Part 3Love Was No Match for Convention

The $100,000 was like a powerful anesthetic. It delayed death for a little while, but it couldn't change how this would end.

I switched to better medication and went through two rounds of treatment. My condition seemed to improve, though only slightly.

At least I could walk more than a few steps without gasping so hard it felt as if my chest might split open.

My best friend, Yara York, came to see me with red-rimmed eyes. She said she'd asked around and found me an easy job.

It was a receptionist position at an art gallery that paid $200 a day, paid at the end of each shift.

I knew Yara was worried I wouldn't accept money from her directly. I also knew exactly what kind of shape I was in.

So I agreed.

I didn't want the last days of my life to consist of nothing but waiting to die.

I needed the money, but even more than that, I needed something to keep my mind occupied.

Something that would stop me from thinking about James and everything in the past that I could never go back to.

But as I stood in the elegantly appointed gallery in an ill-fitting uniform and a face mask, enduring the pain and discomfort while directing guests, fate played another joke on me.

James and Wendy arrived together, arm in arm.

James was an invited VIP, and Wendy was there at his side as his fiancée.

I lowered my head instinctively, hoping to disappear into the background.

James recognized me immediately.

Even with the mask covering my face, even with my back hunched, his gaze landed on me without hesitation.

He left the people he'd been exchanging pleasantries with and walked straight toward me.

Wendy, who still had her arm linked through his, followed with a look of surprise.

"Yvonne Young?"

James didn't speak loudly, but his voice carried clearly enough that the people around us fell silent.

"What a small world." A mocking smile touched his lips.

"What happened? You already blew through the $100,000? Now you have to work here for money?"

The stares around me felt like needles.

I clenched my hands until my nails dug deep into my palms.

Wendy gently tugged at James's arm and said softly, "James, don't be like that. Maybe Ms. Young is going through something..."

"Going through something?" James gave a cold laugh, his gaze sweeping over my pale, haggard face.

"What kind of trouble could someone have after throwing away a relationship for money without a second thought? Whatever happened to her, she brought it on herself."

He stepped closer, his tall frame looming over me and pressing down on me with an invisible weight.

"Or did you know I'd be here today? Is that why you came here to wait for me? What is this, another attempt to play hard to get?"

I looked at the face that was so familiar and yet somehow completely foreign, and at the undisguised hatred in his eyes.

All at once, any explanation felt pointless.

I drew a deep breath and tried to keep my voice steady.

"Mr. Zane, you've misunderstood. I just work here.

"If my presence is bothering you and your fiancée, I apologize."

I lowered my head and tried to walk around them.

Then Wendy suddenly let out a startled cry and pointed to a barely visible water stain on the hem of her dress.

"My dress!" She frowned at me. "What kind of service is this?"

James's expression darkened instantly.

He snatched the soft cloth I'd been about to use to wipe the stain and threw it onto the floor.

"Yvonne, do you hate seeing me happy that much? Do you really have to make trouble in front of my fiancée?

"This is Wendy's favorite dress. It's a limited edition, and it costs hundreds of thousands of dollars."

His eyes turned icy as he stared at me. "Can you afford to pay for it?"

Every eye in the gallery turned toward us. The whispers around me buzzed like flies.

"So she's Mr. Zane's ex-girlfriend? The one who dumped him for money..."

"Wow. Look at her now. Guess that's karma."

"And she even got Ms. Shaw's dress dirty. Let's see how she gets out of this one."

I stood alone in the middle of it all, with no one on my side, like some kind of clown put on display.

The strength was slowly draining out of my body, and my vision kept going dark around the edges.

I knew I wasn't going to be able to stay on my feet much longer.