Chapter 3
After three hours in the hospital, I ripped the IV out of my hand and brushed off the nurse's suggestion to stay for observation.
By the time the cab dropped me off at the wedding villa Raymond had prepared for us, dusk had settled in.
I pushed open the door to suffocating silence. Festive decorations covered every wall, and our massive wedding portrait dominated the living room—both of us grinning like idiots. Now it looked like the punchline to a sick joke.
No tears came. I just climbed the stairs to the bedroom and hauled a black suitcase out from under the bed.
The designer clothes Raymond bought me? Left them all hanging. The jewelry from the Caldwells? Didn't touch it.
I grabbed a handful of old outfits and that ratty stuffed bear from my foster home days—that was it.
At the vanity, I stared at the ghost-pale woman in the mirror. Slowly, I slid the five-carat pink diamond off my finger, then unclasped the necklace that branded me as a Caldwell.
Clink.
Ring and necklace hit the marble.
Downstairs, a car door slammed.
The front door burst open. Raymond's voice mixed with Patrick's and Jolene's.
"Oh thank God. Doctor says Maggie just had low blood sugar—made her pass out. The tumor's stable." Patrick sounded like he'd dodged a bullet.
"Jesus, I thought—" Jolene exhaled hard. "Thank God she's okay." A pause. "Wait, where's Catherine? She wasn't at the hospital. Maggie kept asking for her, going on about how she felt awful for ruining her wedding."
Raymond's footsteps thundered up the stairs, irritation dripping from every word:
"Catherine! Where did you disappear to? Maggie spent half the afternoon crying at the hospital, feeling guilty about you. You're coming with me right now to apologize. We'll put this mess behind us. Hell, we'll give you a proper wedding next month."
The door flew open. Raymond stood there, eyes landing on my suitcase. His jaw tightened.
"What is this? What are you doing with that suitcase? Still playing the runaway card?" He crossed the room in three strides, reaching for my luggage.
I stepped aside, locking eyes with him. "I'm not playing anything. Raymond, we're done."
Raymond blinked. Then he laughed—sharp and mocking. "Done? Because Maggie wore your dress for a few hours?"
"Catherine, can you grow up? The woman's terminal, for God's sake!"
His voice carried downstairs, drawing Patrick and Jolene up. Hearing my words, Jolene's mouth twisted into a sneer.
"Oh, look at you! So brave! You walk out that door with nothing, where exactly are you planning to go? Back to that dump of a foster home where you went hungry half the time?"
"Unbelievable!" Patrick limped forward on his cane, disappointment carved into every line of his face. "We pulled you out of that nightmare, gave you our name, our world—and this is how you repay us? By throwing a tantrum when Maggie needs us most?"
I looked at them and something inside me cracked. The absurdity of it all crashed over me like ice water.
Grateful? They wanted me grateful? For handing my wedding dress to someone else like it was nothing? For killing my baby because a faker cried on cue?
"You know what? You're right. Have it all back."
I grabbed my suitcase, walked to the vanity, and slid the folded hospital document under the pink diamond.
"Keep the dress. Keep the ring. Keep your precious Caldwell name. Every single thing you ever gave me—it's yours."
"You little—" Jolene's face went white, her voice shaking with rage. "You walk out that door, don't you dare come crawling back!"
I ignored her and headed for the stairs, suitcase wheels bumping behind me.
As I passed Raymond, his eyes caught the ring on the vanity. For the first time, real panic flickered across his face.
He lunged, fingers clamping around my wrist like a vice.
"Catherine, stop this!" His anger cracked, revealing something almost pleading underneath.
"I said we'd give you another ceremony next month. What more do you want? Just come to the hospital with me, talk to Maggie, and we can move past this."
I stared down at his hand on my wrist.
The same hand that, three hours ago, had shoved me off that gurney without a second thought.
"Raymond," I met his eyes, "do you even know what I lost today?"
His brow furrowed. Confusion. Impatience. Nothing else.
I didn't explain. I peeled his fingers off, one by one.
"My biggest mistake was thinking you could ever really love me."
I walked past them. Down the stairs.
Behind me—Jolene's hysterical screaming, Patrick's cane slamming the floor, Raymond's voice calling out with an edge of something I'd never heard before.
I didn't stop.
When I pushed open the front door, ten black Rolls-Royce Phantoms sat on the lawn like silent sentinels.
The center car—an extended model—opened. An elderly butler with silver hair stepped out.
He walked straight past the shocked Caldwells crowding the doorway and stopped in front of me. He bowed low.
"Miss Catherine. Mr. Sterling sent me to bring you home."
I looked at Alfred—the man who'd known me since I was seven—and my eyes finally burned.
Five years ago, desperate and stupid, I'd walked away from the Sterlings.
The family that had adopted me. The billion-dollar empire that moved markets with a phone call.
I'd hidden who I really was and played house with the Caldwells for five years, all for scraps of affection from people who'd never really wanted me.
The dream was over.
"Let's go home, Alfred." I handed him my suitcase and slid into the car the Caldwells couldn't afford in three lifetimes.
"Catherine! Wait! Who the hell are those people?!" Raymond finally snapped out of it, charging toward the car like a madman. Two security guards blocked him, shoving him hard into the grass.
I didn't look back. The window rose, sealing me away from that toxic world.
The convoy disappeared down the street.
Raymond scrambled up from the lawn and tore back into the villa, taking the stairs two at a time. In the bedroom, he slammed his fist on the vanity.
The impact sent the document sliding off the marble, fluttering to the floor.
He stood there, chest heaving, then bent down. His fingers closed around the paper. When he saw the hospital letterhead, his pupils dilated.
The words hit him like a freight train:
[Patient: Catherine Caldwell]
[Diagnosis: Threatened miscarriage secondary to blunt force trauma; fetal demise confirmed]
[Procedure: Emergency D&E performed]
"No... that's not—" The paper slipped from his hands. His whole body started shaking, face draining of color.
Down the hall, in Maggie's room.
Jolene clutched her chest, the rage making it hard to breathe. She collapsed on the sofa and yanked open the nightstand drawer, looking for something to calm her nerves.
Clatter.
An unlabeled pill bottle rolled out, spilling pink tablets across the wood.
Jolene frowned, picking it up. Underneath was a crumpled receipt.
[Underground Medical Services—Fabricated Stage IV brain cancer documentation + placebo medication (vitamin compound). Balance: $50,000]
The villa went silent. Dead silent.
