The Day I Didn’t Save You

Arabella laid a trap for my boyfriend, Owen. I tried to save him.

The thugs she hired killed her instead.

My boyfriend thought I planned the whole thing.

On our anniversary, he took me to a rooftop.

"This is for her." He pushed me.

I opened my eyes.

I was back on the day it all happened.

This time, I just watched.

Now he's outside my townhouse in the pouring rain, pounding on the glass.

"Quinn!" he's screaming. "Why the hell don't you care about me anymore?"

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1

On our wedding anniversary, Owen tied me to a chair on the rooftop of an abandoned warehouse in Dumbo.

He sat calmly across from me, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he started a video.

On the screen, my father was sobbing, on the verge of signing away his company just to save me.

Rage boiled inside me, but before I could speak, Owen kicked me hard in the stomach.

“Does it break your heart to see your father like this?” he snarled. “But this is nothing—not even a fraction of the pain I felt when I lost Arabella.”

A sharp agony tore through my abdomen, and I doubled over.

My vision swam with black spots, the pain so intense I couldn't even scream. He’d already poured boiling water down my throat, turning every breath into fire.

A sickening pleasure twisted his features.

He seized my jaw, his eyes bloodshot and blazing with a monstrous hatred.

“Quinn, how could you be so vicious? You set up the attack that got Arabella killed!”

“Quinn, why wasn’t it you who died?” He roared the last words, his voice inhuman.

Arabella? The name echoed through the fog of my pain.

I desperately clawed through my memories for a face to match the name.

Finally, an image surfaced: a face that was both innocent and subtly seductive.

So that was it. He didn't just love her; he was convinced I was the monster who'd planned her death.

Owen and I were childhood sweethearts. Our final year at Trinity School should have been about our futures.

I was a shoo-in for Columbia, with a decent shot at Harvard Business School.

With my guidance, Owen could have easily gotten into a top business school himself. All he had to do was make it through this last year.

But then Arabella, a scholarship student from Brooklyn, transferred to our school.

She was beautiful, with fair skin and a stunning figure. Her smile made her eyes curve into sweet crescents.

She had tailored her cheap school uniform until it clung to every curve, her chest and hips swaying with a mesmerizing confidence.

At that age, boys are ruled by impulse. Countless gazes fell on Arabella, and Owen’s was one of them.

His parents were incredibly strict, never allowing him a single misstep. The vibrant Arabella was like a wild rose blooming in his ivory tower, a fatal attraction.

I had a secret crush on Owen. I couldn’t stand by and watch her drag him down.

I repeatedly tried to keep them apart, even going so far as to cut off the financial support my father provided Owen’s family.

After several failed attempts, Arabella grew to hate me.

She once cornered me in the girls' restroom and threatened, “Quinn, you just wait. Sooner or later, Owen will be on his knees between my legs.”

I never expected she would stage a fake school bullying incident, targeting both herself and Owen, just to frame me. What a childish, idiotic plan!

And yet, we both fell for it.

That day, I saved Owen, but the thugs Arabella hired got out of hand, and she was killed in that alley.

As the memory surfaced, Owen’s eyes fluttered shut, a flicker of sorrow crossing his face before the hatred returned.

“Quinn,” he whispered, “you killed Arabella.”

I forced myself to meet his furious gaze, shaking my head frantically, trying to make him believe me.

Owen leaned in and pressed a lit cigar to my cheek, his smile sinister. “Quinn, I already killed your father.”

An icy dread shot down my spine as tears streamed from my eyes. A suffocating pain surged through my chest, as if my insides were being torn apart by sharp blades.

“You killed Arabella,” he gritted out, his voice thick with hatred. “This is what you deserve. If you hadn't orchestrated that bullying, Arabella and I wouldn’t have been torn apart.”

The last part was quieter, laced with an almost imperceptible flicker of pain.

I crumpled to the ground, staring up at him as tears dripped into my mouth, leaving only the taste of bitterness.