The Unwanted Bride Takes Back Her Crown

Ethan stared at the diamond ring resting on the table, the vein in his forehead pulsing visibly. He clenched his jaw, trying to maintain his grip on the situation.

He let out a short, mocking laugh. "You think throwing a tantrum is going to make me leave this room? You're playing a very stupid game, Anna."

He sat back down in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked at her with absolute authority. "Stop this nonsense. Since you're already here, go down to the lab on the second floor. Donie needs a directed blood donation."

Annabella froze. Her brain struggled to process the sheer audacity of his words.

"The stress from today triggered her autoimmune condition," Ethan explained casually, as if he were ordering a coffee. "Her red blood cell count is dropping. They need your blood type on standby."

Donie placed her hand over her collarbone, her breathing turning shallow. "Thank you so much, Anna," she whispered weakly. "I'm so sorry to be a burden."

Annabella looked at the two of them. She looked at Ethan's demanding glare and Donie's pathetic, fake gratitude.

A laugh bubbled up in Annabella's throat. It started small, then grew louder, echoing off the sterile walls of the hospital room.

She stopped laughing abruptly. Her eyes turned into daggers. She leaned closer to Ethan and spat out two words: "Dream on."

Ethan's smug expression shattered. His arms dropped to his sides. He stared at her as if she had just grown a second head.

For five years, Annabella had been a walking blood bank for Donie. Whenever Donie had a flare-up, Ethan called, and Annabella gave her blood. She had never said no. Not once.

Ethan stood up, his face flushing with dark, ugly anger. "When did you become so incredibly selfish?" he demanded, his voice rising.

He reached up and rubbed the left side of his chest, pressing his fingers into the fabric of his shirt. "Have you forgotten how you got your life back? Have you forgotten exactly who bears the scar for you? Are you really going to turn your back on that debt and become a completely ungrateful wretch over a postponed wedding?"

Hearing him use that scar as a weapon for the thousandth time killed the very last shred of warmth Annabella had for him. The guilt that had chained her to him evaporated into thin air.

She took a step toward him, closing the distance. She looked straight into his eyes and spoke with absolute, terrifying clarity. "Then let her die."

The words hit the room like a bomb. Ethan gasped, taking a physical step backward. His eyes widened in pure shock.

Donie let out a high-pitched shriek. She threw her head back against the pillows, her eyes rolling back into her head. She began to gasp for air, her hands clawing at her throat.

Ethan panicked. He spun around and slammed his fist onto the red emergency call button. "Doctor! We need a doctor in here!" he screamed.

He turned back to Annabella, his eyes bloodshot and wild. "Get out!" he roared, pointing at the door. "Get the hell out of here! I never want to see your face again!"

Annabella looked at him. He was sweating, screaming, losing his mind over a woman who was faking a panic attack. She felt absolutely nothing but contempt.

"As you wish," Annabella said softly.

She turned around and walked toward the door. She didn't rush. Her footsteps were steady and calm.

She stepped into the hallway just as a team of nurses and a doctor sprinted past her, pushing a crash cart into the room.

Annabella stood by the wall, watching the chaos through the open door.

The doctor shined a light into Donie's eyes and checked her pulse. "Sir, please step back and remain calm," the doctor said with clinical detachment. "The patient's vitals are entirely stable. The tachycardia is the result of an acute anxiety response causing her to hyperventilate. We will administer a mild sedative, but she is in zero physical danger."

Ethan collapsed into the chair, burying his face in his hands. He let out a massive sigh of relief.

He lifted his head and looked out into the hallway. He saw Annabella standing there. He expected to see guilt on her face. He expected her to be crying, waiting to apologize for pushing Donie too far.

Instead, Annabella just looked at him. Her face was a mask of total indifference. She turned her back to him and walked toward the elevators.

The insult died in Ethan's throat. A sudden, violent spike of panic gripped his heart.

When she said let her die, she wasn't angry. She was completely, utterly detached.

For the first time in five years, Ethan felt his absolute control over her slipping. He stood up. He took a step toward the door, wanting to chase after her.

"Ethan?" Donie's weak voice called out from the bed. "Don't leave me."

Ethan stopped. He looked back at the bed, his feet glued to the floor.