My sister told the ER nurse I was faking my pain, and my mother refused emergency testing because saving my life might interfere with her perfect wedding weekend.

At 2:00 PM, a black luxury sedan pulled into the Campbell driveway.

Jessica ran to the front window, her heart leaping into her throat. "It’s Thomas! He’s here! I knew he wouldn't abandon me. He’s going to fix this."

She smoothed down her silk blouse, wiped her smeared mascara, and threw open the front door with an expression of manufactured, tragic vulnerability.

"Thomas, oh thank God," she sobbed, throwing herself forward to wrap her arms around him.

Thomas did not catch her.

He stepped to the side, allowing her to stumble past him onto the front porch. He was dressed in dark jeans and a plain jacket, his face colder than stone. Behind him stood his father, Richard Sterling.

"Thomas?" Jessica stammered, clutching her bare arms against the chill. "Darling, what's wrong? You have to believe me, the media is twisting everything. Maya is fine, she's exaggerating—"

Thomas pulled an envelope from his coat pocket and dropped it at her feet.

Inside was a thumb drive.

"What is that?" she asked, trembling.

"That," Thomas said, his voice flat and dead, "is the security footage from your front hallway. The federal agents subpoenaed it, and because my father is on the hospital board, we were granted access to the preliminary evidentiary review."

Jessica’s breath hitched in her throat.

"I watched it, Jess," Thomas said, tears of furious betrayal glittering in his eyes. "I watched your sister walk through that door holding her side. I watched you load three boxes of crystal into her arms. I watched her collapse on the third step, bleeding through her shirt, begging you to call an ambulance."

"Thomas, I didn't know—"

"And then," Thomas continued, his voice rising, cutting through her lies like a scalpel, "I listened to the audio. I heard you tell her that if she bled on the carpet, you would make her pay for the steam cleaning. I heard you tell her she was being dramatic."

Richard Sterling stepped forward, his eyes burning holes through my father, who had just stepped onto the porch.

"The wedding is off," Richard announced cleanly.

The words hung in the air like a guillotine blade.

"No!" Jessica screamed, dropping to her knees on the porch, grabbing at Thomas’s pant leg. "No, Thomas, please! We love each other! The invitations, the venue, the church—everything is paid for! We can move past this! It was a family misunderstanding!"

Thomas yanked his leg away from her grip with sheer revulsion. "I was going to marry you tomorrow. I was going to stand before God and our families and promise to build a life with you. But you don't have a soul, Jessica. You and your parents left your own flesh and blood to die alone on a cold hospital cot so you wouldn't be late for a manicure."

"Thomas!" Dad pleaded, his voice breaking. "Please, talk to your father. If this contract is pulled, my firm will liquidate my equity. We'll be bankrupt!"

"Then you better start selling the silver, Arthur," Richard Sterling said coldly. "Because by tomorrow morning, every bank in the tri-state area will know that doing business with you is toxic waste."