I Loved You Once, I’ll Destroy You Twice

When I woke up again, I was lying in a hospital bed.

My forehead throbbed under a bandage, and my ankle wasn’t the only thing hurting anymore. New cuts, bruises, aches that flared with the slightest movement—I felt like my body had been chewed up and spit back out.

I tried to push myself up, but the door opened before I could manage.

The sharp sound of heels filled the room.

Mrs. Livingston walked in, towering in her silence.

“I told you to leave this country! Why are you still here? Still clinging to this ridiculous dream of marrying into the Livingston family?! Is a hundred million not enough?”

Her words sliced straight through me, but I kept my voice even. “It’s not that. The papers aren’t finished yet, Mrs. Livingston. Once my visa comes through, I’ll go. Somewhere far. Somewhere he’ll never find me.”

Her lips curved, amused, like she was already watching me disappear. “See that you do, or else I'll hire someone to shut you off… this is a warning. Leave while you still can.”

The door swung open again, and Austin stepped inside. He was limping but he looked okay.

His presence filled the room in an instant, dark, commanding, the kind of weight that made the air feel smaller.

“Leave? Who’s leaving?” His eyes cut between us, suspicious.

I lowered my gaze, forcing my voice into something steady. “Your grandmother came to check on me. I told her I’m fine. She can go.”

Mrs. Livingston, quick to change her mask, murmured a few empty words about hoping I’d recover, then left with her heels clicking like gunshots.

Now it was just the two of us.

Austin stood there, tense, like he didn’t know where to put his hands. “The accident earlier… It happened so fast. I couldn’t react in time.”

I gave a small nod. “I know. It’s alright.”

“You’re not angry?”

“No.”

His eyes searched mine, restless, almost desperate to find anger that wasn’t there. But I had nothing left to give him. My gaze stayed flat, hollow, like water that had already drowned.

He stepped closer, fingers lifting toward my cheek. “Don’t look at me like that, I—”

“I’m not angry,” I said softly, turning my face away. My voice was calm but final. “I just want to rest. Miss McKinsey is injured too. You should stay with her.”

The silence stretched. Finally, he left.

---

Days blurred after that. He came every morning, every evening, carrying his work into my ward. He’d ask if I was in pain, and I’d always shake my head.

But at night, when the halls were quiet and my eyes opened to the dark, his side of the room was always empty. And from the nurses’ whispers outside, I heard what I was never supposed to hear.

“The girl in the VIP room… her fiancee stayed all night.”

“They say he’s the Livingston heir. Handsome. Devoted.”

I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. Pretended I couldn’t hear. Pretended I didn’t care.

When the day came for me to leave the hospital, Austin came to take me home.

I limped toward the car, only to stop short at the open door.

Yvette was already there, settled in the passenger seat like she belonged. She wore a beautiful dress like they're going to a party. Her lips curled into a polite smile. “Miss Callaway, I hope you don’t mind me joining. I get carsick, so I can only sit in the front.”

Austin’s jaw tightened, as if he wanted to explain something.

But before he could, I spoke first. “It’s fine.”

I slipped into the back seat, small and silent, like a shadow trailing them.

Austin looked at me through the mirror, words hanging at the edge of his mouth. But nothing came.

Only silence.

---

The car stopped in front of a massive villa, its gates glowing with gold light. My stomach sank. This wasn’t home. He hadn’t brought me back to his estate. He had brought me to a wedding banquet. A golden anniversary of Mr and Mrs. Livingston. His grandparents.

As soon as we stepped out, the whispers started.

“Isn’t that Young Master Livingston? Why did he bring two women?”

“The one in white… that’s Dahlia, right? I heard she crawled out of the slums. No family, no name, nothing. Look at her outfit. Too poor."

“Miss McKinsey and Young Master Livingston… now that is a perfect match.”

The voices weren’t hushed. They wanted me to hear. I stood off to the side, as if I were invisible, as if the words didn’t pierce my skin.

Austin stayed with Yvette the whole time. Pouring her drinks, draping his coat over her shoulders, looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the room. His eyes softened when he looked at her—soft enough to drown in.

Then Yvette turned to me with her perfect smile and slipped her arm through mine. “Miss Callaway, come, let me introduce you to some friends.”

Before I could protest, she pulled me into a circle of well-dressed women.

“This is Dahlia,” she said sweetly, her voice carrying far enough for everyone to hear. “Austin’s… poor girlfriend.”

The word tasted false on her tongue, and before I could catch my breath, she switched into flawless Spanish, laughing and chatting as though I weren’t there.

The women caught on quickly, responding in German too. Their laughter rose around me, a language I couldn’t climb into. I stood there, stranded, an island with no bridge.

Then, out of nowhere, Yvette turned to me, “What do you think, Miss Callaway?”

“What?”

“Oh, right.” She gave an apologetic smile. “I forgot you don’t speak French.” Then she turned back to the others. “Miss Callaway hasn’t studied any foreign languages. Don’t mind her.”

Laughter rippled through the group. Soft, delicate, and cruel.

“It’s alright,” Yvette added, “You can always learn.”

Their eyes cut into me, mocking, pitying. My nails bit into my palm… until I lifted my head.

“Actually,” I said smoothly in flawless French, my accent crisp and effortless, “Je comprends très bien tout ce que vous dites.”

(I understand perfectly well everything you’re saying.)

Their laughter faltered. Yvette’s smile froze.