But Jacob grabbed my wrist and pulled me back down the hallway. I didn’t fight. I already knew where this was going.
He pushed open Lavenia’s door, and she started crying louder, like she’d been waiting for an audience. She sat upright, clutching her sheets, shaking like a saint on trial. Jacob threw the wilted lilies across the room.
“Are you out of your mind? Wilted lilies? For the dead?”
I looked at him. “Exactly.”
His hand flew and slapped me. I didn’t blink.
“You’re getting harder to handle,” he said, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me once. “You ruined her birthday, vanished for a week, and when no one came looking, you sold your house to get my attention. And when that failed, you came here to hurt her. What kind of girlfriend are you?”
Luther kicked the back of my knee. I dropped. My hands hit cold tile. Jacob slapped me again. Lavenia wailed behind him, but I saw the truth in her face—she was winning, and she knew it.
“She’s not even sorry,” Luther said.
“She’s never sorry,” Lavenia sobbed louder. “She always wants the spotlight.”
I looked up at her. “He’s yours. They both are. You can have the brothers. I don’t care.”
She blinked, mouth parting, caught off guard for a second.
“You’re lying,” she said.
“I’m bored,” I said. “Not lying. Just done.”
Jacob crouched to my level.
“You’re staying here until you say sorry.”
I tasted blood. I smiled. Then the pain hit me again, deep and sharp in my gut. I pressed a hand to my side. Warm. Wet. And I knew I was bleeding again. The wound from last week hadn’t closed right.
“I don’t feel good,” I muttered.
“She’s faking it,” Luther said.
I stood. Or tried. Took one step. Then fell.
Silence. Then Jacob’s voice—my name, sharp and panicked. Then a different voice, clearer, familiar.
“Pearl. Pearl, I’m here now. I’m here.”
And I let the dark take me.
I woke up to soft beeping and the sterile scent of antiseptic. My hand was bandaged, and my side ached with a dull, throbbing weight. The kind of pain that settles in and makes itself at home. I sat up slowly, the sheets stiff against my skin.
The flowers caught my eye before anything else. Too many. Orchids, roses, and sunflowers in tall glass vases—some already wilting under the weight of good intentions. The card on the nearest one was signed with one word: Sebastian.
I stared at it for a while, then looked away.
The nurse came in after a knock, her clipboard tucked under one arm and her hair pinned neatly back.
“Good morning,” she said, professional and calm. “I see you’re awake. That’s good. We were starting to worry.”
I nodded but didn’t speak.
She walked over, checking the IV drip and glancing at the monitor. “Vitals are stable. You’ve been out for about eighteen hours. You lost quite a bit of blood.”
“I’ve lost worse,” I said quietly.
She glanced at me, maybe trying to decide whether that was a joke. She didn’t ask. “There’s been someone here with you,” she said after a pause. “A man. Sebastian. He sat with you through the night. Left about an hour ago. He said to let you rest.”
I didn’t say anything for a while, then finally, “He always shows up.”
She offered me a faint smile. “He also paid for everything. Room. Meds. Discharge prep. No questions asked.”
I closed my eyes for a second, then opened them again. “Did he leave a number?”
She nodded and pulled a small note from her clipboard. “He did. He said you might not want it, but he gave it anyway.”
I took the note and stared at the digits. My hands were still shaking, but I slipped it into my coat pocket without comment.
“Are you sure you want to be discharged today?” she asked. “We’d recommend at least another night.”
“I’m sure.”
“Then I’ll need your signature here.” She handed me a clipboard.
I scrawled Pearl V. Antonov across the line. Still looked like my name, somehow.
“If you need anything,” she said softly, “please—call. Or have someone with you. You’re still healing.”
“I’ll manage.”
She gave a small nod, professional mask slipping for just a moment. “Good luck, Miss Antonov.”
“Luck’s wasted on me.”
She left me to dress and walk out on my own. The flowers stayed behind.
At the curb, I hailed a cab with the last bit of energy I had. The city blurred by like a memory I didn’t want anymore.
The house was still there. It looked cleaner than I remembered, like it was already trying to forget me. Cold light filtered in through the windows and touched everything like frost. I didn’t bother turning the lights on.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. A realtor. Said someone was interested in buying the house. A Mr. S.
“Sell it. Burn it. I don’t care. Just don’t call me again.”
He tried to keep it professional. I hung up mid-sentence. The lawyer called next, saying the paperwork would be handled, the keys collected, the documents signed. I said fine. I told them not to send me anything. I didn’t want reminders.
I packed one small suitcase. Didn’t look in drawers or closets. If anything was left, it could rot with the walls.
At the airport, I walked like a shadow. I didn’t rush. I didn’t hesitate. I moved like I already knew the ending. Then I pulled out my phone and typed the number from the note.
The call rang twice before I heard a voice on the other end.
“Sebastian speaking.”
I didn’t know what to say at first. Then I breathed out, slow and cracked. “It’s me. Pearl.”
A beat. Then, gently, “I’m here.”
“I just wanted to say… thank you. For everything. I saw the flowers.”
“I’m glad you’re awake.”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied. “Just keep going. That’s enough.”
I didn’t answer, but I didn’t hang up either. We stayed on the line for a few more seconds, the silence between us oddly comforting.
Then I ended the call.
I glanced at my phone. Twelve missed calls. All Jacob. And one message.
“Who was that man who took you away from me? Is he your lover? You’re cheating on me now? After everything? How dare you. You fucking damn whore!”
I read it twice. Then I replied:
“You’re cordially invited to my wedding.”
I blocked his number, leaned my head against the window, and closed my eyes as the airport drew closer.
Chapter 9 JACOB’S POV