The day the Manhattan heiress proposed to my best friend, he stepped off the skyscraper ledge. “Spencer, I’m sorry, but I have to go home first.” The scene below was a horrifying splash of red against the white marble. Cordelia Hallowell, the usually ice-cold, aristocratic CEO, screamed. She threw herself onto Jude’s body, clinging to him in a frenzy. I merely curled my lips in a wry, mocking smile. I backed up a single step, my heels teetering on the terrace edge. Cordelia’s cousin, Juniper, who was shielded by Cordelia as she cradled a man in her arms, glared up at me. “What, Spencer? Are you trying to use some cheap, tawdry suicide attempt to force Cordelia to marry you, too?” The man was already dead. What use was that slip of a marriage certificate now? Cordelia, you were never my home. I’m ready to leave this stage. I tipped backward, my body plummeting toward the earth. In the instant my weight slammed into the pavement, I heard Cordelia’s raw, gut-wrenching shriek. 1 I didn’t die. The private hospital wholly owned by the Hallowell Group cleared an entire wing just for me. Within twenty-four hours of my fall, a global consortium of top medical experts held a symposium on my condition. And Cordelia Hallowell? She became my shadow, personally supervising my care for an entire month. “Ms. Hallowell truly cares for you, Mr. Hale.” The attending physician’s tone dripped with envy, his gaze falling to my unmoving legs before a flash of pity crossed his face. Yes, Cordelia had spent tens of millions to snatch my life back from the abyss. Unfortunately, money couldn’t solve everything. My legs were useless, and Jude was gone. Lying in that sterile room, the days and nights of semi-consciousness were haunted. I relived the scene of Jude’s jump over and over. He was wearing the simple white t-shirt we’d arrived in—the one he’d worn five years ago. He leaped from the high-rise, looking heartbreakingly beautiful, like an angel embracing freedom. He’d told me, “There’s no home for me here, Spencer. Even if there’s only a fifty percent chance, I have to try.” Five years ago, Jude and I were in a car crash. We woke up here, thrust into this melodrama novel. To “go home” as quickly as possible, Jude nearly destroyed himself. He pulled Juniper Hallowell, the perpetually suicidal, gloomy girl, back into the light. He became her cause. As for me, I spent five years, day in and day out, helping Cordelia—the disgraced, exiled cousin—rise to become the CEO of the Hallowell Group. We had finally done it. The goal was achieved. A month ago, it was Jude’s birthday. When Juniper bowed her proud head and made her tearful confession, I saw the shimmer of unshed tears in Jude’s eyes. Even then, I suspected Jude wouldn’t be coming home with me. But I never thought he would leave me behind like this. Dying before the system’s task was complete meant even the fifty percent chance of returning to our original world would likely result in a shattered body from the car crash. He was decisive. So final. 2 “You’re awake.” The sound of the door closing pulled me back from the void. I looked listlessly at Cordelia as she entered, offering no greeting. She placed the thermal container on the side table, ladled soup into a small bowl, and brought the spoon directly to my lips. “Your favorite beef consommé. I picked out the thyme.” A faint, burnt aroma drifted through the air. I raised an eyebrow, noting the angry red marks on her thumb and forefinger. She had cooked this herself. How novel. Only a month ago, she despised me so much she practically wished me dead. I studied her, oddly intrigued. She was thinner than before. Her eyes were deeply shadowed, which only sharpened the exquisite severity of her features. The look she leveled at me was saturated with self-reproach. My gaze drifted to the doorway. A familiar white t-shirt flashed past. Dax Prescott’s furtive, peering eyes met mine. Ah. No good deed goes unpunished, and no sudden devotion is without a hidden agenda. She was here on behalf of her beloved. For the first time since I woke up, I smiled at Cordelia. A look of relief washed over her, only to freeze when I spoke, my voice devoid of warmth. “Why don’t you invite Dax in? Worried I’ll throw more dirt on him? Don’t worry. My legs are broken. I won’t get a chance to perform an encore.” “Spencer!” Cordelia’s eyes flashed with the chill of a gathering storm. She looked ready to lash out, to reprimand me as she always had. Then she glanced down at my motionless legs, pressed the bridge of her nose, and sighed. “I regret Jude’s death. Dax… he didn’t mean to incite him. None of us knew his depression was so