It had been eight years since I last saw my ex-girlfriend, Sloane Kensington. The bleached blonde hair was dyed back to a sleek raven black. The rebellious tattoos had been lasered off. She had morphed into a ruthless, untouchable corporate queen. Meanwhile, my already frail body had withered into something much worse. "Rowan, I am so sorry. The cancer has metastasized significantly. At this point, aggressive treatment would only bring you unnecessary suffering." The oncologist was a kind man. Even handing out a death sentence, he tried to soften the blow. Clutching the medical paperwork that essentially stamped an expiration date on my life, I walked past the orthopedics ward. That was when I literally collided with Sloane. Eight years apart, and she was taller, more breathtaking, and far more... "If you don't know how to use your eyes, donate them to someone who does." Right. Far more vicious. 1 After throwing that icy insult at me, Sloane's entire demeanor flipped like a switch. She turned to the man beside her, a guy with his leg wrapped in a heavy cast, and asked if he was okay with a voice full of soft, genuine concern. I hadn't bumped into them on purpose, but since the guy was already on crutches, I figured I should rack up some good karma before I died. "My apologies. I wasn't watching where I was going. Are you alright?" The man offered a warm, reassuring smile and shook his head. He glanced at Sloane, gently nudging her arm. "He didn't mean it. Why are you being so harsh?" I raised an eyebrow in surprise and nodded in total agreement. Ever since she became a billionaire CEO, her personality had definitely taken a nosedive. "Sorry about that, man," the guy said to me. "She just gets a little overprotective. She didn't mean to offend you." Despite leaning awkwardly on his crutches, the guy had perfect posture. He radiated quiet wealth and elegance. Standing next to Sloane, they looked like the perfect power couple. It seemed he had no idea about my history with Sloane. And judging by her rigid posture, she was pretending she didn't know me either. Suddenly, the air in the hallway felt suffocating. I didn't want to be there a second longer. "It's fine. As long as you're not hurt. I'll be going now." I stepped around them and walked away, my shoulder brushing past Sloane's. The sterile hospital air was instantly cut by the faint, familiar scent of camellia perfume. By the time I got back to my tiny apartment, my body was running on fumes. I collapsed onto the mattress, and almost immediately, my stomach began to cramp in violent spasms. Cold sweat slid down my forehead, mixing with the tears I couldn't stop from leaking out of the corners of my eyes. I lay there agonizing until my phone started ringing like a fire alarm. "Rowan! Great news! The investors love the pitch. We just need you to finish writing the script, and we can submit it for final approval." It was Declan, a television producer. We met working on a small indie project years ago and had been close friends ever since. I looked over at the full-length mirror leaning against my bedroom wall. My face was a ghostly white, stained with dried tears, my hair plastered to my damp cheeks in messy clumps. "Declan, I still haven't figured out the ending for this one. Can we push the deadline back a bit?" "Oh man, we absolutely cannot. The money behind this project is massive. If we ghost them now, we'll both be blacklisted in this industry forever." The excuses died in my throat. I didn't care about my own consequences anymore, but Declan had a long, bright career ahead of him. "Alright. I understand. I'll get it done as fast as I can." After hanging up, I pulled out the bottle of painkillers the doctor had prescribed. One month's supply. Exactly thirty pills. The instructions clearly said one pill a day. But since I was going to be dead in a few weeks anyway, I saw no point in enduring the torture. I shook three pills into my palm and swallowed them dry. Dragging myself to the computer desk, I opened the document and began typing the final chapter of my very last story. The sky outside my window turned from pitch black to pale morning light, and eventually back to dusk. The End. Typing those two words, I stretched my aching arms and let out a long, heavy exhale. This story had been sitting in my vault of ideas for years, but I never managed to flesh it out until now. I stared at the black text on the glowing screen and let out a bitter laugh. "Maybe everything really is just fate." Not even an hour after I emailed the draft to Declan, my phone started vibrating off the desk. "Rowan, I am completely obsessed with this script. I honestly think it's your best work ever!" The investors hadn't even given the green light yet, but Declan was already itching to pop champagne. By the time I found myself sitting in a crowded booth at a downtown lounge, I still hadn't figured out how he talked me into leaving my apartment. To meet the deadline, I had survived entirely on cheap granola bars for two days. Now, with a few sips of alcohol in my system, my stomach was screaming in protest. I couldn't take my painkillers with alcohol. Fighting through the sharp cramps, I grabbed an empty glass and stood up, intending to find a bartender for some hot water. The second I turned around, a warm, soft body slammed directly into my chest. That crisp, elegant camellia scent flooded my senses. My mind went completely blank. 