A Sacrifice Hidden For Three Years

HAZEL SPARKS POV:

"Get out!" Donovan's voice, a raw, tormented roar, followed me as he roughly shoved me out of the room.

The door slammed shut behind me with a sickening thud, severing us once more.

My legs felt like lead, each step a monumental effort as I stumbled down the long, deserted hotel corridor.

My head swam, a dull ache throbbing behind my eyes, a souvenir of the liters of alcohol I had consumed.

Just as I reached the elevator bank, a familiar figure emerged from a nearby suite.

Jessica.

She was dressed in a flimsy silk negligee, her phone pressed to her ear, her movements fluid and sensuous.

She didn't even glance at me, her gaze fixed on some invisible point beyond my shoulder.

But as she passed, she deliberately bumped into me, a sharp jab that sent a fresh jolt of pain through my already bruised body.

I gasped, a small, choked sound, but she merely continued on her way, oblivious, or perhaps, uncaring.

As she entered the elevator, I heard her voice, sweet and cloying, carried on the hushed air.

"Donovan, darling," she cooed into the phone, "I really want to give you an heir. When are we going to get married, love?"

My blood ran cold.

The words pierced through my drunken haze, clear and sharp as a shard of ice.

Married?

The world spun around me, a dizzying carousel of pain and betrayal.

My mind flashed back, years ago, to a different hotel room, a different night, a different kind of promise.

It was our first time.

I remembered my hands, trembling, gripping his neck, my body a bundle of nerves.

He had been so gentle, so patient, whispering soft words of reassurance, kissing away my fears.

The initial pain had faded under his tender ministrations, replaced by a burgeoning warmth, a dizzying joy.

Afterward, as we lay intertwined, bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, he had gazed at the faint crimson stain on the white sheets, a look of profound tenderness in his eyes.

I had snuggled closer, my head on his chest.

"What are you thinking?" I'd asked, my voice soft, sleepy.

He had leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead, his eyes dark with a depth of emotion I couldn't quite fathom.

"Are you scared, Hazel?" he'd whispered, his voice husky.

"Scared that I might hurt you one day?"

I had tightened my embrace, my chin set with an unyielding determination.

"No," I'd stated, my voice firm.

"I'm not scared. I don't believe you would ever hurt me, Donovan."

He had chuckled softly, his breath warm against my hair, his nose brushing against mine.

"You really think that?" he'd murmured, a playful glint in his eyes.

"I just might. You know," he'd said, his voice dropping to a low rumble, "I can't wait to marry you. Tomorrow, if I could."

Those words.

They had been a sacred vow, whispered in the quiet intimacy of our love.

Now, they were scattered, lost to the relentless march of time, mere echoes in an empty chamber.

He had forgotten them. He must have.

Forgotten the promises, forgotten me.

I stood rooted to the spot, the cold reality of Jessica's words chilling me to the bone.

Donovan was moving on.

He was building a new life, a new family.

He was going to marry her.

And I was just a ghost, haunting the periphery of his chosen future.

When I finally stumbled out of the hotel lobby, Kyle's car was waiting.

He jumped out, his face etched with worry, and practically scooped me into the passenger seat.

"Hazel, what happened? Are you okay? You look awful. Did they make you drink all that liquor?"

His voice was frantic, full of genuine concern.

I couldn't speak, could only shake my head weakly.

He didn't press, just started the car, driving slowly through the inky blackness of the city.

The streetlights blurred into streaks of color, mirroring the chaotic mess of my thoughts.

I stared out the window, watching the familiar landmarks rush by, feeling utterly adrift.

Then, a sudden decision solidified in my mind, sharp and clear.

"Kyle," I said, my voice hoarse, but firm.

"I'm going back."

He glanced at me, his brow furrowed.

"Back? Back where?"

"Back to Europe," I clarified, the words tasting like freedom and defeat all at once.

"I'm leaving. In a couple of days."

Kyle liked me, had confessed once, but I didn't reciprocate.

We had always been friends.

I heard Kyle say, "Okay, I'll book the tickets right away."