Chapter 3The Spoiled Heiress Redemption Path

It wasn't just a dream. It was a premonition of my own extinction.

In the dream, my life was a script, and I was the "Evil Fiancée." I was the girl who ignored her perfect partner to obsess over a man who hated me—the "Male Lead." I spent the story sabotaging a girl who had nothing but a "pure heart," driving everyone I loved away until I was utterly alone. The dream ended with me standing on a street corner, seeing Hudson’s cold, disappointed eyes one last time before a truck barreled into me.

I woke up gasping for air.

The AC was humming at a cool 68 degrees, but I was drenched in sweat. I sat in the dark for hours, the feeling of the truck’s impact still vibrating in my bones.

It felt too real. The crushing weight of the loneliness, the physical pain of the crash... it was a warning. My subconscious was screaming at me to wake up before the "plot" took over.

I refused to go out like that.

The "Male Lead"? He could go to hell.

But Hudson...

In the dream, right before the end, Hudson had looked at me with a gaze so frozen, so devoid of affection, that it hurt worse than the accident. “Sloane, I’m done being disappointed in you,” he’d said.

My heart ached just thinking about it. I realized, with a sudden, terrifying clarity, that I couldn't handle him looking at me like that.

I had to change. I had to be... better.

I started the next day. Usually, I’d wake up and send Hudson ten texts before he’d even had his coffee—meaningless, demanding nonsense. I’d pick a fight if he didn't answer within five minutes.

Today, I put my phone face down on the nightstand.

I white-knuckled my way through the afternoon. It’s fine, I told myself. He’s busy. He’s in London. He’ll be back in a few days.

By sunset, I was vibrating with the need to reach out. Just five texts, I bargained. Five texts isn't 'difficult,' right?

Just as I was about to crack, my phone buzzed.

It was Hudson. This was rare. Usually, I was the one chasing him with a digital blowtorch.

[Hudson]: Is your phone broken?

[Sloane]: ?

[Sloane]: No. Why?

He didn't reply.

I felt the old Sloane rising up, ready to demand an explanation, but I forced her back down. Breathe, Sloane. Be the cool girl. The chill girl.

I ended up sending a few more messages anyway—old habits die hard—and immediately regretted it when I saw I’d filled the whole screen again. Dammit, Sloane! Control yourself!

Twenty minutes later, he responded.

[Hudson]: Sorry, got pulled into an emergency meeting. Didn't mean to leave you hanging.

Normally, this would be my cue to launch an inquisition into who was at the meeting. Instead, I channeled a saint.

[Sloane]: Oh, no worries at all! Just reply whenever you have a free second!

Silence.

My "chill girl" persona evaporated instantly. What the hell, Hudson? Another emergency meeting? As soon as I’m being nice, you disappear?

Then, my phone started vibrating. A FaceTime request.

I smoothed my hair, tried to wipe the scowl off my face, and answered. "What?"

Hudson was on the screen, looking at me with an intensity that made my breath hitch. He seemed to be scanning the room behind me. "Are you alone?"

"Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?"

He kept watching me, his eyes searching mine as if looking for a fever or a hidden intruder. Once he satisfied himself that I was indeed alone, he spoke. "I just wanted to say... if I see a message from you, I will always reply as soon as I humanly can. Unless I'm in the middle of something life-or-death."

"Right. Very heroic," I said, my voice dripping with the old sarcasm. "I’m tired. You’re dismissed."

I hung up before he could say another word.

Then I buried my face in my pillow and groaned. Sloane, you idiot! You were supposed to be nice! Why did you snap at him?