Page 155 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife
His face says everything.
"No." I swallow.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Ah, Ms. West. His body rejected the stent. It's extremely rare but..."
His voice fades.
Victoria approaches us. I meet her blank gaze. She draws Karma away from me. My sister shoves at Victoria half-heartedly, then folds her arm round the other woman's slim shoulders.
I brush past the doctor, walking toward Sinclair who watches me approach.
His lips move... I don't register the words. I stare at the broad chest, in that crisp white shirt… The color pristine, the tendrils of black hair that pepper his tanned skin. Up to that strong chin, the square jaw.
"You okay?" He dips his face, peers into my eyes. Cerulean, blue and black. Everything I hate.
"You killed him." A coldness grips my chest. "He wasn't old enough to die; he could have lived to be a ninety."
Sinclair's jaw tics. "I'm sorry for your loss, Summer."
"No, you're not. This is what you wanted. You wanted to ruin him and you made me help you. Well, guess what? You’ve ruined all of us." My knees wobble. I clench my fingers at my sides. I thought I had done my share of grieving when my mother had died... the first time I thought my father had died... but this... Everything feels too sharp, too real. Is it because I am older now? Because I can separate each individual shred of emotion that pierces my gut? I press my fingers together in front of my chest.
"I didn't intend for this to happen." His jaw tics.
"Bullshit." My chest hurts and pressure builds behind my eyes. "You made him come; you subjected him to this farce. You threatened him, told him you were going to ruin him. You must have known this was a possible outcome."
The skin at the corners of his eyes creases. He firms his lips. "I didn't want him to die. I wanted Adam to be alive to witness his destruction."
"How big of you."
A vein pops to life at his temple.
"If it weren't for you," I stab a finger at him, "My father would be alive."
"And you'd still think he was dead."
I wince.
He drags his fingers through his hair, "Fuck, I'm sorry Summer."
I lean forward on the balls of my feet, "I hate you."
"You don’t."
That hard certainty in his tone whips through the jumble of thoughts in my head. "You know nothing."
I throw myself at him.
Raise my fist until it connects with that beautiful jaw. Punch his neck, his chest, any part of him that I can reach.
"I loathe you. I never want to see you again. I want you to leave, I can’t stand you. Go. Away." I raise my arm and he catches it.
"Do you mean it?"
I tilt my chin up. Don’t say it. Don’t. "Get away from me, you monster."
