Chapter 3

ELLA

They weren't worth a single moment. Yet I gave them five years of my life, countless promises, and a heart smashed to pieces. How could I let them cut so deep? Was I just clueless, or aching to fit in? Each memory burns now, a bitter echo of my foolish faith.

Back at the Cape Cod estate, I barricaded myself in the guest room. Hours blurred together as I curled into a ball on the silk sheets. Knocks came and went. Food trays appeared and disappeared untouched. Emptiness gnawed at my insides that had nothing to do with hunger.

The door opened despite the lock. Jack wheeled himself in, surveying the untouched meals with a frown.

"You need to eat." Not a request. A command.

"Get out." My voice sounded raspy from disuse.

Jack told me I'd skipped several meals. When I pushed away the plate he offered, he threatened to force-feed me mouth to mouth if I didn't cooperate. The thought sent unwelcome heat coursing through me. I snatched the fork and stabbed at the bland chicken and rice.

As I ate, I told Jack I needed something to help me get over my cheating ex-fiancé quickly. I asked for alcohol. Something strong.

Jack led me through winding hallways to his temperature-controlled wine cellar. The collection rivaled five-star restaurants. I grabbed a Château Margaux Bordeaux—$3,000 a bottle. Perfect. Expensive things should be destroyed tonight.

When Jack reached for a glass, I yanked the cork out with my teeth and drank straight from the bottle. The rich liquid burned down my throat. I told him between gulps that today was supposed to be my engagement party, two hundred guests, white roses everywhere.

"I can give you a bigger wedding than West ever could," Jack said, watching me intently.

I laughed, bitter and hollow. "Why would you want damaged goods?"

"You're not damaged."

"Tell that to Ryan." Another swig. "He only wanted me for my family's money. Now he has Kate instead—prettier, healthier, and whole."

Jack's jaw tightened. "West is a fool."

The bottle was half empty now. The room started to sway pleasantly. I studied Jack's face—strong jawline, piercing eyes, mouth that could be cruel or gentle depending on his mood.

"You're actually very handsome," I blurted out. "When this is over, when I have money again, maybe I'll keep you as my boy toy. That would really piss Ryan off."

Jack's eyes turned glacial. He moved with unexpected speed, leaning forward, capturing my lips with his. The kiss was possessive, dominant.

"No one keeps me, Mrs. Sterling," he whispered against my mouth. "No one."

The wheelchair tipped, and we both tumbled onto the carpet. Jack's body pressed against mine as his mouth reclaimed what he'd already marked as his territory. My head spun—from wine, from his proximity, from the heat that built between us.

I pushed against his chest and demanded he stop, but my protest sounded weak even to my own ears. Jack rolled and pulled me on top of him as he challenged me to take control. My hands braced against his chest, and I felt his strong heartbeat beneath my fingers. His eyes dared me. The wine made everything hazy except his face. I lowered my head and our lips met again. This time I initiated it.

Nausea hit me suddenly—not from desire but from sickness. I barely managed to warn him before the expensive Bordeaux reappeared all over his suit. His expression shifted from desire to shock to fury.

"Ella Blake!" His voice thundered through the cellar.

"Sorry," I mumbled, still feeling nauseous. Seeing his shocked and furious face, I actually started laughing. "What? If you're going to take advantage of drunk girls, you'd better be prepared to get puked on." With that, I couldn't hold myself up any longer and let myself sink into darkness.

I woke later with a pounding head in the empty cellar. Sitting up triggered another wave of nausea, and I grabbed a waste basket just in time, ruining what looked to be an antique Persian rug.

The truth was, while the wine had made me genuinely sick, I hadn't been as drunk as I'd pretended. I had deliberately closed my eyes and faked unconsciousness as I waited for exactly this moment. Two bottles of Evian water later, my head cleared enough to confirm my plan had worked. Jack had left to change his clothes and abandoned me here alone.

I slipped through the manicured garden, freedom just twenty yards beyond the property line. A maid spotted me from the terrace, calling out. I ran as men in suits emerged from various points on the grounds. The private bay at the edge of the property line offered my only escape.

I was a strong swimmer, and lucky for me, the opposite shore was only a few hundred yards away. Without hesitation, I plunged into the cold Atlantic water, ignoring the security guards radioing to Jack that I'd jumped into the bay.

My fury at what I'd discovered drove me forward - I had to confront my fiancé. When I finally reached the other side, I flagged down a cab and offered triple fare to take me to Meridian Luxury Suites without questions about why I was soaking wet.

The hotel staff recognized the Blake name and directed me toward the grand ballroom without comment. The space that should have held hundreds of guests celebrating my engagement contained only two people—Ryan and Kate locked in a passionate embrace.

Seeing them together in person twisted the knife deeper. I marched forward, my disheveled appearance felt exposed under the ballroom's cold, bright lights. Kate saw me first, her eyes widening before she could compose her features.

The crack of my palm against her cheek echoed through the empty ballroom. I called her shameless, my voice trembling with rage. She touched her reddened cheek, eyes filling with practiced tears as she stammered an insincere apology.

When Ryan stepped between us to protect her, I slapped him twice. He tried claiming it wasn't what I thought, but quickly abandoned the pretense when I confronted him directly. He admitted he'd always loved Kate from the moment they met at my welcome party five years ago. His father William had threatened to cut him off unless he secured the Blake connection to save West Financial.

I asked when he'd planned to tell me—after the honeymoon? Kate claimed they'd tried to spare my feelings, which only fueled my anger further.

Ryan's attention suddenly shifted to my neck, where Jack had left marks. Kate's eyes gleamed with malicious delight as Ryan yanked my jacket aside, exposing more evidence. He accused me of cheating, demanding to know who I'd been with while wearing his ring. The irony was suffocating.

Ryan reached into his jacket, pulled out a check, and tossed it at my feet. Half a million dollars for my trouble. We were done.

Something cold and hard crystallized in my chest as I looked from the check to their smug faces. I refused his money and promised that someday they'd pay for what they'd done.

Ryan laughed at my "empty threats from a crippled, scarred nobody" and suggested I return to the Blakes—though he doubted they wanted me either.

"Someday, you'll regret that you underestimated me," I promised as I slammed the ballroom door behind me.