Chapter 5
Rosalie’s fingers trembled violently as her phone clattered to the hospital floor.
So even the car accident had been deliberately orchestrated.
She closed her eyes, a tsunami of emotions crashing through her–not just betrayal hot something deeper, more primal. Three years together, and he had actually agreed to hurt her, to potentially k her. People developed attachments to houseplants after three years, yet Dante had casually consented to her destruction like it was nothing.
She pressed her palm against her chest, feeling physically ill. The man who had just been tenderly treating her wound had plotted her “accident” moments earlier. The same hands that had protected her at the last moment had initially steered toward her doom.
She couldn’t understand what would finally satisfy Dante Wolf’s thirst for revenge. What was the
endgame? How much of her suffering would be enough?
She remembered the moment of impact–he had indeed turned the wheel toward her side as promised. Yet in that final second before collision, he’d thrown himself over her as a human shield
It made no sense, unless…
A theory formed in her mind, but she refused to pursue it. She couldn’t allow herself that sliver of
hope, not anymore.
Dante Wolf.
She prayed he was telling the truth–that he felt absolutely nothing for her, that it was all revenge.
Because if he felt even the slightest genuine emotion, what was coming would destroy him.
For the next several days, Dante rarely left her hospital room.
Despite his fractured rib and the doctor’s orders to rest, he stubbornly remained at her bedside. He fed her soup, adjusted her blankets, peeled fruit, and told her stories to pass the time.
To any observer, he appeared like a man madly in love. But Rosalie saw through every gesture now. The way he fluffed her pillow with exaggerated care. The theatrical concern in his voice when asking about her pain levels. The performative tenderness when he brushed her hair.
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Every touch, every smile, every concerned glance–all counterfeit. Each act of kindness was just another scene in his elaborate production, another piece of evidence for whoever might be watching. See how much Dante Wolf loves Rosalie Lima? What a devoted boyfriend he is.
She felt nothing but revulsion.
On the day of her discharge, noticing her withdrawn mood, Dante tried to “cheer her up” by taking her to a new nightclub owned by one of his associates.
The VIP room was dimly lit, with music pounding through the walls.
Dante was attentively playing his role, while his friends Marcus, Tyler, and Jason surrounded her with exaggerated concern. Yet Rosalie felt increasingly uneasy, sensing something was about to happen.
Her instinct proved correct when the door swung open and Darcy Brown walked in.
Everyone’s expressions immediately soured.
As Dante tensed with anger, Marcus and Tyler quickly intercepted Darcy, speaking in hushed tones.
“What the hell, Darcy? Didn’t we settle this already?” Marcus hissed. “Dante did what you asked–he
staged the accident. What more do you want from him?”
Darcy smiled with calculating sweetness. “Relax, boys. I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m here to contribute to your little revenge plot. Since Dante will be marrying me soon, his enemies should be my enemies too. I want to help make this more… interesting.”
She leaned closer to Tyler and Jason, whispering something in their ears.
Their expressions brightened immediately, exchanging meaningful glances that made Rosalie’s skin
crawl.
She strained to hear their conversation, but the pulsing bass drowned out their words.
After finishing, Darcy approached her directly, wearing a transparently fake smile that didn’t touch her cold eyes. “Miss Lima, I want to sincerely apologize for my behavior at Blue Bottle. Dante has… made his feelings abundantly clear to me.” She glanced at him with practiced deference. “Our families‘ engagement was just a business arrangement, and he’s refused to go through with it because of how deeply he loves you. He simply won’t marry anyone else.”
Every word dripped with artificial sweetness. Rosalie felt her stomach turn, a feeling of dread washing over her.
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She couldn’t fathom why the previously hostile Darcy would suddenly concede, or why she would put on this transparent performance, but her instincts screamed danger.
Dante looked equally uncomfortable, his gaze shifting between the two women.
Darcy, completely reversing her earlier antagonism, suddenly produced a set of keys from her designer purse and offered them to Rosalie. “Miss Lima, I recently acquired a penthouse in Tribeca. I’d like you to have it–as a small token of apology for my disgraceful behavior.”
Rosalie didn’t even glance at the extended keys, her voice as cold and empty as a winter midnight. “That’s unnecessary. I won’t be staying in New York.”
At these words, Dante’s expression transformed instantly.
He grabbed Rosalie’s hand, his typically confident demeanor cracking to reveal what appeared to be genuine panic. His voice dropped, almost strained: “Rosie, what are you talking about? My whole life is here in New York. You’re going to be my wife. Where else would you possibly go?”
Rosalie met his gaze with dead eyes.
She was going back to Los Angeles, to marry someone worthy of trust, to be with people who actually loved her.
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