Chapter 4

Yvonne POV

Chloe's screams drew people from down the hall.

Caleb Sterling was the first to burst in, slamming the door open so hard it knocked over an IV stand near the entrance.

I was straddling Chloe, holding the tire gauge firmly against her throat. The sharp metal tip had already punctured her skin, drawing a thin line of blood.

Her arm was still bleeding freely, soaking half the bedsheet in red.

"Yvonne Vance."

Caleb's voice trembled.

He didn't charge forward. Instead, he stood by the door, raising both hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Let her go. Whatever this is about, take it out on me."

His voice was quiet, so gentle—a tone I had never heard from him before.

For three years, all I had ever received from him were shouts and curses.

And now he was speaking like this, entirely for another woman's sake.

"If you want her life, take mine instead." Caleb took a step forward. "Just let her go. I'll give you my life, all right?"

I stared at him, the gauge never wavering in my hand.

"Caleb Sterling, make her say it herself," my voice came out raw and hoarse. "Make her tell you who really cut the brake lines in that test race."

Chloe trembled beneath me.

"It was me... I cut them myself... and left the cutters by her toolbox..."

Caleb's expression shifted.

But Chloe immediately burst into hysterical sobs. "She forced me! She stabbed me with a needle, she's trying to kill me! Caleb, save me!"

She turned the tables in a heartbeat, tears and snot streaming down her face, looking entirely pitiful.

In that single second, the look in Caleb's eyes changed completely.

From hesitation and shock, it curdled into freezing fury.

He stopped pleading.

Lunging forward, he kicked me squarely in the chest.

The force sent me flying backward, slamming hard into the wall before sliding down to the floor.

The coppery taste of blood flooded my mouth, and the agony in my chest left me gasping for air.

He didn't spare me a glance.

He helped Chloe up first, inspecting her wounds and slamming down on the call button to summon a doctor.

Once he had done all that, he turned around, walked over to a tool bag resting in the corner, and pulled out a tire iron.

Solid steel, half a meter long, with a flat, chisel-tipped end.

Grip firm on the bar, he strode over to stand above me.

Slumped against the wall, I looked up at him, blood trickling from the corner of my mouth.

I didn't dodge, and I didn't beg for mercy.

Caleb swung the tire iron, driving the flat steel tip savagely into the back of my shoulder.

With a sickening thud, iron tore into flesh.

My body arched violently in agony, a muffled groan tearing from my throat as darkness rushed across my vision.

Blood poured out instantly, soaking through my clothes and running down my back.

"This is what you owe Chloe."

Caleb's voice was dead cold, like ice.

He yanked the tire iron free, tossed it clattering to the floor, and turned to guide Chloe out of the room.

He never called a doctor for me. He never looked back.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone in the room.

I leaned against the wall, the wound on my shoulder bleeding continuously.

I tried to stand, but my legs had no strength left.

I reached out, desperate to grab hold of anything—the bed railing, the tire iron on the floor, whatever I could find.

Yet my fingers caught only empty air.

They curled weakly in midair, then dropped limp to my side.

Consciousness drained away from me like a receding tide.

In my final moments of clarity, my mind drifted back to years ago, to the very first time I had watched Caleb Sterling race from the grandstands.

Crossing the finish line, he had waved toward the crowd.

Back then, I had foolishly believed he was waving at me.

Turns out, he wasn't.

My eyes drifted shut. The room fell into total silence, save for the sound of blood dripping onto the floor—drop by drop.