My Birthday, His Cruel Betrayal

Jarrett POV:

The phone rang and rang, her voicemail finally kicking in. "You've reached Alayna. Leave a message." Her voice, recorded months ago, sounded cheerful, almost teasing. It was a stark contrast to the icy demeanor she' d given me in the hospital corridor. I slammed the phone down on the passenger seat, my jaw clenched. She wasn't answering. She was never answering.

This was ridiculous. I wasn' t going to beg. I was Jarrett Sheppard, a rising star. People begged me. But the thought of her, so cold, so distant, walking away from me, from us, was a bitter pill I couldn't swallow. No. I wouldn't let her just walk away. Not like this.

I knew she was still in LA. She couldn' t have left yet. I remembered the hospital she' d been at. My mind raced, trying to figure out her appointment time. She'd always been so particular about her schedule. I slammed the car into reverse and sped out of the hospital parking lot, my destination clear. I was going to find her. I was going to make her listen.

The waiting room was surprisingly quiet for a hospital. A few patients sat scattered, lost in their own worlds, staring at their phones or flipping through magazines. It was almost… private. No paparazzi. No curious fans. Good. This was a conversation that needed to happen between just us.

Then I saw her. Sitting in a corner chair, her back to the wall, holding that same bouquet of flowers. She looked smaller, more fragile than I remembered from the corridor. My chest tightened. What if she's really sick? The thought, unwelcome and terrifying, surfaced.

I approached her cautiously, my footsteps muffled by the soft carpet. "Alayna," I said, my voice softer than I intended.

She looked up, her eyes widening for just a fraction of a second before they shuttered, becoming blank again. "What are you doing here, Jarrett?" she asked, her voice flat.

I reached out, my hand instinctively going for her hair, a gesture I' d made a thousand times before. "I knew you were still here," I said, trying for a casual, reassuring tone. "Came to make sure you were okay. And to finally talk some sense into you."

She flinched, pulling back from my touch. "I'm not here for you to 'talk sense into me,' Jarrett. And I'm certainly not here because I'm waiting for you." Her voice was steady, unwavering. It was unsettling.

I let out a frustrated sigh. "Come on, Alayna. Don't be like this. I know you're still mad about Kisha, about the press conference. I told you, it's just work. Method acting." I saw her eyes narrow, a flicker of the old fire. "You're just jealous, babe. It happens. But you don't have to break up with me over it." I tried a playful smile, my usual charm. "Are you really here to 'check up on me' still? You always were the jealous type."

Her gaze was cold, unwavering. "I am here for a very important personal matter, Jarrett. Nothing to do with you or your… co-star." She gestured vaguely towards the corridor, a hint of disdain in her voice.

My patience wore thin. "Oh, 'important personal matter,' huh?" I scoffed. "And what could be more important than us? What could be so urgent that you decide to break up with me over text, then refuse to answer my calls?" I leaned closer, my voice dropping. "You're just playing games, Alayna. Trying to make me chase you."

Just then, a voice echoed from a nearby speaker. "Alayna Dickerson, room 3B."

Her name. My gaze darted to the screen above the reception desk. Her name was there, glowing in bright white letters. And the department listed beneath it… Psychiatry.

My heart pounded. Psychiatry? What the hell?

She stood up, her bouquet of flowers still clutched in her hand. She started walking towards room 3B.

"Alayna! Wait!" I lunged forward, grabbing her wrist. Her skin felt cool, almost detached. "What is this? What's going on?" My voice was rough with a sudden, genuine fear. The anger, the frustration, all of it melted away, replaced by a cold dread. "Why are you at a psychiatrist? Are you… are you really sick?"

She didn't answer, just tried to pull her wrist away. Her eyes, though, held a flicker of something. Resignation? Pain? I couldn't tell. I just knew, instinctively, that this was far more serious than one of her "episodes." This was real. And I, in my self-absorbed pursuit of fame, had completely missed it.

"Tell me, Alayna," I demanded, my voice desperate now. "What's wrong? Why didn't you tell me?"

But she just looked at my hand, then at me, her face unreadable. The door to room 3B slid open. She yanked her wrist free, slipped inside, and closed the door firmly behind her. The click of the lock echoed in the silent waiting room, a final, definitive sound.

And I was left standing there, alone, with a sinking feeling that I had just lost the one thing I couldn't afford to lose.