2 A split second later, I was shoved away with aggressive force. Sloane was glaring at me, her face twisted in pure disgust as she brushed off the front of her designer blazer where I had touched her. "I'm sorry. I wasn't looking," I offered a genuine apology. "Two days, and you've run into me twice. If it's not intentional, then the part of your brain that controls motor function must be rotting." Maybe it was because my stomach was tearing itself apart. Or maybe I was just exhausted to my bones. At that moment, my nerves were completely frayed. I was simply too fragile to handle Sloane's venomous words. "Heh." She let out a cold scoff, her eyes raking over me like I was trash. "What are you acting so pathetic for? I state an obvious fact, and your eyes start watering?" She was right. Eight years ago, when Sloane was kneeling in a blizzard, begging me not to leave her, I didn't shed a single tear. Looking at this sharp, calculated, ruthlessly cold woman standing in front of me, I couldn't find a single trace of the girl I used to know. I knew she remembered me. The disgust and pure hatred burning in her eyes were impossible to ignore. It was obvious she wanted nothing to do with me. I figured I would do her a favor and step out of her orbit for good. "My apologies. From now on, whenever I see you, I will walk the other way." I side-stepped her and walked toward the bar. When I finally got back to the booth with a mug of hot water, Declan had returned from the restroom. "Where did you go? I came back and thought you ditched me." "Just getting some water." Bumping into Sloane was a statistical anomaly. There was no need to bring it up. I thought submitting the script meant my job was officially done. I was wrong. The very next morning, Declan called me in an absolute panic. "Rowan, it's a disaster. The investors rejected the script! You need to get to the production office right now!" By the time I rushed into the conference room, Declan was already sweating bullets. He was talking to the lead investor, who was sitting in a high-backed leather chair facing the window. "Excuse me, but could you specify which part of the script you found unsatisfactory?" I knew this person was the big boss holding the checkbook, so I asked the question directly. Silence stretched through the room. Finally, a voice I knew all too well echoed off the walls. "The ending." The chair swiveled around. Sloane's beautiful, apathetic face came into view. So she was the massive corporate backer. She locked eyes with me. There was zero surprise on her face. Before I could say a word, Declan jumped in, desperately trying to salvage the deal. "Ms. Kensington, modern audiences want a happy ending. It aligns perfectly with current market trends and guarantees higher viewership." Sloane nodded slowly, making Declan think she was actually listening. But before he could exhale, she spoke again. "But I don't like this ending. Rewrite it." Billionaires really lived in a different reality. "If you want the ending changed, you'll need to hire another writer. I can't do it." I had sold my soul for a paycheck plenty of times in the past. But this specific story was different. I refused to compromise on it. Sloane looked at me, a cruel, mocking smile playing on her lips. "Fine. If you refuse to write it, you can just pay the breach of contract penalty." Declan's face went completely ghostly. I looked at him, and he subtly scribbled a number on his notepad. Ten million dollars. Forget selling my organs. Even if we sold Declan's entire production company, we couldn't scrape together ten million dollars. I let out a quiet sigh and smiled bitterly at myself. Whatever. I was going to be dead in a month anyway. Artistic integrity meant absolutely nothing in the grave. "Fine. I'll change it." The meeting ended. The corporate sharks got exactly what they wanted, leaving me as the miserable workhorse. But apparently, the universe wasn't done messing with me. As I walked toward the elevator, Sloane's assistant, Blake, jogged over and blocked my path. "Mr. Rowan. To ensure seamless communication regarding the rewrites, you are required to clock in and work directly from our corporate headquarters until the draft is approved." I frowned, looking past him to where Sloane stood chatting idly with some executives. Didn't she hate my guts? Why on earth did she want me sitting right under her nose? My empty stomach gave a violent lurch, protesting the lack of breakfast. I didn't have the energy to fight it. I muttered a quick agreement and left. Once I was alone in the breakroom downstairs, I pulled out my pill bottle. "What are you doing?" Sloane's voice cut through the quiet room, startling me so badly I dropped the bottle. The white pills scattered across the tile floor. 