My Husband Faked Cancer to Destroy Me

The Barnes estate glittered like a jewel box. Every window blazed with light. Chandeliers hung from ceilings I used to know. Music drifted out into the Manhattan night—strings and champagne laughter.

I stood across the street. Hidden in shadows between two parked cars.

I hadn't meant to come here. I'd been walking for hours. Trying to figure out where to go. What to do. I'd ended up at a storage facility three blocks away—the place where I'd put a few boxes before everything fell apart. My college diploma. Some photographs. Things I couldn't sell.

I'd retrieved them. Carried them in a cardboard box. Started walking back toward... nowhere.

Then I'd seen the lights.

Now I stood here. Watching.

Cars pulled up to the circular drive. Valets in white gloves opened doors. Women in gowns stepped out. Men in tuxedos. Everyone beautiful. Everyone whole.

I recognized some of them. People I used to know. People who used to smile at me at events like this.

None of them would recognize me now.

Through the windows, I could see inside. The grand foyer. The ballroom beyond. Round tables with white cloths and gold chairs. Centerpieces that probably cost more than my rent.

And at the center of it all—Niko and Jazmine.

She wore white. A gown that hugged her body like water. Her hair swept up. Diamonds everywhere—her throat, her ears, her wrists. She looked like a bride.

She looked like me. Three years ago.

Niko stood beside her in a tuxedo. Perfect posture. Perfect smile. He held a champagne flute. His other hand rested at the small of Jazmine's back.

She leaned into him. Whispered something. He bent his head to listen.

From across the street, they looked like a couple. Like they belonged together.

Maybe they did.

I watched Jazmine's hand slide up Niko's arm. Watched her fingers curl around his bicep. Possessive. Claiming.

Watched Niko's smile falter.

Just for a second. A flicker of something crossing his face. Discomfort. Tension.

Then it was gone.

Jazmine pulled him toward a group of guests. Photographers raised cameras. Flash. Flash. Flash. Jazmine beamed. Niko smiled.

I turned away.

The box in my arms was getting heavy. My hands ached. Everything ached.

I walked around the side of the estate. Away from the lights. Toward the service entrance I remembered from years ago.

I just wanted to get back to the street. Find a subway. Disappear.

The alley was narrow. Dark. Dumpsters lined one wall. The smell of garbage and old food hung in the air.

I was halfway through when I heard footsteps behind me.

Two men. I didn't see their faces. Just shapes blocking the light from the street.

I stopped. Turned.

"Excuse me," I said quietly. Moved to step around them.

One grabbed my arm. Hard. The box fell from my hands. Photographs spilled across the concrete.

"Wait—" I started.

His fist hit my stomach. Air exploded from my lungs. I doubled over. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

The second man grabbed my hair. Yanked my head back. His other hand slammed into my face.

Pain. White-hot and blinding.

I fell. Knees hit concrete. Hands scraped pavement.

A boot connected with my ribs. Once. Twice. I heard something crack. Felt it like lightning through my chest.

I tried to crawl. Tried to get away. Fingers closed around my ankle. Dragged me back.

Another kick. My side. My back. My face.

I tasted blood. Felt it running down my chin. Warm and copper.

They didn't say anything. Didn't ask questions. Just kept hitting.

Systematic. Professional.

I curled into a ball. Arms over my head. Tried to protect myself.

It didn't help.

Time stopped meaning anything. There was just pain. And darkness. And the sound of my own breathing—wet, rattling, wrong.

Then footsteps. Walking away.

Silence.

I lay there. Couldn't move. Couldn't open my eyes. My face was pressed against cold concrete. Something warm pooled beneath me.

Blood. Mine.

Somewhere above, music still played. Laughter drifted down from lit windows. The gala continued.

I tried to reach for my phone. My fingers wouldn't work right. Everything felt distant. Floating.

I managed to pull it from my pocket. The screen was cracked. Spiderwebbed. But it still glowed.

I opened messages. Found Niko's name.

My fingers were slippery. Red. I had to try three times to type.

*I gave you everything I had. I have nothing left—not even the will to hate you. Goodbye, Niko.*

I hit send.

Then I let the phone fall from my hand.

Above me, stars tried to break through the city haze. I stared up at them. Tried to focus.

Everything was getting fuzzy. Soft around the edges.

I thought about my father. About Keegan. About the girl I used to be—the one who played violin and believed in fairy tales.

I thought about Niko. The way he'd looked at me on our wedding day. Before everything broke.

I thought about three years. Three years of selling my blood. Three years of believing love was enough.

It wasn't.

My eyes closed.

And the world went dark.