Chapter 3

Jenna Davis POV:

From inside the car, Heather immediately burst into a sharp, jeering laugh: "Give me a break! You don't have the guts to swallow poison! Stop using this to steal the spotlight - my ankle is swollen!"

Donovan shook his head with a look of utter disgust: "Jenna, using this kind of trick to manipulate me is truly disgusting. Walk home by yourself. Take a shower, wash the mud off your face, and clear your head. See you at the rehearsal dinner tonight."

With that, he slammed the SUV door shut with a bang.

Heather rolled down the passenger window, stuck her head out, and smiled smugly: "Hey, Jenna! Since you're going home anyway, remember to leave that handmade lace veil on the bed! I want to wear it for the bridesmaid photos later!"

The luxury cars roared to life and sped down the highway, leaving me alone in the rolling gray exhaust.

As soon as the last car disappeared around the bend, my legs completely gave out.

I dropped heavily onto my knees on the gravel shoulder.

A violent, uncontrollable nausea tore through my chest.

I vomited a large mouthful of dark, clotted blood onto the gravel, splattering the white hem of the vintage silk dress my mother had left me.

My vision went dark, the world turning into spinning, overlapping gray shadows.

The phone in my pocket vibrated.

I took it out with trembling, bloodstained fingers. On the screen was a text from Donovan:

"Take a cab home from the bridge yourself. The car is full of Heather's medical ice packs. Too crowded to fit you. Don't be late for dinner."

Right above this new message was our pinned chat from three years ago - after my mother's funeral, he had sworn to protect me for the rest of my life and never let me suffer the slightest grievance in this world.

Behind me suddenly came the sharp screech of brakes.

A delivery van pulled sharply onto the shoulder. A middle-aged man jumped out, his face turning pale with fright when he saw the large pool of blood beneath me.

"Miss! Oh my God, miss, are you all right?! Someone call an ambulance!"

He pulled out his phone and shouted anxiously into it.

At that very second, Donovan's incoming call lit up my phone screen.

With the last shred of strength in my right arm, I pressed the green answer button and brought the receiver to my ear.

"Donovan..." I gasped with difficulty.

But the voice that came through was Heather's, full of mockery: "Donovan is driving, sweetie. He told me to tell you that pretending to cough over the phone sounds ridiculously fake. If you want to pretend to be sick, at least sign up for an acting class first."

I wanted to open my mouth to retort, but another surge of blood rushed up my throat. Blood spilled through my teeth and completely blocked my vocal cords, leaving me unable to make a sound.

"Save your strength, Jenna," Heather giggled cruelly. "See you at the wedding - if Donovan still wants you there."

The call was hung up, leaving only the busy tone.

The delivery driver knelt beside me and took off his jacket, wrapping it tightly around my trembling shoulders: "Hold on, miss! The ambulance is just up the road! Don't fall asleep!"

Two minutes later, the shrill wail of ambulance sirens cut through the quiet on the bridge.

Paramedics lifted me onto a hard stretcher and roughly pressed an oxygen mask over my bloodstained lips.

As they loaded me into the back of the ambulance, one paramedic held up a clipboard, his voice anxious and loud:

"Miss Davis! Who is your emergency contact? We need a direct family member to sign the informed consent form!"

I looked up at the flickering fluorescent lights inside the ambulance.

I closed my eyes.

"I have... no family left."