I woke up coughing, bright hospital lights blinding me.

A warm hand immediately clasped mine.


"Thank God you're awake."

Tim's exhausted face hovered above me, dark circles under his eyes.

Tim had saved me again.


His lips curved into a relieved smile. I gently pulled my hand away.

"You saved my life."


"Don't start with the thank-yous again," he said, trying to sound light.

"I mean it, Tim. Thank you."

For saving me. For being there. For caring when no one else did.

I had nothing to offer him in return except my absence.

The doctor said I'd swallowed some water but would recover quickly. Just a day or two of observation.

While Tim went to get coffee, I signed myself out and slipped away.

I checked into a motel and pulled out the laptop I'd taken from Harlan's study.

Pages of research on Harlan's company—every contract, every client, every weakness.

I'd been studying his business for months, and I'd finally found his Achilles' heel.

One strategic strike would bring his entire empire crashing down.

I contacted a business journalist and hired an army of social media accounts, spending nearly all my savings to spread the truth about Harlan's company.

His company had cut corners on product safety after promising a small startup complete transparency in their partnership.

When customers complained, Harlan's team blamed the startup and demanded they pay damages—nearly bankrupting them.

The backlash was immediate and brutal.

Harlan wouldn't survive this kind of scandal.

When we started his company together after graduation, I'd believed in him completely.

Now I was the architect of his destruction.

Life had a twisted sense of humor.

The scandal triggered a chain reaction. Existing partners began questioning every aspect of their deals with Harlan.

After a brief wait-and-see period, partners started jumping ship as the scandal grew. Soon the entire business community was condemning Harlan's ethics.

Investors pulled out. Partners terminated contracts.

Even the major deal he'd bragged about—his company's potential salvation—collapsed overnight.

No surprise there.

No one would touch Harlan Sawyer with a ten-foot pole now.

As I was savoring my victory, my phone buzzed with a text from Harlan.

"How are you feeling? Is the treatment very painful?"

I stared at the message in disbelief.

His world was crumbling, yet he was asking about my fake cancer?

For half a second, I felt a twinge of guilt. Then I understood.

This was manipulation—pure and simple.

Two could play that game.

I crafted my reply carefully: "Don't worry about me, Harlan. The doctors say I don't have much time left. I'm just grateful I got to know you, and... loved you."

Not entirely a lie.

My time in this world was nearly up anyway.

Would he mourn me when I disappeared? Or would he run straight back to Vanessa?

Harlan didn't respond for so long that I thought he'd given up. Then, finally:

"I love you too."