It was my second day in the hospital, and the doctor said I’d be discharged later. I could continue healing at home, as long as I avoided anything that might trigger the pain in my head—like school. I’d return next week, relying on Rhys for updates and assignments. I knew he’d have my back.
The door creaked open. I hoped it was Rhys—he’d promised to visit—but it was Mom, followed by my cousin. My stomach twisted. He held a bouquet, a mockery of concern.
“I brought you something,” he said, voice syrupy with false sincerity.
His smirk chilled me. Everything about him—his posture, tone, eyes—screamed danger. My heart pounded. I knew he was the reason I was here, but Mom believed his lie: that I’d fallen down the stairs.
I couldn’t speak. Fear clamped my throat. He placed the bouquet on my
