’t have time for guessing games, Palmer. I’m busy."

"You’re always busy. But today’s special. It’s Anya’s birthday, and I came to pick you up."

My heart sank. The last thing I wanted was to go to Anya’s party. The idea of being surrounded by people who would compare me to her, people who already saw me as second place, was more than I could handle. Not to mention Giovanni would be there, probably hanging off her every word. Just the thought of it made my chest tighten.

"I’m not going," I said, crossing my arms.

Palmer didn’t budge. "Oh, yes, you are."

"No, I’m not." I turned away, intending to close the door, but he stepped inside, preventing me from shutting it.

"Come on, Samara, it’s just a party. You can’t avoid them forever. And if you don’t come, I’ll just stay here and annoy you until you give in."

I sighed, glaring at him. Palmer could be relentless when he wanted something, and right now, he seemed determined. I could argue all day, but I knew he wasn’t going to back down.

"Fine," I muttered. "But I’m only going because you’re giving me no choice."

"That’s the spirit!" he said, his grin widening.

I regretted my decision the moment we pulled up to the venue. It was some upscale, glitzy event space—exactly the kind of place Anya would celebrate. The building sparkled with lights, and the crowd was buzzing, dressed in their finest. I tugged at the hem of my dress, suddenly feeling out of place.

"Let’s just get this over with," I muttered as we walked inside.

The second we entered, it felt like all eyes were on us. Or maybe just on me. I spotted Giovanni almost immediately, standing by the bar with a drink in hand, chatting and laughing with Anya. She looked stunning, of course, like she always did—her long, dark hair flowing down her back, her dress hugging every curve perfectly. And then there was me, standing awkwardly in the middle of a crowd that didn’t seem to notice I was shrinking into myself.

"Samara! You made it!" Anya’s voice rang out over the crowd, and I forced a smile as she walked over, her heels clicking on the polished floor.

"Yeah, couldn’t miss it," I said, my voice a little tighter than I intended.

She hugged me briefly, and as she pulled back, her eyes roamed over my dress, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "You look...cute," she said, in that way people do when they were trying to sound kind but were really judging you.

"Thanks," I mumbled, already wishing I stayed home.

As the night went on, it became harder to ignore the whispers. I could hear them—people comparing me to her. Saying how Anya had everything. How Giovanni was practically devoted to her. How I could never measure up. Every comment felt like a punch to the gut, and I tried my best to avoid looking at her and Giovanni together, but it was impossible.

He never took his eyes off her. They looked perfect together, like they belonged in some magazine spread. Every smile they shared, every touch, felt like a reminder that I wasn’t part of that world. That I didn’t belong.

At one point, Palmer nudged me. "You okay?"

I forced a laugh. "Yeah, totally. Just... overwhelmed."

But I wasn’t okay. I felt like I was shrinking more and more by the second. Like the walls were closing in, and I couldn’t escape. I shouldn’t have come. I didn’t belong here, and I definitely didn’t belong in Giovanni’s life anymore.

The final straw was when someone—one of Anya’s friends, I think—came up to me, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "You’re so brave for coming here. It must be hard, seeing them acting sweet in front of you."

I stared at her, not sure if I wanted to scream or cry. Instead, I just nodded, my voice barely a whisper. "Yeah. It’s hard."

I couldn’t take it anymore. Without another word, I slipped away from the crowd, heading for the exit. Palmer called after me, but I didn’t stop. I needed air. I needed to get out of there before I completely fell apart.

As I stepped outside, the cool night air hit my face, and I took a deep breath. I had never felt so humiliated, so small. I was never supposed to come here. What was I thinking? Trying to act like I could handle this, like I could just move on.

But the truth was, I wasn’t over it. I wasn’t over him. And maybe I never would be.

Since the day I woke up from the coma, Giovanni was the only one who came to visit me. At first, it felt comforting, knowing someone was there, that someone cared. But with time, I noticed the absence of others—the cold, empty hospital room, the silence that stretched for days. I didn’t know my family, didn’t remember them, so it wasn’t a surprise they weren’t around. But it stung a little to realize how alone I truly was.

Giovanni, though, he was always there. Or at least, he used to be. Now, things were different.

His friends—our friends, as he liked to call them—never warmed to me. They made it clear I was an outsider. Every time I was around them, the tension thickened, their eyes flicking between me and Giovanni like I didn’t belong. I could feel the judgment, the whispers behind my back. Anya was their choice for him, not me. Anya, with her perfect life and flawless reputation.

I knew they were rooting for her. It didn’t matter what I felt, what Giovanni had promised me. In their eyes, I wasn’t enough. I had no name, no family, no status. I wasn’t the girl they wanted for him. I tried to ignore it, to brush off their comments, but tonight, it was too much.

I half-expected Giovanni to come after me, to pull me back and ask what was wrong. But he didn’t. He didn’t even notice. How could he when he barely looked in my direction.

That hurt more than anything. The weight of it settled in my chest, heavy and suffocating.

When I got home, I felt numb. I couldn’t keep pretending this was going to work. I couldn’t keep pretending like I was fine being a shadow in someone else’s life. Giovanni had made his choice—maybe not in words, but in actions. And his actions screamed that I wasn’t the one he truly wanted.

I started packing my things. Clothes, shoes, a few personal items. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had. I couldn’t stay here anymore. I didn’t know where I was going or what I was going to do, but anywhere was better than staying in this limbo.

As I shoved the last of my things into my suitcase, my hands trembled with frustration and pain. I wasn’t going to wait around for Giovanni to choose me.

Dragging my suitcase, I stepped out into the night, the city lights flickering like distant stars. The air was cool against my skin, the quiet streets a stark contrast to the noise swirling inside my head.

I walked aimlessly, trying to clear my thoughts, my mind buzzing with everything that had happened. I didn’t see the car speeding toward me. All I heard was the screech of tires, the blinding headlights rushing at me.

For a moment, time froze. I stood there, paralyzed, my body unable to move as the car came closer, inches from impact. It wasn’t until the last second that I stumbled backward, barely missing the collision by what felt like mere inches.

My heart raced, my legs shaking beneath me. I stood there on the sidewalk, panting, staring at the car as it sped off into the night, disappearing around a corner without a second thought.

I almost died, but it seemed it wasn't my time yet.

I started walking again, my legs still shaky from the near miss, but I stopped in my tracks when something strange caught my eye.

A black envelope lay on the ground, right where the speeding car had almost run me over. It definitely wasn’t there before. My breath caught in my throat as I bent down to pick it up. Something about it felt wrong. The envelope itself was smooth, expensive even, the kind of thing you’d expect for a formal invitation. But I was certain—the car had left it behind.

I hesitated for a moment before tearing it open. Inside was a single sheet of paper. The handwriting was sharp, angular, like someone had deliberately taken their time with each stroke.

[Leave while you can, or you won’t be so lucky next time.]