The Two-Million Dollar Fake Fiancée

ella

traffic. In under twenty minutes, Layla's bright blue Fiat 500

ch for my handle, Layla yanked my door wide, reached

miliar smell washed over me, finally coaxing the su

murmured against my

eyes that were usually bright with mischief. Right now, they held nothing but raw, unfiltered worry. She wiped a rogue tea

g: Jason's icy smear campaign, Steven's cowardly ambush in the glass-walled boardroom,

e, volcanic fury-she cursed Jason and Steven with a string of creative,

n steering wheel. "It's a band-aid on a bullet wound, Lay. Six mont

ully intimate with the cruelty of American healthcare-the astronomical copays, the relentless denial letters, the sheer exhaustion of having a body that actively betrayed you. Even no

me. We take this one miserable step at a time. First rule: you cannot go home looking like a ghost. Aunt Helen is to

otest, but she cut me o

s heading over to Helen's tomorrow morning with a tin of her famous cinnamon rolls. She'll te

neighbor every struggling family prayed for-unconditionall

me across the bridge before the t

Heights. The space was an explosion of thrifted velvet, half-finished canvas

ropped onto the corduroy sofa beside me. "Right. The mourning period is officially over. Time

f laughter that slipped out. "You

ith better hair and

weariness that always shadowed her illness. Mid-level management salaries, even in prime Manhattan firms, hovered around numbers that made my stomach churn. After taxes, not a single one came close to covering

ed yawn of her own, Layla reached over, swiped two fingers acr

"Your brain is smoking. Look at some pret

in bold, screaming tabloid

AIN: GRAYSON PETERS SPIRALS IN

king district club. He wore dark designer sunglasses at two in the morning, an unbuttoned silk shirt revealing the rigid contours of his chest, and a sneer aimed directly at

handed the world on a silver platter, earns millions for pushing a piece of

ge. "Yeah, he's a walking red flag. But you have to admit, Bella... he's gorgeous

," I deadpanned, starin

d cover an entire week of Mom's blood filtration sessions. We lived on the same island, breathed the same air, yet existed in

sed, returning us to the stark white grid of job

didn't argue. She squeezed my shoulder and

ayla's cramped guest room, staring at the peeling plaster on the ceili

ne. I pulled up my messages and

t early tomorrow. Crashing at Layla's tonight so I

s appeared al

k too hard. Make sure you eat a

her lie. She was sleeping peacefully in our tiny apartment, believing her brilliant, capable daughter was con

ges wouldn't stop. Endlessly scrolling job boards with dead-end paychecks, colliding violent

ouchable heaven. And I was trapped

hadows. I had six months of runway, a

r high water, I was g