Chapter 2The Shorn Sacrifice

Liam froze, then reached out and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead, a scornful laugh escaping his lips.

“Ava, are you trying to break up with me?” he scoffed. “You don’t have a fever. What’s with the crazy talk?”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, menacing whisper. “You’ve been with me for eight years. You really think you’ll find anyone else to marry you after this? Who would want you, Ava? Can you stop being so damn dramatic?”

The tears I’d been holding back threatened to spill over. So he did remember. Eight years. Our friends used to say that after dating for so long, a lover becomes family. But Liam hadn't become my family. And lately, he felt less and less like my lover.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood and met his gaze head-on. “There are plenty of men in the world. It’s not like you’re my only option.”

Liam’s face darkened. His friends, sensing the shift, started to speak up.

“Alright, that’s enough. Liam’s already trying to be nice here, Ava. Don’t push it.”

“It’s just a wig! Get Liam to buy you a new one. Hell, buy seven, one for every day of the week, haha!”

After his friends had their fun, Dolores chimed in, her voice trembling with manufactured fragility. “This is all my fault. Ava, I’ll pay you for the wig, okay? Please, just don’t make things hard for Liam.”

She blinked, her eyes welling up again, a picture of pathetic innocence that clearly tugged at Liam’s heartstrings. He shot me a venomous look, as if I were his mortal enemy.

“Ava, if you have a problem, take it up with me!” he snarled. “Dolores is sick. She’s very, very sick. Why do you have to pick on a patient? You’ve changed. You were never like this before!”

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could, Dolores clutched her stomach and let out a pained cry. “Liam, it hurts… Help me…”

In a flash, Liam shoved me aside. I stumbled backward, caught off guard, and my leg hit a chair, sending me crashing to the floor.

“Hiss—” A sharp pain shot through me.

Liam saw me fall, but there wasn't a flicker of concern in his eyes. Instead, he roared at me, his voice cracking with rage. “Get the hell out of the way! You whine and cry about a stupid haircut, but then you go and upset Dolores when you know how fragile she is! If anything happens to her, I swear to God, I will never forgive you!”

With that, he scooped Dolores into his arms and stormed out, his pack of cronies trailing behind him.

The last one to leave, the one holding my severed hair, casually tossed the long, dark bundle into a nearby trash can.

I stared for a moment, stunned. Then I scrambled over, my hands shaking as I carefully gathered my hair from the garbage. The tears finally came, hot and unstoppable.

In that moment, a decision crystallized in my heart.

I was leaving Liam Foster.

…

I went to a barbershop and had them shave my head properly, evening it out. Then I booked a cheap room at a motel.

When I returned to the apartment to pack my things, Liam was there, looking exhausted. His eyes landed on the suitcase in my hand, and his face instantly soured.

He strode forward and kicked my suitcase, sending it skidding across the floor.

“How long are you going to keep this act up?” he demanded. “The doctor said Dolores’s condition has worsened. It’s all your fault for agitating her! I haven’t even dealt with you yet, and you’re the one playing the victim?”

I laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. “So Dolores’s cancer is my fault now? Liam, do you even hear the stupid things you’re saying?”

He seemed taken aback, probably because he’d never heard me use that tone with him before. He just stood there, momentarily speechless.

I ignored him, picked up my suitcase, and continued packing. I didn't have much. After living here for eight years, everything I owned barely filled two 26-inch suitcases.

I glanced at Liam, who was watching me in silence. “Whenever you get around to sending the money for the hair,” I said casually, “I’ll pay my share of the rent.”