Marrying His Rival: The Ex-Fiancé's Nightmare
Chapter 4
Charlotte Glover POV
A sharp chime sliced through the silence of the hospital room.
I fumbled for the phone on the bedside table with my good hand, fingers trembling slightly.
It was a photo.
Bryant and Kalia. In bed. His arm draped over her, her head resting possessively on his chest.
The caption read: He's exhausted from worrying about me. Best nurse ever.
I stared at the screen until the pixels swam together.
It was sent ten minutes ago. While I lay here with a metal rod in my leg.
I didn't cry. I think the reservoir had finally run dry.
The door to my room burst open.
I expected a doctor.
Instead, Bryant stormed in.
He looked disheveled. His eyes were wild, bloodshot, the look of a man unhinged.
He crossed the room in two predatory strides and grabbed the front of my hospital gown.
"Where is she?" he roared.
I gasped, pain shooting through my ribs. "What?"
"Kalia! Where is she?"
"I don't know! I've been in a coma, you lunatic!"
"She's gone," he spat, shaking me hard enough to rattle my teeth. "She sent me a text saying she felt unsafe because of your threats. Now her phone is off. Where did you send your goons?"
"I didn't send anyone! I can't even walk!"
"Liar!"
With a savage yank, he tore the IV out of my arm. A hot spray of blood hit the pristine sheets.
"You're coming with me."
"I can't leave! My leg-"
He didn't care. He scooped me up, ignoring my scream of agony as my broken leg jostled violently against his hip.
He carried me out the service exit, past the security guards who looked away, too terrified of the Barnes empire to intervene.
He tossed me into the back of his SUV like a bag of refuse.
He drove with a lethal, silent focus.
Not to the penthouse. Not to the police station.
He drove to the Meatpacking District. To one of the warehouses the Syndicate used for "storage."
He dragged me inside.
It was an industrial wine cellar, a massive walk-in freezer used for high-end vintages.
He threw me onto the metal floor. The cold seeped through my thin hospital gown instantly, biting into my skin.
"You stay here until you tell me where she is," he said, his breath fogging in the frigid air.
"Bryant, please," I chattered, my teeth clacking together uncontrollably. "I don't know. I swear."
"Think about it," he said, his voice devoid of mercy.
He walked out.
The heavy steel door slammed shut. The lock engaged with a sound like a gunshot.
Darkness.
Cold.
It started as a sting, then a burn, then a terrifying numbness that crept up my fingers and toes.
I curled into a ball, trying to preserve heat, but the concrete floor sucked the life out of me.
Time lost its meaning.
Was it an hour? Five?
My broken leg throbbed with a dull, distant ache. My mind started to drift into dangerous places.
I thought about Jaden.
Why hadn't I called him? Why had I been so proud?
Burn it down, I had texted.
Maybe I was the kindling.
I started to hallucinate. I saw my father standing in the corner. I saw the wedding dress I would never wear turning to ash.
My skin turned blue. My breathing slowed to shallow hitches.
I was freezing to death in a wine cellar because my fiancé loved a lie.
Suddenly, the door hissed open.
Light blinded me.
Bryant stood there. He wasn't alone.
Kalia was with him. She was wearing oversized sunglasses and holding a shopping bag from Bergdorf's.
"Oh my god," she said, sounding bored. "Is she dead?"
Bryant rushed to me, dropping to his knees. He touched my face. His hands felt like fire against my frozen skin.
"Charlotte?"
I couldn't speak. My jaw was locked tight.
"She... she was at a spa," Bryant stammered, looking at me with wide, horrified eyes. "She turned her phone off for a detox weekend. She wasn't kidnapped."
I stared up at him.
He had tortured me. He had nearly killed me. For a spa weekend.
"Get her a blanket!" he screamed at his guards.
He lifted me up, cradling me against his chest. "I'm sorry. Charlotte, stay with me. I didn't know."
I wanted to push him away, but my arms wouldn't move.
"You..." I rasped, my voice a broken whisper.
"Shh, save your strength," he said, running back to the car.
I blacked out again.
When I woke up, I was back in a hospital bed. A different one. A VIP private suite.
Warmth. Heavy blankets.
Bryant was sitting in the chair next to the bed. He was holding my phone.
He looked up when I stirred.
He didn't look arrogant. The usual armor was cracked; he looked shaken.
"You're awake," he said softly.
He held up my phone.
"It rang," he said. "A reminder for your birthday party next week. The notification said 'Dinner with Jaden'."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Who is Jaden? And why did you tell the staff I was out of the country?"
I stared at him.
The audacity.
After the balcony. After the freezer.
He was jealous.
I felt a laugh bubble up in my chest, dark and jagged like broken glass.
I reached out with my casted hand and snatched the phone from his grip.
"Get out," I whispered.
"Charlotte, we need to talk about compensation. I can-"
"Get. Out."
He stood up, adjusting his jacket, regaining his composure.
"I'll have the bill sent to my office. Rest up. We have a public image to maintain."
He walked to the door.
"Oh, and Charlotte?"
He paused, hand on the handle.
"Happy early birthday."
He left.
I looked at the phone.
I unlocked it.
I found Jaden's number.
I didn't text this time.
I hit call.
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