The Third Time I Died For You

Everything changed the moment Scarlett returned to Seattle. She began to insert herself into every corner of Jasper's life.

My insecurity flared, sparking arguments with Jasper. My anxiety spiraled, and Scarlett deliberately provoked me at every turn.

I had been battling depression for a long time, yet she seemed to delight in twisting the knife. She knew I was sick, and it only made her torment more relentless.

On a private social media account, she posted a photo of herself in Jasper’s college sweatshirt, lounging on the bed in our room. The caption read: "Some things are just meant to be. After all the twists and turns, they find their way back to their rightful owner."

Her words were poisoned daggers, each one twisting in my heart.

When I told Jasper about my depression, he accused me of being jealous and unreasonable.

When I broke down and smashed things, he called me emotionally unstable.

When the pain kept me awake at night, he said I was just overthinking.

...

By the time I climbed onto the railing, I was numb, unable to tell if I was dead or alive.

I stood on the balcony of our unfinished penthouse, letting the high-rise wind whip my dress around my legs. My phone was still lit up with Scarlett's latest post.

She was showing off a new tattoo on her shoulder blade—the very design meant to be a matching set for Jasper and me.

I gazed at the city lights in the distance until they blurred into a single, mocking sneer.

Dozens of floors stretched below, and the wind howled in my ears like a thousand screaming voices.

Strangely, I felt no fear. Only a profound sense of release.

My phone vibrated again.

I forced my eyes to the notification. Scarlett had sent a picture: Jasper, gently kissing her new tattoo.

The text read, "He said this design is only sexy on me."

My fingers twitched. The phone slipped from my grasp, clattering as it plummeted into the abyss.

A construction foreman heard the sound and looked up. His face contorted in terror when he saw me.

Just as my consciousness began to fray, the construction door was kicked open. When Jasper burst through, his eyes widened in horror.

There, on the dimly lit rooftop, my frail figure teetered on the edge, looking as if the wind could sweep me away at any moment.

He stumbled, his knees crashing hard onto the sandy, gravel-strewn ground, but he paid it no mind. He called my name, his voice a raw, trembling thing.

"Genevieve… come down! Look at me!" he shouted hoarsely. "Call 911!" he roared at the doorway, but he crawled toward me, his movements agonizingly slow, as if he were afraid one wrong move would shatter me.

The moment I was pulled to safety, he scrambled over and crushed me in an embrace so tight I thought my bones would splinter.

"Hold on, Genevieve. I'm begging you. I can't live without you," he pleaded. I could smell a perfume on him, and it wasn't mine.