ZARIAH POV
The champagne bottle felt cold against my sweaty palm as I practically ran down the hospital corridor. My heart hammered so hard I thought it might burst right out of my chest.
"We did it!" I wanted to scream to everyone I passed. "The cure actually works!"
Three years. Three years of late nights, failed experiments, and people telling me I was wasting my time. But today, Patient 47's test results came back perfect. The Crimson Fever—the disease that was killing thousands across Asia—finally had a cure. And I, Zariah Lovelace, had created it.
I couldn't wait to tell Thorne. My fiancé would be so proud.
I fumbled with my keys at our apartment door, already imagining his face when I told him. Maybe he'd spin me around like he used to when we first started dating. Maybe he'd finally look at me the way he did before... before things got complicated.
The door swung open. Music played softly from our bedroom—the same jazz playlist Thorne made for our first anniversary.
My stomach did a weird flip. He never came home early.
"Thorne?" I called out, kicking off my shoes. "You won't believe what happened at the lab! The cure actually—"
A sound stopped me cold. A giggle. High-pitched and familiar.
That was Seraphine's laugh. My stepsister's laugh.
My feet moved toward our bedroom even though my brain screamed at them to stop. The door stood half-open. I pushed it wider.
The champagne bottle slipped from my fingers and exploded on the hardwood floor.
Thorne sat up in our bed—our bed—his eyes wide with shock. Beside him, tangled in our sheets, was Seraphine. Her raven-black hair spilled across my pillow. And she was wearing...
No. No, no, no.
She was wearing the red lace lingerie I'd bought last week. For our anniversary. For our special night that was supposed to happen tomorrow.
"Zariah!" Thorne scrambled out of bed, grabbing for his pants. "This isn't—we didn't—"
"Oh my God." Seraphine's doe eyes filled with tears. Real tears that rolled down her perfect cheeks. "Zariah, I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened. I just—"
"Get out." My voice didn't sound like mine. It sounded hollow, like someone had scooped out my insides and left an echo. "Get out of my house."
"Please, let me explain!" Thorne reached for me.
I jerked backward so hard I slammed into the doorframe. "Don't touch me!"
"It was a mistake!" His handsome face crumpled in a way that might have broken my heart yesterday. "I love you, Zariah. You have to believe me. I don't know what I was thinking—"
"You were thinking about her!" The words ripped out of me like broken glass. "In our bed! Wearing the lingerie I bought for us!"
Seraphine sobbed louder. She'd always been good at crying. When we were kids and she broke my things, she'd cry until her mother—my stepmother—blamed me instead.
"I'll leave," Seraphine whispered, clutching the sheet to her chest. "I'm so sorry, sister. I've been so depressed lately, and Thorne was just being nice, and I misunderstood, and—"
"Stop lying!" I wanted to scream, to throw things, to make them hurt as much as I hurt. But my body wouldn't move. I just stood there, frozen, while my whole world shattered like that champagne bottle.
Thorne stepped closer, his golden-brown eyes pleading. "Zariah, please. I made a horrible mistake. Let me fix this. We can go to counseling. I'll do anything—"
My phone buzzed. I looked down at the screen through blurry eyes.
STEPMOTHER:Family dinner tonight at 6. Don't be late.
Of course. Because that's what mattered. Family dinner. Keeping up appearances.
I turned and walked out of the apartment, leaving Thorne calling my name behind me.
Three hours later, I sat in my stepmother's perfect dining room, pushing food around my plate while everyone pretended nothing was wrong.
"Zariah, darling, you look pale," Stepmother said, her voice dripping with fake concern. "Are you feeling well?"
Across from me, Seraphine dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. She'd changed into a modest blue dress that made her look innocent and young. Thorne sat beside her, his face the picture of guilt and misery.
"I found them together," I said flatly. "In my bed."
My stepmother's fork clinked against her plate. "Oh, sweetheart. That's... unfortunate."
"Unfortunate?" I stared at her. "That's all you have to say?"
"Well, these things happen. Thorne said it was a mistake. Seraphine feels terrible—"
"I do!" Seraphine grabbed my hand across the table. "Zariah, I've been struggling since Dad died. I felt so lost, and Thorne was there, and I confused comfort for something else. Please forgive me. You're my sister. My only sister."
The sister who stole my favorite doll and blamed me when it broke. The sister who "accidentally" ruined my prom dress. The sister who flirted with every boyfriend I ever had.
"Zariah." Stepmother's voice turned sharp. "Seraphine made a mistake. Thorne made a mistake. But family is forever. You can't throw away your relationship with your sister—or your fiancé—over one moment of weakness."
"One moment?" My voice cracked. "How long has this been going on?"
Silence. Heavy and thick.
Thorne cleared his throat. "It just happened today. I swear. I love you, Zariah. Only you. This meant nothing."
"Then why were you in my bed?" I looked at Seraphine. "Why were you wearing my lingerie?"
More tears. More apologies. More excuses that didn't make sense.
My stepmother stood, her expression firm. "Zariah Lovelace, you will forgive your sister and your fiancé. You will not throw away this family over a mistake. Do you understand me?"
I understood perfectly.
I understood that I was alone. That I'd always been alone in this family.
"Fine," I whispered. "I forgive you."
Lies. All lies. But I was too tired to fight.
The hotel room smelled like cleaning chemicals and old carpet. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the diamond ring on my finger.
Thorne had proposed six months ago at his company's Christmas party. In front of everyone. I'd felt like a princess.
Now I felt like an idiot.
My phone buzzed again. A text from Thorne: Thank you for being understanding. I love you so much. Tomorrow will be better, I promise.
Tomorrow. Our anniversary. The day I was supposed to wear that lingerie. The day I was supposed to feel special.
I yanked the ring off my finger and threw it across the room.
It bounced off the wall and disappeared under the dresser.
Just like my whole stupid life—lost in the dark where nobody could find it.
My phone buzzed one more time. But this wasn't a text.
It was a news alert.
BREAKING: CRIMSON FEVER CASES TRIPLE IN METRO AREA. HOSPITALS OVERWHELMED. HEALTH OFFICIALS WARN OF POTENTIAL OUTBREAK.
My blood turned to ice.
The cure. My cure. We'd just proven it worked.
But the testing was supposed to start next week. They weren't ready. If the fever spread now, before we could mass-produce the treatment...
Another alert flashed across my screen.
GENESIS BIOTECH ANNOUNCES EMERGENCY PRESS CONFERENCE TOMORROW 2PM. CEO TO REVEAL "BREAKTHROUGH TREATMENT" FOR CRIMSON FEVER.
Tomorrow. The same day as my anniversary.
My hands started shaking.
Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
And I had a terrible feeling that tomorrow, everything was about to get so much worse.