Chapter 3
A sharp pain shot up my wrist, and I couldn’t hold back a gasp. I struggled against her grip.
“Let go of me!”
Lucy suddenly grabbed my hand and shoved it hard against her body—then flung herself backward with a dramatic cry.
She crashed to the floor, her forehead slamming against the corner of the table.
Blood trickled down her face.
James bolted forward, catching her in his arms.
“Lucy! Are you okay? I’ll call a doctor.”
He was already dialing his assistant.
Lucy winced, playing up her injuries. But she put on a brave front. “It’s nothing… just a small cut. No need to make a fuss.”
Then, as if on cue, she glanced at me.
“Don’t blame Miss Simmons,” she added weakly. “She didn’t do it on purpose.”
James turned toward me, his expression dark and furious.
“Amelia! You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”
I pressed a hand to my aching side and let out a bitter laugh.
“If I told you I didn’t, if I said Lucy set me up, would you believe me?”
His response was a slap.
The force snapped my head to the side, the taste of iron blooming in my mouth.
“I saw everything,” he spat. “You pushed her.”
“And now you have the audacity to play the victim?”
“Lucy was still kind enough to convince me to buy your liquor—she actually pitied you.” His voice dripped with disgust. “You don’t deserve an ounce of her sympathy.”
I didn’t bother explaining. What was the point? No matter what I said, he wouldn’t believe me.
I picked up the bottles and turned toward the door.
“Stop right there!”
James’ voice was sharp, commanding.
I froze, then turned back to face him. His expression was as cold as ice.
“What else, Mr. Larson?”
“Apologize to Lucy,” he ordered.
My fists clenched.
I knew that if I didn’t comply, I wasn’t walking out of this room.
A fresh wave of pain throbbed from my kidney.
What does it matter? I’m dying anyway. Why fight over my pride?
If an apology would make him happy, then fine.
I turned to Lucy, bowed, and said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”
Lucy smiled in satisfaction, playing the role of a gracious host.
“Oh, Miss Simmons, don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”
Then she took the bottles from my hands.
“I’ll buy these.”
“I know times are tough for you, so think of it as a little help.”
“If you ever need anything, just ask us—don’t… lower yourself to this.”
I knew she was being condescending, but I still forced out a quiet thank you.
Then, without another word, I turned to leave.
But before I could take a step, James yanked me back, shoving me onto the couch.
“My wife just bought your liquor,” he said coldly. “Shouldn’t you drink with us?”
My head spun from the sudden movement. I gritted my teeth and whispered, “I’m sorry… I can’t drink.”
The doctors had been clear—if I wanted to live even a little longer, I had to avoid alcohol at all costs.
Lucy feigned concern. “James, maybe let it go? I heard she has cancer. Drinking might be bad for her.”
James let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
“Cancer? Seriously?”
“She probably just paid off some doctor to fake a diagnosis so she could scam me for money.”
Lucy sighed, pretending to be understanding. “Even if she did lie, I’m sure she had her reasons.”
“But you know, I should be grateful to her.” She turned to James with a sweet smile.
“If she hadn’t been so blind, I never would’ve had the chance to marry you.”
The room burst into jeers.
Disgusted glances turned my way.
“So you’re the gold-digging ex who dumped Mr. Larson?”
“I can’t stand people like you—heartless and shallow!”
“Come on, guys, let’s drink this scum under the table!”
The man I had rejected earlier grabbed a case of liquor and stalked toward me, his eyes dark with malice.
Egged on by his words, the others followed, forming a circle around me.
They grabbed bottles, laughing as they loomed closer.
Panic surged through me.
I turned to James, my breath hitching.
“Please—help me! I don’t want to die here!”
