You’re a fucking genius, Mr. Cole. A marketing genius. And he was a coldhearted, greedy fucking bastard. I never thought him capable of such cruelty.

I grabbed my suitcase from the closet and packed up all of my essentials. I’d call Danny later to fill her in and work something out on the rent so she wouldn’t be left high and dry.

Before I left the building, I left a quick goodbye note for Mrs. Jackson, telling her I’d miss our little chats, and then took one final breath. I couldn’t stand the thought of facing all of those reporters outside, but if I had to go through this, I needed to be with my family.

The moment I emerged from my building, they hit me like a swarm of stinging bees, shouting horrible insults posed as questions.

I pushed my way to the car, trying not to bawl, but the tears were there. And these heartless assholes wouldn’t let me get to my car.

“Get the fuck out of my face!” I yelled. I finally lost it and pushed some guy with a camera out of my way. He fell back and lost his grip.

Bastard deserved it. Why were they being so aggressive? I was a nobody.

Finally in my car, my suitcase shoved into the passenger seat, I got out of the parking lot, thinking they’d let me go. They didn’t. Several vans with satellite dishes followed me onto the highway.

I can’t fucking believe it. Were they going to get on the plane with me, too? Should I keep on driving all the way to California? I didn’t know what to do, and the only thing I wanted was to get away.

My phone rang, and when I saw the caller ID pop up on my car’s console, I flipped. Max…

“You fucking sonofabitch! How could you?” I yelled.

“Lily, calm the hell down. I’m at your apartment; where are you?”

I whisked away the tears from my face. “Where am I? Where am I?” I yelled. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I was trying to keep you out of this while I tried to—”

“Fuck you, Mr. Cole. Fuck you to hell.” I was so, so in this, and he’d put me there!

“Lily, please listen to me. I would never—”

“Don’t ever call me again. Do you hear me? Don’t come near me or so help me I will kill you.”

Words of anger, surely, but I meant them in that moment. I honestly envisioned wrapping my hands around his neck and squeezing the life out of him. How could he? How?

“Lily, you need to—”

I hung up the phone, my entire body shaking with rage. I couldn’t think or breathe or—

I looked over my shoulder at the news camera in the fast lane to my left, filming me have an epic breakdown while driving eighty miles an hour.

What is wrong with these people? Why was my life falling apart so fascinating?

When I turned my head to change lanes and move away from them, I almost hit another car passing me like an idiot on the right. I overcorrected, jerking the car left, and then it just kept on going. I plowed my car into the center divider.

The moments after the accident were a blur, mostly seen through a sheet of blood that poured into my eyes. I remembered screaming voices, sirens, and pain. Lots of pain. In my back, my arm, and my face.

When I came to, the drug-induced fog wasn’t enough to kill the agony, and I knew there was major damage all over my body.

I groaned and lifted my hand to my face. It was covered in bandages, and I couldn’t help but laugh. If I’d been ugly before, I was hideous now.

“Lily?” said a kind-sounding female voice. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” I mumbled.

“I’m Haley, your nurse. Do you know where you are?”

“In the hospital.” And I need more drugs…

“That’s right. You’ve been in an accident. The doctor will be here in a moment to check on you, but you’ve just come out of surgery, and I want to ask you a few questions.”

She went on to ask my name, age, and where I’d been when the accident occurred. I could only assume they wanted to check for brain damage.

After I passed her test, I asked her the only thing on my mind. “How bad is it?”

She looked at me. “You broke your arm, hairline fractured your skull, and you have a deep cut on your forehead. But you’ll survive.”

“What about the rest of my face?”

“The airbag spared you from the worst of it, but you hit the divider at an angle. Your side mirror broke off and hit your nose, but the doctor will explain everything that was done and possible follow-up surgeries.”

I wanted to laugh. I’d be getting my face rebuilt anyway. Only this time, I’d probably be lucky to look as good as I once had. I could feel the throbbing in my nose, cheeks and jaw, and my head felt like someone had taken a hammer to it.

“Just hang tight, Lily,” she added. “The doctor will go through everything with you and then you can see your parents.”

“They’re here?” I asked.

“Yes. So is Maxwell Cole.”

How dare he? How dare he come here? What a heartless prick. I was sure, that out of everyone in the world, his was the last face on earth my poor parents wanted to see. “Send him away.”

“I can’t make him leave, but you don’t have to see him if you don’t want to.”

The doctor, a tall woman with short brown hair and wearing scrubs, came in holding a clipboard. Her tag read Dr. Meyers.

“How are you feeling, Lily?” she said, flashing a little light in my eyes.

“Awesome,” I replied, trying to move my jaw as little as possible.

“Well,” she pulled up a chair and sat, “I saw the accident on TV, and considering how fast you were going, you’re very lucky.”

“When do I get to see my face?”

“I think the bandages can come off next week. Dr. Bloomfield will take a look, make sure everything’s draining properly and re-bandage you.”

“Dr. Bloomfield?”

“He handled your facial trauma.”

“I had plastic surgery?” I asked.

“You had all of the paperwork signed and since you were stable, I approved. It’s generally better to make the patient have to go through healing once—when possible. And your nose was shattered. He’s taken some rib cartilage and rebuilt it.”

Ohmygod. I moved just a little and did feel some bandages on my side, but the pain was everywhere.

“You had another laceration above your eye, right under the brow, so he repaired that and did the lift. The chin has been reformed, too, since we needed to go in and dig out a lot of debris from the mirror that embedded into your face.”

I was speechless.

She went on, “We won’t know about the extent of the scarring, but Dr. Bloomfield is an excellent surgeon. He’ll be around later to give you instructions to minimize scarring.”

“So am I going to look normal after this?”

“You’ll have some scars. Some will fade over time.” She smiled. “But you’re alive. Try focusing on that.” She stood up.

“Thank you. Thank you so much for taking care of me.”

“You can thank Maxwell Cole.”

“Why would I do that?” I was in this mess because of him.

“I was off today, at my daughter’s soccer tournament in Detroit for the weekend—but that man wouldn’t take no for an answer. He made sure Dr. Bloomfield was called in, too.”

“I’m so sorry. Thank you, Dr. Meyer.” I would later learn that she was one of the best surgeons in the state with three medical degrees. Her specialty was treating trauma patients—broken bones, internal injuries, that kind of stuff.

“Don’t mention it, Lily.”

As I lay there, feeling my body ache and throb, I felt grateful for what Max had done, but did he really believe he could buy me off or absolve himself with this? And why the hell did he even care?