Chapter 332
Chapter 332:
The VIP suite smelled of expensive flowers and antiseptic. It was a smell Skye associated with endings, not beginnings.
She walked in the next morning. Liam was awake. He was propped up on pillows, an IV line running into his arm. He looked pale, tragically handsome against the white sheets, playing the role of the martyr to perfection. When he saw her, his face lit up. It was a genuine expression of relief, mixed with pain.
“Skye,” he breathed. He reached out his hand toward her.
Skye didn’t take it. She stopped at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed over her chest. She felt cold. Bone-deep cold.
“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” she asked quietly.
The smile on Liam’s face faltered. He blinked, confusion clouding his eyes. “What p>
“Playing the hero. Making me watch you bleed.” Skye’s voice was flat. “You think this absolves you? You think a knife in the gut erases five years of betrayal? You think because you bled on my coat, I suddenly forget the pills Beatrice tried to force down my throat while you watched p>
Liam’s hand dropped to the mattress. The vulnerable look vanished, replaced by something harder, something darker.
“Does it matter?” Liam asked softly. “I took the knife. I saved you p>
“You didn’t save me,” Skye said, gripping the footboard of the bed until her knuckles ached. “You used your own body as a prop. You calculated that a stab wound would buy you more forgiveness than a thousand apologies p>
Liam looked down at his bandaged abdomen.
“I needed you to look at me,” he admitted. His voice was raw. “Not through me. Not past me. At me. For five minutes, Skye, I wanted you to worry about me p>
Skye felt a wave of nausea roll through her stomach. It was a sickness born of realizing just how broken he truly was.
“You gambled your life for a manipulative tactic?” she whispered.
“I’d gamble it again,” Liam said, looking up. His eyes burned with a terrifying intensity. “If it means you’re standing here, talking to me, I’d take the knife again right now p>
Skye stepped back. She felt like the air in the room was being sucked out.
𝗥ea𝖽 𝗍𝗁e rea𝘭 𝗌𝘁o𝗋𝗒 𝗼𝗇 𝘣𝗲.𝘤о𝗆
“You’re sick, Liam. And I’m done playing nursemaid to your neuroses p>
She turned on her heel and walked to the door.
“Skye! Wait p>
She didn’t wait. She walked out into the corridor, ignoring the nurses, ignoring the security. She needed air.
Outside the hospital, dawn was breaking. The sky was the color of a bruise, gray and purple and yellow. The rain had stopped, but the ground was wet and black.
Alistair was leaning against his black SUV near the entrance. He was smoking a cigarette, the ember glowing bright in the dim light. He looked untouched by the night’s violence, except for a tightness around his eyes.
He saw her coming. He dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his boot.
“I didn’t stab him,” Alistair said before she could speak. His voice was rough, like gravel.
“But you didn’t stop it,” Skye countered.
Alistair didn’t deny it. He didn’t look away.
“No,” he said simply. “I was engaged. But maybe… maybe I didn’t try as hard as I could have p>
Skye raised her hand and slapped him.
The sound was sharp, a pistol crack in the quiet morning.