3 Without answering her, I dropped to my knees, frantically scrambling to gather the pills. These weren't just standard painkillers anymore. They were my lifeline. Sloane stood there in absolute silence, watching me crawl on the floor, picking up the medication piece by piece. When I found the last three pills, I was about to pop them straight into my mouth, but she suddenly grabbed my wrist. "They were literally just on the dirty floor, and you're going to swallow them?" I pulled my arm away, completely annoyed. Eight years had transformed her into a titan of industry, but she still had that annoying, obsessive germaphobia. "It's none of your business." I swallowed the pills dry. Sloane's frown deepened. I turned to leave, but she spoke again. "What kind of medication is that?" I stopped walking and looked at her in confusion. Noticing my suspicious gaze, Sloane let out a sarcastic laugh. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm just curious. I wanted to know if you finally got what was coming to you after doing so many horrible things." I smiled bitterly on the inside. I really did get exactly what was coming to me. I was the monster who shattered the pure, innocent heart of an eighteen-year-old girl. I took her virginity and dumped her the very next morning like garbage. Now I was dying of terminal stomach cancer. Karma never missed. But I refused to let her see me as a pathetic joke. I forced a bright, arrogant smirk onto my face. "Sorry to disappoint you. I just haven't been eating enough fruit lately. It's just Vitamin C." I left the corporate building and took a bus out to a foster home in the suburbs. "Martha, what did the specialist say about Lucy's eyes?" The director of the foster home shook her head, her face lined with grief. "We still haven't found a viable donor. The doctors can't do anything without a transplant." For some reason, my mind flashed back to the day I bumped into Sloane at the hospital. I took Martha's weathered hands and patted them gently. "Don't worry, Martha. Lucy is such a sweet, good kid. She will see the light again. I promise." Before leaving, I transferred a large sum of money into the foster home's account. "Rowan, you aren't getting any younger. You need to start saving some money for yourself. If you meet a nice girl, you'll want to settle down and start a family. You've done more than enough for us. Your presence is all we need." I grew up in this foster home. Martha practically raised me. She was the only mother figure I had ever known. "Martha, I make really good money now. You don't have to worry about me." I hadn't told a single soul about my diagnosis. Not even Martha. She had a hundred other children to worry about. I was a grown man. I couldn't bear to be another burden on her shoulders. When I got back to my apartment, I booted up my laptop and officially registered as an organ donor. Sloane's harsh words actually made a lot of sense. I wouldn't need my organs when I was dead. Someone else might as well use them. The next morning, I arrived at Sloane's corporate headquarters right on time. Blake was waiting for me in the lobby. "Mr. Rowan, this will be your desk. The CEO's office is right next door." I stared at the pristine, floor-to-ceiling glass wall separating my desk from Sloane's massive executive suite. "Could I get a different desk? Being this close to the boss gives me anxiety. I won't be able to write." "I apologize, Mr. Rowan. The CEO explicitly chose this desk for you." Fine. No room for negotiation. Fortunately, Sloane was incredibly busy. By lunchtime, she hadn't even stepped foot into her office. But Carter did. Carter hobbled over on his crutches, carrying a stack of high-end takeout containers. When he saw me sitting outside the glass, his eyes went wide with shock. I quickly explained the situation. "I'm the screenwriter for Ms. Kensington's new investment project. I'm working on-site until the script is approved." "Wow. It seems you and Sloane really cross paths a lot." His eyes crinkled into a warm, friendly smile, making me feel bizarrely guilty. Footsteps clicked down the hallway. Sloane was back. She walked straight past me, walking up to Carter and taking the food containers from his hands. "Why did you bring this yourself? You could have just had the driver drop it off." "It's fine. I was bored sitting at home anyway." They walked into her office together. I was completely ignored, treated like a piece of invisible furniture. I knew I had absolutely no right to be jealous, but my chest physically ached. 