Chapter 5

Lawrence bent closer to my bed. “Delete the post, Stella. Then make a public apology. Tell everyone you weren't thinking clearly and that you exaggerated everything. Protect Lorinne before this gets any worse. This is your last chance to fix what you've done.”

Protect Lorinne.

That was all he cared about.

“Do whatever you want.”

I didn't have the strength to fight him anymore.

Lorinne gently tugged on his sleeve. “Lawrence, please. Let's just go. I don't want you getting more stressed because of me. She needs to calm down too.”

He turned toward her immediately. “Okay. You're right. Come on. You need to rest. I'll handle everything else.”

Of course he would.

He always handled everything for her.

Mom stopped at the doorway and looked back at me. For a second, I thought she might finally say something kind.

Instead, she sighed. “Stella, don't sit there acting like we're heartless. You hurt Lorinne first. You made her feel unwanted, and now you're acting like you're the only victim here.”

The door closed behind them, leaving me alone with Dr. Samuel. He remained beside my bed, staring at the door for several seconds before finally looking back at me.

“I can arrange a transfer to another hospital,” he said quietly. “There's a center in another city that's willing to review your case. We can still try.”

I stared at the ceiling.

“No need.”

“Stella…”

“Thank you for everything, Dr. Samuel.” My voice shook. “But I'm tired.”

And I really was.

I was tired of begging, tired of waiting, and tired of hoping Lawrence would remember that I was his wife or that my parents would remember I was their daughter.

I didn't want to fight for a place in anyone's heart anymore.

...

The next morning, I signed my discharge papers myself.

The bill was sitting on the table.

$49,000.

I stared at the amount for a long time.

Mom had really cut off my medical funding.

I transferred almost all of my remaining savings and signed a promissory note for the balance. By the time I finished, I barely had anything left.

Then I did something I'd once sworn I'd never do.

I called Callum Monticello. The mafia don of the West.

His rival.

The man Lawrence trusted least.

The phone rang twice before he answered. “What do you want?”

His voice was sharp and annoyed. “Why are you calling me, Stella? I thought you couldn't stand me.”

I gripped the edge of the table. My chest hurt just from sitting upright.

“Please... I... I need your help.”

Silence followed.

I swallowed hard. “I'm not anyone's wife anymore. And I'm not anyone's daughter either.”

Still nothing.

“I’m dying, Callum.”

His breathing changed.

When he finally spoke, his voice was completely different. “Where are you?”

“At the hospital.”

“I'll come get you.”

The call ended.

I sat there staring at my phone. I never thought I'd be the one calling Lawrence's enemy for help.

But what choice did I have?

An hour later, I dragged my suitcase out of the inpatient wing. Every step hurt. My chest burned, and each breath felt too shallow, but nobody stopped me. No nurse came running after me. Nobody asked whether I was strong enough to leave.

I made it to the stairs before I heard my name.

“Stella!”

I stopped.

They were all there.

Mom, Dad, Lorinne, and Lawrence.

Standing together at the bottom of the stairs, they looked like a family. I felt like the stranger who'd accidentally walked into their picture.

Mom looked perfectly put together, as usual. Her makeup was flawless, her suit was pressed, and she wore the kind of worried expression she'd probably practiced before walking over.

“Stella, what are you doing?! Why did you discharge yourself? You're too weak to be walking around. Please, go back inside before something happens!”

I stepped away when she reached for me. “Dr. Marcel, just tell me why you're here.”

Her smile tightened.

“The reporters are waiting in the conference room. We need to clear up this misunderstanding before it gets worse.”

“Misunderstanding?”

I looked at her. “Which part are we clearing up? The part where everyone pretends I wasn't denied a matching lung transplant, or the part where my husband gave my lungs to his mistress?”

Dad's expression hardened. “Watch your tone, Stella.”

Lorinne stepped forward, tears already shining in her eyes. “Stella, please. I don't want us fighting anymore. If you're angry, blame me. I'll tell the reporters everything myself. I'll even leave if that's what you want. I can go back to the orphanage. I don't want to ruin your family.”

Before I could answer, Lawrence moved. He pulled her behind him, his hand settling protectively against her back.

“Stop saying things like that. You're not going anywhere, Lorinne. You've done nothing wrong.”

Then he looked at me, and all the warmth disappeared.

“You've caused enough damage, Stella. Do you understand what you've done to my family and the Santiago Legacy?”

I tightened my grip on my suitcase.

“I told the truth.”

“Truth?” His jaw clenched. “You're sick, you're emotional, and you're not thinking clearly. You exposed private matters to the entire world, and now you're pretending you're innocent!”

He stepped closer, then his hand closed around my wrist.

Hard.

Pain shot up my arm, and my chest suddenly seized.

“Let go,” I whispered.

Lawrence didn't even look at me. “We're going to the conference room. The reporters are waiting, and we're going to deal with this now.”

There was no room in his voice for an argument. It wasn't a husband talking to his wife anymore. It was the head of the Santiago Legacy giving an order.

“I can walk by myself.”

“Then walk.”

But he still didn't release my wrist. He pulled me down the hallway anyway.

Every step made my chest hurt, and the pressure around my wrist only got tighter. Nurses looked away when we passed, and a few interns whispered behind their hands, but nobody came near me.

Maybe they were afraid of him.

Who wasn't?

Behind us, I heard Lorinne's soft voice. “Lawrence, please don't be too rough with her. She's already weak.”

I glanced over my shoulder. Her face looked worried, but for just a second, I saw the corner of her lips lift.

She was smiling.

“I won't,” Lawrence replied.

He didn't loosen his grip.

The pain spread from my wrist through my arm, but somehow that wasn't even the worst part. These were the same hands that once held mine during my medical tests. The same hands that used to squeeze my fingers whenever I was scared. He used to tell me, “I'm right here, Stella. You don't have to be afraid.”

Now those hands were dragging me through a hospital hallway as if I were some problem he needed to control.

Mom and Dad followed behind us. Neither of them said anything. Neither told Lawrence to stop. They just watched, as if this was normal, as if I wasn't their daughter.

I lowered my eyes. “Fine. I'll go.”

What else could I do? Fight him? Scream? Beg my parents to help me? I'd already done all of that, and none of it had changed anything.

When we reached the conference room, Lawrence finally released me. My wrist was red where his fingers had been. I rubbed it quietly before walking inside.