"You were hurt badly. You weren't yourself—standing in front of that mirror practicing like a lunatic, passing out from the pain and starting again the second you came to."
"I didn't have another choice."
My head snapped up. I pressed the emotion down, pressed it again, but my voice still shook.
"Those two broken ribs cost me my qualification for the international competition. Permanently."
"That was the dream I would have given my life for."
"And you killed it with your own hands!"
Oliver opened his mouth to say something else.
I cut him off.
Enough. None of it mattered anymore.
I told him I'd go abroad the day after tomorrow.
Not for some ridiculous exam.
To leave. For good.
Oliver had handpicked the date. Bought his way onto the trending charts in advance. Hammered me into shape until I passed for the obedient, polished heiress his status required.
When reporters pressed him with questions,
he stood there holding flowers, that practiced smile never slipping, his tone warm and sincere.
"Thank you all for your attention. I love my fiancée very much. Ours is a love that goes both ways. We work hard for each other."
At that same moment, at the airport, boarding a flight to the U.S.