4 The week blurred by. I submitted three completely different endings. Sloane rejected every single one of them. My stomach pains returned with a vengeance. I hadn't eaten a solid meal in seven days. Watching Carter bring Sloane gourmet food every afternoon made the cheap delivery food sitting on my desk look even more repulsive. The pressure was mounting. Sloane kept stonewalling the script. The worse I felt, the less I ate, and the more the cancer tore at my insides. In just one week, I lost another five pounds. It felt like someone had shoved a red-hot iron rod into my gut and was twisting it endlessly. The pain sent waves of freezing sweat pouring down my back. My fingers were trembling so violently I couldn't even press the keys on my keyboard. I curled into a tight ball in my office chair, shivering uncontrollably. I was just reaching into my pocket for my pills when my chair was violently spun around. Sloane crouched in front of me. She grabbed my face with both hands, forcing my head up. "Rowan, what is wrong with you?" I wanted to tell her it was none of her business. I wanted to slap her hands away. But the second I opened my mouth, my teeth started chattering from the sheer agony. I couldn't even lift my arms. A moment later, Sloane pulled out her phone and started shouting commands. When I finally regained a shred of awareness, I was lying on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance. At the hospital, the ER doctor ran a preliminary physical exam. His face fell. He urged me to consent to a full-body scan to confirm his suspicions. I shook my head weakly. "Doctor, you don't need to run the tests. I already know. It's late-stage stomach cancer." The kind doctor looked heartbroken. He stood there awkwardly, struggling to find a single word of comfort. "Doctor, this is strictly confidential. Please do not tell anyone. Especially not the woman waiting outside." He agreed. When Sloane cornered him in the hallway, he followed my instructions and told her I simply had severe gastric ulcers. "Can ulcers really cause someone to collapse in that much pain?" Sloane looked highly suspicious. I leaned against the doorframe, forcing a cocky, obnoxious grin. "What's the matter? Are you worried about me?" Just as I predicted, the comment instantly disgusted her. Her face turned to ice, and she turned on her heel and walked away. I slowly shuffled out of the hospital entrance. A sleek, black luxury town car idled by the curb. "Mrs. Kensington. It's been a long time." The woman sitting in the back seat was Sloane's mother. My former employer. "When you took my money and left, you made a promise. Have you forgotten?" "I haven't forgotten. I promised I would never appear in Sloane's life again." She looked me up and down, her eyes dripping with aristocratic disdain. "Running into her was purely a professional accident. Don't worry. She despises the sight of me now. What you're afraid of is never going to happen." I hated being evaluated like a piece of garbage, but she was the woman who had given me the money to save Lucy's life. "Good. Finish your little writing assignment quickly, and get away from my daughter." When I returned to the office the next day, I heard Sloane had flown out of the city on a business trip. She was going to be gone for two weeks. With the boss out of the building, the entire executive floor relaxed. "Why is the boss staying in Boston for so long?" a secretary whispered near the coffee machine. "You didn't hear? She's not just there for corporate meetings. She went to track down the top orthopedic surgeon in the country for Mr. Carter." "Wow. Boston has the best bone specialists in the world. She really cares about him!" I didn't stick around to hear the rest. I grabbed my coat and walked right out of the building. Back at my apartment, I opened my laptop and created a brand new, blank document. It wasn't that I didn't know what kind of ending Sloane wanted. I was just being greedy. I had been gambling, desperately hoping she would show me one last ounce of mercy and accept a happy conclusion. Now, it was time to let the delusion die. When the snow melts and spring arrives, we will sever all ties. In this life and the next, let us never meet again. That ending was approved instantly. Looking at the word Approved on my phone screen, a violent cough ripped through my chest. Thick, dark blood sprayed from my mouth, splattering across the keyboard. Total darkness swallowed the room. As I collapsed, a bitter smile touched my lips. It seemed my own story was ending right here, too.
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