severe. Besides, the Hallowell family couldn’t possibly let June marry someone with a history of that kind of severe mental instability…” Her voice trailed off, a rare moment of guilt crossing her face. I met her eyes with an icy stare and let out a single, contemptuous chuckle. She knew. She knew the whole story. If she hadn’t indulged Dax, he would never have dared to ruin Jude’s proposal. “Jude is dead, Cordelia. That’s an unchangeable fact. Try not to be too upset.” She turned her head away, her lips tightening into a thin red line. “Just focus on getting better. When you’re healed, we’ll get married.” She didn’t dare meet my gaze again. She quickly gathered Dax and left. Before exiting the room, Dax tossed me a look of pure, satisfied provocation. It was the same look he gave Jude and me the day he returned from overseas, a private declaration of war. “Guys, have you heard the expression? The late arrival always triumphs over the long-suffering loyalist. “Trust me. I just have to snap my fingers, and both of them will come running like dogs.” 3 I believed him. Of course, I did. Jude’s mission with Juniper had been a smooth-sailing success, hitting an Affection Rating of 99 in no time. Mine, with Cordelia, was a war of attrition. Cordelia was cold, closed-off. It took me five years and nearly losing my life to save her from a devastating earthquake just to earn one, begrudging line: “You can have the title of my boyfriend, Spencer, but don’t expect anything more.” Jude tried to rationalize it for me. He’d say Cordelia was just reserved, that her Affection Rating hitting 50 was the best proof of her secret devotion. He’d throw an arm around my shoulder, promising that since Juniper’s score was rising quickly, he would wait until Cordelia finally loved me completely. We would go home together. I saw the flicker of reluctance in his eyes even then. I just laughed, teasing him. “We have no family back home anyway. If you really love June, I’ll stay here with you forever. No problem.” I watched his ears turn pink, hiding my own sense of loss. I wasn’t immune to Cordelia. That fragile, nascent feeling, however, was extinguished before it could even take root. By her own hands. In the third year, while accompanying Cordelia on a resort development project, the earthquake hit. When the support beam crashed down, I shoved her toward the only safe recess. In the dark silence underground, my breathing grew shallower with every second. Cordelia finally found a sliver of cell reception. She didn’t call for rescue. She called Dax, who was thousands of miles across the ocean. She didn’t say anything. The silent, desperate confession of love spread through the darkness. The secret, unspeakable depth of her feelings swelled and intensified in the face of death. It was a tidal wave that submerged me and completely extinguished the restless beat of my own heart. 50, 30, 20… Affection Rating: Zero. 4 At the time, I told myself the worst outcome was not being able to go home. Jude still had a choice. As long as he was happy, I was satisfied. Cordelia didn’t visit the next day, only sending a nurse with a custom-made nutrient shake. Undoubtedly, another of her home-cooked masterpieces. She was afraid to see me. She was guilty. Dax, on the other hand, sent a message. [Are you and Jude competing for who can be the bigger joke? One dead, one crippled, and the woman you both wanted is still orbiting me like a puppy. Good riddance.] Attached was a photo. In the frame, Dax wore a tailored tuxedo. Juniper was nestled intimately on his arm, their cheeks pressed together as they smiled for the camera. I recognized the suit. It was the tuxedo Jude had custom-designed for himself for the wedding. Even the enormous, rose-covered archway behind them was a structure Jude had commissioned, built from the pink hybrid roses he’d spent two years cultivating in the Hallowell gardens. Jude had sensed June was finally ready to commit. He’d been secretly preparing this surprise for the proposal day. Instead, on that day, Dax publicly released photos of Jude with other women, announcing that he was going to expose the “gold-digging fraud” to everyone. That was supposed to be the happiest day of Jude’s life. Instead, under the cold, judging stares of the entire social circuit, the color drained from Jude’s face, inch by agonizing inch. Jude snapped, throwing a punch at Dax, only to be shoved hard to the ground by Juniper. “Jude, you knew that woman wasn’t me that night, didn’t you?” It was the first time I had ever seen that raw, naked despair on Jude’s face. He trembled as he stood up. And then, a brilliant splash of crimson erupted from his mouth. 