Chapter 5: Blood and Betrayal

Mrs. Carter shook with rage. When threats didn’t work, she went for the drama, clutching her chest and acting like she was about to faint. Classic.

She staggered, moaning, and went down like she’d been shot. It was so over the top, I almost laughed. The staff traded looks—should they help, or just step around her?

"Lila, I watched you grow up! I don’t have long, and my only wish is for you and Mason to marry—do you really want me to die with regrets?" Her voice wavered, but her eyes were sharp, watching for weakness. I remembered all the times I’d fallen for her guilt trips, but not today.

I used to think she was really dying, but just now, when she was cursing me, she looked full of energy—she didn’t look sick at all. I couldn’t help but suspect she was faking it. She’d probably planned all along to rush the marriage as soon as my mourning period was over.

Now she was crying and trying to grab me.

"Your parents are gone. If I didn’t care about you, why would I want Mason to marry you so badly? Don’t worry, I’ll treat you even better than before—you’ll never want for anything."

I laughed, cold and sharp, and brushed her hand away. The sound echoed in the quiet room. I stepped back, putting the coffee table between us. Try me.

"I wouldn’t dare believe that, especially since you just cursed me and threatened to discipline me for my dad. Mrs. Carter, how many faces do you have? You flip faster than a pancake—why not join the community theater?"

My words made her face twitch with fury. Seeing I wouldn’t budge, she squeezed her eyes shut and pretended to faint at my feet.

She went down like a sack of flour, arms limp, one hand flung dramatically over her face. The staff looked at each other, half ready to call 911, half ready to just leave her there.

Mason, ignoring the manager’s attempts to stop him, stormed into the living room. He took one look at his mom on the floor and his eyes went wild.

He charged in, face flushed, fists clenched. The tension in the room snapped. He glared at me, voice raised and shaky.

"Lila Langley, what did you do to my mom? She’s always treated you like family. Even if you don’t want to marry me, you shouldn’t take it out on her—she’s older. Show some respect."

Seeing him, my heart squeezed. I stepped back, trying to put space between us, but he pressed closer, demanding answers, eyes burning.

His presence was overwhelming, the room suddenly too small. I tried to steady my breath, but my vision blurred, edges going gray.

My chest seized, breath rasping. Suddenly, I doubled over, coughing—blood splattered right onto his shirt.

The crimson stain spread across his pale blue shirt, shockingly bright. Mason’s eyes went huge, and for a second, the whole world spun sideways. I swayed, reaching for something to hold onto.

The manager’s voice cut through the chaos, loud and panicked: "This is bad! The Carters showed up to force a wedding, and now Miss Lila’s coughed up blood—they’re going to kill her!"

His shout sent everyone into a frenzy. The staff rushed to my side, crowding around, faces drained of color. Mrs. Carter, forgotten, cracked one eye open to peek at the commotion, then snapped it shut again.

Mason’s face went ghost-white. He reached for me, but the manager shoved him back, practically growling, "Mason Carter, are you trying to kill Miss Langley?"

The accusation hung there, heavy as a rock. Mason’s mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. The staff moved between us, a solid wall.

The manager barked orders—someone call the doctor, now! Mrs. Carter was still flopped on the carpet, but nobody cared. Mason was frozen, watching me like I might disappear.

Phones rang, footsteps thundered upstairs, and somewhere an ambulance wailed in the distance. Everything was chaos, but all I could taste was the blood in my mouth, coppery and thick.

In less than ten minutes, the doctor burst in, out of breath. He checked my pulse, frowning, while the manager wiped sweat from his brow, looking like he might faint next.

The doctor’s hands were cool and steady, his eyes grave as he listened to my heart. The room was silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock and the soft whir of the air conditioner. Every sound felt magnified, too loud.

"Doctor, please, just tell us—how is Miss Lila?" The manager’s voice cracked, desperation showing through.

The doctor glanced at Mason, hesitated, and the manager got the message. He hustled Mason toward the door.

Mason refused, voice rough. "This is about Lila—of course I have to be here. She’s my fiancée."

The manager spat, "Mason Carter, you’re supposed to be a gentleman—don’t you have any shame? Miss Langley broke it off with you yesterday, and you tore up the engagement letter on the spot. How dare you talk like this and ruin her reputation?"

The words hit Mason like a slap. He looked away, jaw clenched, cheeks burning. The staff didn’t wait—they hustled him out and slammed the door. No arguments allowed.

Mason’s face was red with embarrassment. The manager didn’t give him a chance to speak, just tossed him out. Only then did the doctor finally talk to us.

He’d treated me before, knew my case inside and out. He asked the manager what happened—my health had been getting better, so why the sudden crash?

"If I can’t save her, I’ll have failed the late Senator Langley." His words were heavy, every syllable weighing a ton. The manager nodded, face pale and drawn. I watched them both, numb, like I was already a ghost in my own house.

He spoke in vague terms, but the message was clear: get ready for a funeral, just in case. The chill in the room was real.

The text above me kept ranting: The side character deserves to die, spraying blood all over our male lead—he’ll be traumatized for life! Heroine, hurry up and take the stage. The male lead will soon realize he never really loved the villain—he and the heroine are the real perfect match.

I wanted to scream. Instead, I just lay there, helpless, listening to the invisible chorus rip me apart.

There was no sound, but the words were so maddening. One after another, they cursed me, praising Mason as if he were a saint and acting like my very existence was an insult to him.

I hadn’t done anything, yet I was called cruel. Fine. If that’s the way it was, I’d lean into it—if I was going to die, at least I wouldn’t have been hated for nothing. Might as well go out swinging.