The Architect of My Ruin

his was about a piece of metal and glass. He thoug

r trophy, Mark," I s

get you a meeting with any firm in the city. I'll fund your

e, my compliance. He was tryin

ger feeling like a shackle. I twisted the ring, the metal cool against my skin, and slid

end our e

shed, replaced by a flicker of disbelief, then a cold, sharpening anger. He

did,"

l, Sarah. You're not thinking clearly. Yo

I'm throwing away,"

aling the monster beneath. He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a m

counter. "You seem to be forge

the patient in room 302. Sarah Miller's mother. I'm discontinuing all funding for her care, effective immediately. Yes, that i

silence in the r

a coma, stable only because of the round-the-clock, expensive

The words were a

e saved my father. The Johnson family has been paying that 'debt' for five years. I considered our engagement an extension of tha

, I thought his generosity was born of kindness, of love for me. It was leverage. He had been

nauseating helplessness. He saw it in my face and

was a tiny, hard ember of pure, unadulterated rage. He could take my career. He could take my h

chin, my eye

aking but filled with a new, steely re

he had built for me. I walked out of that apartm