Chapter 19
Jasmine stared at her reflection under the harsh fluorescent lights of her hospital bathroom. Half her face was a map of raw, pink burn scars, the skin puckered and angry.
She’d ripped the bandages off days ago, she hated how they felt, tight and suffocating, a constant reminder of how Scott had failed her.
A nurse knocked softly on the door. “Miss Jasmine? You shouldn’t be out of bed yet-”
“Get out!” she screamed, hurling the nearest bottle of cream at the door. It smashed against the frame, shattering into useless shards.
The nurse flinched but obeyed, leaving Jasmine alone with the ugly truth staring back at
her in the mirror.
It was Scott’s fault. All of it. Her scarred face, her bruised ribs, her charred skin, he’d chosen Nadine in that warehouse. He’d watched her beg. And then he’d left her.
She’d called him every day since the fire
–
twenty, thirty calls at a time.
He never picked up. She’d left voicemails, each one more desperate, her voice trembling through the sobs: “Scott, please. I need you. I love you. Please, I need help. I’m still your wife-”
But the calls went unanswered. The hospital bills were paid by his company, yes, but not by him. He hadn’t stepped through the door once. Not even to look at the face he’d ruined. Jasmine slipped on her mask, the thick, flesh–toned silicone piece that hid the worst of the burns.
She tugged her hoodie low over her forehead and paced the tiny hospital room, her mind clawing for something, anything, to give her the power she’d lost.
Revenge.
That would be her cure.
She pulled her phone out, her fingers trembling. She called her old bodyguard. “I want you to find Nadine Smith. Follow her. Take pictures. Tell me everything. Where she goes, who she’s with, how she looks at that bastard Niccolo.”
“Understood, ma’am.”
When she hung up, her mask felt tighter, her breaths more ragged. Jasmine sank onto her bed, knees curling up under her chin. She scrolled through old photos, one after another of her and Scott, smiling in luxury, the stolen moments when he told her she was the only woman he’d ever love. That was supposed to be forever.
Now Nadine wore that look on her face.
Now Nadine would stand at the altar in white.
And Jasmine, the ghost of his lies, would watch through hospital glass.
No. She wouldn’t just watch. She would ruin it.
Meanwhile. Scott sat slumped on the marble steps of his penthouse. the rain pounding the
Dear Husband We were nover Ma
11:45 W 23 Jul
roof, soaking through his clothes. A bottle of whiskey sat untouched beside him, the liquid sloshing every time he shook with a new wave of grief.
He’d gone to the hospital once, after the fire. He’d stood outside Nadine’s room, hoping
und
praying she’d let him in. But she hadn’t. She’d called for Niccolo instead. And that was
that.
He’d been haunting the edges of her world ever since, a shadow lurking in the rain. He watched her smile with Niccolo. Watched them hold hands in the gallery she’d always dreamed of opening. Watched them kiss, so soft and real it made something break inside him each time.
–
Sometimes he remembered the way Nadine had once looked at him like that back when she’d believed every lie he told her. He thought he’d owned her, that she’d never leave. That she’d never have the courage to be happy without him.
Now he’d become the ghost, not her.
—
He slammed back the rest of the whiskey, the burn doing nothing to numb the ache. His mind flickered to the past the nights he’d left her alone to run to Jasmine, the days he’d brushed off her tears with empty promises.
The baby he’d let her mourn alone. He remembered the way she’d looked at him when she handed him that wedding invitation – a final mercy that sliced deeper than any knife. Now there was nothing left to fix. No lie sweet enough to bring her back.
He opened his phone’s gallery – photos of Nadine stared back at him: her sleeping on the sofa after staying up late for him, her eyes bright with hope when they first signed the fake marriage papers she thought were real. He had everything once. He crushed it in his fist. He typed her name into his messages. “Nadine, please… I’m sorry. Please, I’ll do anything.” But he deleted it before he could hit send. He’d sent versions of that message so many times. He knew by now that sorry would never be enough.
—
Outside, the rain poured harder. Somewhere out there, she was laughing with Niccolo probably curled up on the sofa, warm, safe, untouched by the ghosts that clung to him. He would stand there at her wedding, invisible, watching the vows he’d never get to say. The ones he’d thrown away for someone who’d only ever cared about herself.
D Q I F S S I ÿ I a
Scott closed his eyes and let the tears come, the whiskey bottle rolling from his hand and spilling down the steps like the life he’d wasted.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, repeating her name like a prayer to a god who’d stopped listening.
He only knew one thing: he’d lost Nadine for good. And he would spend the rest of his life paying for it.
43
Cha
