The words hit me like a physical blow, slicing through whatever fragile stability I’ve managed to cling to. My stomach twists violently, a sickening lurch that makes the whole room spin, the ground tilting beneath me as though it’s been yanked out from under my feet. I grip the edge of the bed, desperate to stay upright, but nausea rolls over me in waves, fierce and unrelenting.
My body reacts faster than my mind can catch up—my throat tightens, and that familiar, bitter taste rises at the back of my mouth as my stomach churns, threatening to betray me right here, right now.
I can’t do this. I can’t fall apart. Not now.
But the tension coils tighter and tighter, winding through every muscle, making my whole body ache as if bracing for an impact I know I can’t avoid. I take a shaky breath, willing the sick feeling to settle, trying to keep myself from unraveling. But there’s a relentless pounding in my head, this hammering that drowns out everything else, and I can barely process what Haydn just said.
“This has to be a joke,” I manage, my voice barely a whisper. “A very . . . morbid joke.”
Somebody probably got a hold of our story. They’re looking for a scandal, trying to stir things up—maybe they want an exclusive about his fiancée. I’m suddenly newsworthy, not just the woman who almost died in that accident but the one he left behind. That must be it. It has to be.
“You need to call the hospital,” Haydn says, his tone almost clinical, stripped of any warmth. “Something about being his next of kin.”
“But he can’t be alive. Are you sure that’s what they said?” I ask, the words tumbling out before I can process them.
“And awake,” he insists.
“He can’t be,” I press because something is wrong, I just don’t know exactly what.
“That’s what the woman said over the phone,” he replies, his voice tight.
Keane. Awake.
No. Keane, alive. That’s . . . impossible. It feels like reality itself has fractured, like someone just told me the sky isn’t blue or the ground beneath me doesn’t exist. How can he be alive?
The thought crashes into me, unraveling everything I thought I knew. The fragile sense of normalcy I’d rebuilt cracks apart, leaving me scrambling to make sense of it.
He died. I remember the call from his mother, her voice cold and detached, delivering the news as if it were nothing more than a business update. They hadn’t even bothered contacting me until it was done—until they’d already made the decision to disconnect him. To sever him from life without a second thought for me.
But I didn’t even hear it from her first. I learned the truth in the worst possible way—standing in line at the pharmacy, glancing down at the cover of a gossip magazine.After Months in a Coma Following Tragic Accident, Keane Stone Has Died. Keane Stone’s Passing Shocks Fans: No News About Mysterious Passenger Who Nearly Died With Him.That was me in the car. The “mysterious passenger who nearly died with him.” Not his fiancée, not his girlfriend . . . I was just some stranger.
Rock Star Keane Stone Dies Months After Crash That Left Him in a Coma. Keane Stone’s Tragic End: Questions Linger About the Accident And Unknown Passenger, Did She Die? Who Was She?
Those headlines were how the world learned he was gone. How I learned he was gone. Not through his family, not from anyone who cared enough to tell me directly. To the world, Iwasn’t even worth a name—just a piece of the story, a tragedy to gawk at, a fleeting detail for their pages.
To his mother, I was less than that. I’d never been family. I was “just the girl he was fucking”—her exact words. To her, I was nothing. Not worth an explanation, not worth inclusion in his life or even acknowledgment in his death. What happened to me during that accident—the hospital stays, the surgeries, the . . . Everything still haunts me. According to her, all of it was a blessing. Her tone made it clear she thought I deserved worse.
And now, somehow, this.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” I choke out, my voice trembling as though forcing the words into the air might anchor me in something familiar. “Keane’s been gone for years . . .”
But the room tilts, the edges of my vision blur, and it feels like the ground beneath me is giving way. The sheer weight of this new reality presses down on me, too heavy to hold. Stumbling, I push past Haydn, his concerned voice barely registering as I stagger into the bathroom.
I collapse in front of the toilet just in time, clutching the cold porcelain with both hands as my stomach heaves violently. The shock, the horror, the buried pain—all of it threatens to spill out, overwhelming and unstoppable.
My knuckles turn white as I grip the edge of the toilet bowl, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. There’s a relentless pounding in my head, a sick, twisting sensation in my stomach, and I want to purge it all. The impossible truth, the memories I buried, the betrayal—it all claws at me, demanding release. But no matter how hard I try to expel it, the suffocating ache remains, pressing down on me and refusing to let go.
From my mind.
From my body.
From my heart.
I take a shuddering breath, forcing myself to sit back on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I try to steady myself. My ears are ringing, and there’s a pressure in my chest that feels like it might choke me. I can’t afford this. I don’t have time to fall apart, to let the panic consume me. I need to get a grip. I need to figure out what’s happening.
Slowly, I reach for the counter to pull myself up, my hands still trembling. The cold surface steadies me for a moment, but before I can find my balance, Haydn is there. His strong arms slip around me, lifting me as if I weigh nothing. He eases me to my feet, keeping one hand firm on my shoulder while the other hovers protectively at my waist. I steady myself against the counter, my breath shaky, my legs weak.
“Pia,” he murmurs, his voice low, tinged with concern. His hand brushes a loose strand of hair from my face, his touch gentle but lingering near my cheek. His thumb grazes my skin, and his eyes search mine, trying to gauge just how far I’m unraveling. “Take a deep breath. Just breathe. Everything is going to be okay. I didn’t mean to . . . Fuck.” He swallows hard, his jaw tightening. “You didn’t know he was alive?”