5 Dax followed up the text with a barrage of June’s engagement photos. Apparently not satisfied with just text, he video-called me directly. “Spencer, old friend, I’m so sorry. I love this suit, but my shoulder width is all wrong. Do you think the tailor can rush the alterations before the wedding?” Juniper’s engagement party hadn’t been canceled. I looked at the tuxedo on Dax. He had spent years playing Cordelia and Juniper against each other. A mere frown from him would have two of the world’s most powerful women bending over backward. Was he finally ready to reel in the line? Curious. Ignoring Dax’s taunt, I looked past him at Juniper, who stood silently in the frame. Her features, so strikingly similar to Cordelia’s in their sharp beauty, were marred by a subtle shadow, the same wounded gloom that had marked her before Jude arrived. I glanced down at the system interface on my wrist. Juniper’s entry: Affection Rating: 100. I smiled. “Juniper, want to know why Jude really jumped?” June’s head snapped up. Her eyes held a chilling, manic intensity. “Who said Jude is dead! “We’re getting married in a week! Are you trying to jinx him? Don’t you dare curse him!” Dax’s arrogant expression instantly turned ashen. 6 Juniper was dragged into my hospital room by her hair. When Dax was thrown to the floor, his borrowed suit was shredded, and his famously long, athletic legs were a bloody mess. Blood pooled on the floor, the sight painfully reminiscent of the day Jude died. “Tell me! Where is Jude!” Juniper’s eyes were bloodshot, the whites laced with red. She lunged, clutching my throat. I looked up at the terrifying, pulsing red number above her head, wreathed in black mist. “Jude is dead. He jumped, and as his body turned to pulp, he was still planning his proposal to you. “Oh, wait. I forgot. You didn’t want to marry him because you personally delivered him to the bed of another woman.” Juniper’s grip tightened violently. “I didn’t! “He was planning our wedding! He wouldn’t leave me! If he died, he must have been faking it to make me regret this! “Yes, that’s it! He’s mad at me, so he’s hiding! Isn’t that right? You’re his best friend… Where did you hide him?” June’s words were a torrent. She looked at me with wild, desperate supplication, her grip on my throat increasing, terrified I would offer a negative answer. I was choking, but I laughed anyway. Ha. Jude, she doesn’t believe you’re dead. She can’t. She knows everything, but she refuses to admit it! 7 Just as I was about to pass out, Cordelia burst through the door. She landed a heavy punch into Juniper’s stomach and immediately rushed to check on Dax’s injuries. But when her eyes met my cold, detached stare, her gaze wavered. “Spencer, I…” I looked away, turning my attention to Juniper. The blow from Cordelia seemed to drain her strength. She lay on the floor like a piece of discarded meat, staring blankly at the ceiling. “Bring Jude back,” she whispered. I’d heard she’d lost touch with reality the day Jude died. She had held his corpse all night, until Cordelia had to sedate her and drag her away. The man dies, and now she loves him. Women are pathetic creatures. I tilted my head, smiling as I replied, “Sure. Go ahead and kill Prescott first.” Juniper’s eyes suddenly sparked with manic light. “Spencer!” Cordelia glared at me, ready to argue. But Juniper had already transformed into a beast that had scented blood. She rushed Dax, her eyes burning red. The sound of fists hitting flesh, mixed with Dax’s screams, was surprisingly melodic. I wheeled my chair closer, securing the best viewing spot for the spectacle of a cousin and niece turning on each other over the same man. Jude and I had watched this drama as supporting characters countless times. I had never found it so hilariously absurd. Only after June was finally restrained and dragged away did Cordelia turn to me, her face a mask of dark fury. “Spencer, have you had enough of this circus!” I offered a soft laugh. “I told you. I want Dax Prescott dead.” Cordelia’s chest heaved. She finally dropped the pretense of the devoted, loving partner. Her hands clenched and unclenched, struggling to resist the urge to strike me. “Anything but that. Marriage, or any other condition. I’ll agree to it.” She looked down at me, her tone condescending, full of false generosity. “You’ve helped me for years. Just stop the drama, and we can finally have a real life together.” I looked at her calmly, then slowly offered a faint, tragic smile. “The marriage? I’m walking away. “And Cordelia? I’m walking away from you, too.”
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