Chapter 4

The next morning, the second I walked into the hallway at St. Jude’s, I saw Carter standing in front of my locker.

"Isabella, we need to talk." He approached me, his tone heavy.

My footsteps faltered for a fraction of a second.

Was he finally going to confess? About the meticulously staged "bullying," about the truth with Lily?

"Lily slit her wrists last night," Carter said.

I froze.

"She's lying in a hospital bed right now, incredibly weak." His gaze sharpened, stabbing directly into me. "Do you know why she did it? Because of what happened yesterday! The whole school is calling her a slut who seduces other people's boyfriends. They're saying she doesn't know her place. Those rumors drove her over the edge!"

I looked at him, saying nothing.

"Isabella, you need to clear up those rumors right now, and then you're going to apologize to Lily." Carter took a step closer, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You owe her this."

I owe her?

I stared at him, my eyes as cold as a lake dead in the middle of winter. "For what?"

"Because you just stood there and watched yesterday!" Carter's expression twisted. "If you had stepped in and helped, she wouldn't have gotten hurt, and none of those rumors would have started! Bella, when did you become so cold-blooded?"

Cold-blooded.

I had shielded him from industrial paint, given up Cambridge, and gone to war with my own family. And I was cold-blooded?

I looked at that face—so familiar, yet entirely foreign—and finally understood. Nothing I said mattered. Nothing I did mattered. In his mind, Lily would always be the victim, and I would always be the villain.

Suddenly, I didn't have the energy to waste another syllable on him. I turned on my heel and walked away.

"Isabella!" his exasperated, furious voice chased after me. "You have to apologize! If you don't, I'm not going to Princeton with you! I mean it!"

I didn't look back. A deeply ironic smile touched the corners of my lips.

Back home, I started packing. My morning flight to London was already booked.

I mechanically folded my clothes, my gaze landing on the photo album on the bookshelf.

I picked it up and flipped through it, page by page.

It was my entire history with Carter.

Twelve years old, summer camp. He had just learned how to swim, and I was cheering for him from the edge of the pool. In the photo, he was fiercely waving at the camera, sunlight catching his dripping wet hair.

Sixteen years old, his birthday party. I gave him a scarf I'd knit myself. It took me three months. I'd pricked my fingers with the needles more times than I could count, but seeing the sheer surprise on his face made it all worth it. In the picture, he was holding the scarf to his chest, smiling at the lens.

Eighteen years old, my coming-of-age gala. He stood beside me, my arm looped through his. In that exact moment, I honestly believed we were forever.

But after that?

Two weeks ago, I saw Lily cradling his family's corgi, sunbathing on the campus lawn. Wrapped around the dog was that exact same scarf.

The custom bracelet he gave me for my eighteenth birthday—a silver chain engraved with "B&C Forever." He told me he'd saved up three months of living expenses just to buy it. I was so incredibly moved that my eyes welled up with tears. I only let myself wear it on the most important occasions.

Three days ago, I saw the exact same design dangling from Lily's wrist.

I closed the album.

The crushing realization finally set in.

I was never the special one in Carter's heart. I certainly wasn't the only one.

I was just his personal ATM. His human shield. His nanny.

A single tear slipped silently down my cheek.

I fiercely wiped it away.

I stood up and chucked the photo album into a trash bag. Then came every single gift Carter had ever given me. All those cheap, pathetic trinkets I had once treated like absolute treasures—into the trash.

I picked up my phone and pulled up Carter's contact.

Without a second's hesitation, I tapped: Block. Delete.

From this moment on, his world and mine were permanently severed.

The next day.

I arrived at Cambridge, England.

I took a deep, steadying breath.

"Isabella Vanderbilt. It's been a while."

A deeply familiar voice drifted from behind me.

I turned around.

A tall, immaculate figure stood just a few feet away. A faint, knowing smile played on Alexander's striking face.

The corners of my lips curled up. I extended my hand. "It's been a while, Alexander."

He took my hand. His palm was warm and perfectly dry.

"Your brother called me," he said, releasing his grip, his smile deepening. "Told me you finally had an 'epiphany.'"

I let out a helpless little laugh. "He wasn't lying."

My phone suddenly broke the silence.

The caller ID flashed the name of Emily, my best friend back at St. Jude's.

I swiped to answer.

"Isabella! Where the hell are you?!"

It was Carter.

"I've been looking for you on the Princeton freshman orientation list all damn day!" His voice was bordering on a frantic roar. "Everyone is saying you aren't here! What kind of sick game are you playing?!"