---- Chapter 9 The morning of the engagement was bright and sunny, but Liam felt a cold, hollow dread in the pit of his stomach. He stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the ridiculously expensive tie his stylist had picked out. He was supposed to be excited. This was the culmination of everything his family, and Tiffany's family, had wanted. But his mind wasn't on the ceremony. It was filled with an image of Sarah. Sarah, with her quiet smiles and her earnest eyes. Sarah, making him soup in their tiny kitchen. Sarah, her face illuminated by the cheap lamp as she read, her brow furrowed in concentration. The clock on the wall ticked, each second a loud reminder of the life he was choosing, and the life he was throwing away. A sudden, sharp fear gripped him. What had he done? ---- He had let Tiffany talk him into this cruel, elaborate game, all to soothe her petty jealousy. He had lied, cheated, and manipulated a woman who had given him nothing but pure, unconditional love. He tried to imagine her pain when she found out the truth. He imagined her discovering the fake illness, the bet, his real identity. The thought was unbearable. It was a terror so profound it made it hard to breathe. He couldn't imagine her collapsing in pain His friends, Ethan and Olivia, walked into the dressing room, already sipping champagne. "Ready for the big day, man?" Ethan said, slapping him on the back. "Finally tying the knot. You must be tired of that cheap, street-stall girlfriend by now. Olivia laughed. "Don't be mean, Ethan. She was an amusing distraction. ---- | wonder what she's doing right now? Probably crying in her little slum." Something inside Liam snapped. He turned, his eyes dark with a rage he hadn't felt before, and shoved Ethan hard against the wall. "Shut up," he snarled, his voice dangerously low. "Both of you. Don't you ever talk about her like that again." Ethan and Olivia stared at him, shocked into silence. "Who gave you the right to mess with her?" Liam growled, his hands clenched into fists. "This was between me and Tiffany. You had no right." Just then, Tiffany swept into the room, a vision in white. "Darling, what's all the shouting about?" She saw the tension and her smile tightened. "Are you getting cold feet?" Liam looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, he saw past the beauty and the wealth. ---- He saw the cold, calculating core. "Do you even love me, Tiffany?" he asked, his voice quiet. She scoffed. "Does it matter? Our families are a perfect match. We're a perfect match. That' s what' s important." It was the final verdict. He felt a strange sense of relief. He reached up and pulled the white rose from his lapel "The wedding is off," he said, dropping the flower on the floor. He turned and walked out, leaving a stunned silence behind him. He had to find Sarah. He had to tell her everything. He had to beg for her forgiveness. He sped to the hospital where she'd been taken after the party. ---- He bought a bouquet of yellow roses on the way-for forgiveness, for friendship, for a new start. He ran to the front desk, his heart pounding. "I'm looking for Sarah Miller. She was admitted last night." The nurse looked him up and down, her expression disdainful. "She was discharged this morning." "Discharged? But her hand was badly injured!" "She couldn't afford the surgery to remove the glass," another nurse chimed in from nearby, not bothering to lower her voice. "Said she'd go to a cheaper clinic. Left against medical advice." The words hit him like a physical blow. Couldn't afford it? He, who had just spent a fortune on an engagement party, had left the woman he loved-he realized with a sickening jolt that he did love her-to suffer because she didn't have a few thousand dollars? ---- He stumbled outside, his mind reeling. He pulled out his phone and called his assistant. "Find out everything about Sarah Miller's finances for the past six months," he commanded, his voice raw. "Everything. Every deposit, every withdrawal. | want to know where every penny went." The call came twenty minutes later, as he was driving aimlessly, the yellow roses wilting on the seat beside him. "Mr. Blackwood," his assistant said, his voice hesitant. "| have the information. There was one major transaction two months ago. A deposit of fifty thousand dollars." Liam's heart seized. Fifty thousand. The exact amount he'd told her he needed for his "treatment." "Where did it come from?" Liam asked, his voice a whisper. There was a long pause. ---- "Sir... the records show the payment came from the St. Jude Organ Transplant Center. It appears... it appears she sold one of her kidneys." The phone slipped from Liam's hand. The world exploded into a silent, deafening roar. Sold. A. Kidney. For him. For his fake illness. For his cruel, meaningless lie. The guilt was a physical entity, a monster that rose up and swallowed him whole. Every lie he'd told, every moment of her sacrifice, every gentle touch and worried glance from her replayed in his mind, now drenched in the horror of what he had done The last thread of his composure snapped. He slammed his foot on the accelerator, the car screaming down the street. ---- He had to find her. He had to get to the hotel, to the party venue. Maybe she was there. Maybe she had come back. He had to find her. He had to tell her he was sorry. He would find a matching kidney for her, no matter the cost. He would spend the rest of his life making it up to her. He just had to find her first.