Chapter 3

Heather stared at the unopened bottle of vodka on the table, her mind slipping into the past - back to six years ago.

It had been their second anniversary. Kieran was broke, juggling school and part-time jobs just to get by. Still, he spent a whole month's pay on a box of liquor-infused chocolates, just to make her smile.

She hadn't wanted to disappoint him. So she ate one.

That night, she landed in the ER.

She'd had no choice but to confess to the doctor - she had a severe alcohol allergy. A potentially fatal one.

When Kieran found out, he'd gone deathly pale. She'd never seen him so shaken.

"Heather," he'd said, his voice low but trembling, "promise me - no matter what, never touch alcohol. Not even for me."

"You have no idea how scared I was when I saw you take that bite."

"If anything ever happened to you in front of me... I'd never forgive myself."

Her heart had nearly burst with how tightly it swelled in that moment.

She had wrapped her arms around him, pressed her face into his chest, and whispered, "Okay. I promise."

He'd held her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

"I'll protect you. Always."

From that day forward, he carried allergy meds everywhere. Every restaurant, every takeout order - he'd double-check everything, paranoid about hidden alcohol.

Now, Heather stood in front of him again.

And he was the one handing her the bottle.

She closed her eyes.

The same man who once panicked over a sip of beer... now wanted her to drink vodka.

What kind of cruel joke was this?

Her throat tightened. She didn't mean to speak, but the words slipped out anyway - a soft, broken question.

"Do you still remember I'm allergic?"

As soon as she said it, she regretted it. What was she thinking? That he'd care?

Kieran's eyes didn't even flicker. "No. I forgot."

Her heart shattered. No sound. No scream. Just the quiet implosion of something once sacred.

Noah, who had stayed silent until now, stepped forward. "Kieran, come on. This isn't a joke. She could die."

Kieran's smile was sharp, merciless. "She doesn't have to drink. The door's right there. No one's forcing her."

Heather opened her eyes. Calm, empty. "I'll drink."

She pointed at the cash. "But a deal's a deal. The money?"

"Forty-three grand," Kieran said flatly. "Finish the bottle. It's all yours."

She inhaled deeply, walked over, and wrapped her fingers around the bottle. It was cold. Like her hands. Like everything inside her.

She uncorked it with a soft pop.

Gasps echoed around the room as she tipped it to her lips and took a long, brutal swallow.

The vodka was fire. It scorched its way down her throat, igniting her insides.

Almost instantly, red blotches flared across her neck and arms. Her chest tightened. Breathing became a battle.

"That's enough!"

Kieran exploded to his feet, slapping the bottle out of her hands. It smashed against the floor, vodka splashing across her legs like acid.

With a snarl, he grabbed the stack of crisp bills and hurled it at her.

"Get out."

The money hit her face and scattered like snow - blue-tinted hundreds fluttering to the ground.

Heather dropped to her knees, gasping for air, her skin crawling with red welts. But she didn't stop.

She reached out with shaky, hive-covered hands and began picking up the bills one by one.

Each note felt like a brand searing her skin. But she didn't flinch.

This wasn't about pride anymore. This was survival. This was Cherry's tuition. Their rent. Their food.

"Thank you, Mr. Foster," she whispered. "Thank you, gentlemen."

Her voice was fractured, breathless. But she kept going.

When she reached for the last note, a polished black shoe came down hard, pinning it to the ground.

Heather froze.

She looked up.

Kieran towered over her, his eyes blazing with fury. No softness. No pity. Just rage.

"Heather," he said, voice like a blade, "three years of prison doesn't just vanish. Tonight? This is just a tiny piece of what you owe."

He pressed his foot down harder, grinding the bill beneath his sole.

"If you don't want to go through this again, stay the hell out of my life."

Her hand hovered in mid-air, lips trembling as her face flushed with the rash crawling up her neck.

She stared at the crushed note beneath his shoe... and laughed.

Soft. Broken. The sound of something finally breaking beyond repair.

Even Noah turned away.

"Don't worry, Mr. Foster," she said quietly. Her voice barely more than a whisper - but steady. "I'll disappear. Just like you want."

She didn't reach for the last bill.

Instead, she rose - slowly, legs shaking - collected the money she had, folded it carefully, and slipped it into her pocket.

Then she bowed.

Deep. Dignified. Devastating.

"Thank you for the charity, Mr. Foster. I hope your future's as bright as your suit. Goodbye - for good."

She turned and walked toward the door.

One step. Two. Three.

Staggering, but steady.

Behind her, Kieran stood frozen.

His hands were clenched so tightly, his nails dug into his palms.

He wanted to chase after her.

He wanted to pull her into his arms like he did six years ago, whisper that he never stopped loving her.

But he didn't move.

Because she was Heather. The girl who betrayed him. The only woman he ever loved.