Revenge Is Sweet When Love Dies

Elisabeth Hall POV:

I woke up in a hospital bed, the sterile smell of antiseptic burning my raw throat.

My aunt, who had been dropping something off, had found me collapsed on the lawn. The paramedics said another minute, and I would have been dead.

Blake was there, his face a mask of sheer, unadulterated terror.

He wasn't just guilty; he was horrified. He had almost broken his favorite, most valuable possession: his perfect future wife. The cornerstone of his perfect future.

He clung to my hand, his body wracked with sobs that seemed to tear through him. "I'm so sorry, Lis. I swear to God, I didn't see it in the soup. I would never hurt you. You're everything to me."

A part of me, the weak, stupid part that still loved him, almost believed him.

But his "everything" didn't stop him from neglecting me.

The following week, still fragile and shaken, I went to a team party with him. He vanished within minutes, drawn into a circle of jocks.

I was in the kitchen, trying to get a bottle of water, when a drunk linebacker cornered me. He was huge, and he was aggressive, his hands grabbing at my waist, pulling me against him.

I fought back, my voice catching in my throat.

"Blake!" I screamed, my voice swallowed by the pounding music.

My hands shaking, I pulled out my phone and called him. It went straight to voicemail.

I shoved my knee hard into the guy's groin, giving me the single second I needed to break free. I ran outside, gasping for air, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I found Blake in his truck in the driveway. He wasn't alone.

He was holding Kris’s hand, his thumb stroking her knuckles, while she cried about a sad movie she’d just watched.

He hadn't heard my scream. He hadn't heard his phone ring. He was too engrossed in his role as her personal savior, her emotional support animal.

When I confronted him later, back at my place, his face went white. The panic was back. He saw the foundation of his perfect life cracking again.

"I'm sorry," he stammered, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't hear... Lis, I swear, if I had known..."

"But you didn't know," I said, my voice dead, all the emotion scoured out of me. "Because you weren't there. You're never there anymore, Blake."

To "fix it," he did what he always did. He threw money at the problem.

The next day, he showed me a confirmation email. A non-refundable, week-long trip to a private, five-star resort in Hawaii for the coming spring break.

"Just us," he promised, his eyes pleading with a desperation that was becoming all too familiar. "No distractions. I swear. We'll fix this. We're Blake and Lis. We're forever."

He was trying to patch a mortal wound with a Band-Aid.

But I was so tired, so broken down by the constant cycle of betrayal and panicked apologies, that I agreed.

One last chance.

In Hawaii, away from her, maybe I could find the boy I had given up my future for.

It was a stupid, fragile hope that would lead to my ultimate destruction.