Chapter 8 Done ying Nice


    "Oh? You''re one to talk, Jude. Ditching work to fuck around with your fling? I wouldn''t dream of stealing your crown, ''I shot back.


    I knew the score the moment he opened his mouth. The client had finally hunted him


    down.


    From what I recalled, we''d locked in those project designs months back. So if they were blowing up my phone now, it had to be about revisions.


    I''d been the one calling the shots back then-until I was half-dead, too fucked up to care about deadlines.


    Was it Vivian keeping his bed warm back then? Or some other nobody? Didn''t matter. He''d had someone, so I''d been as good as invisible.


    He''d pawned off my project to another team and, for shits and giggles, told finance to torch my paycheck.


    Yeah, I used to get paid for my work. Now? Zilch.


    He probably thought I''de crawling back, begging for his table scraps.


    Big mistake. I wasn''t built to beg-not when I was in the right.


    Back when we were just dating, he couldn''t outtalk me in a fight. Now, even with my body falling apart, my brain was still a goddamn machine.


    He was outssed, and he knew it.


    I kept going, "So the deal tanks, and youe slinking to me? What am I, your fucking backup n? Only worth a damn when you''re screwed?


    "You can''t handle one shitty project? Gotta beg me to bail your ass out?


    "Or what, you''re lost without me? Spare me the sob-story crap.”


    I''d been feeling strongertely-less like a ghost. The cash for my meds helped, too. It lit a fire under me.


    The night before, I''d done some digging. Turned out, if I cracked his safe and took everyst penny, it wouldn''t even be a crime.


    No prenup, ever. Though I''d spent years just coasting, half his fortune was mine byw.


    Worst case? I''d be "vandalizing my own stuff." Good luck getting the cops to care


    about that.


    So, what was my choice? Let this disease chew me up and spit me out, or deal with


    his bullshit?


    The second one was a cakewalk. At least I''d still be breathing.


    That thought made my voice sharper, louder. I wasn''t backing down.


    Chapter 8 Done ying Nice


    Jude hadn''t seen thising-not after three years of me swallowing my pride. For once, he was tongue-tied.


    I was done wasting my breath on him and went to hang up.


    But then his cold, snideugh cut through the line. "Well, fuck me-there''s the real you. Finally dropped the mask, huh? Gotta say, I thought you''d y the saint a bit longer.


    "You even spun that sob story about being in the hospital, fishing for sympathy. Shit, Ada, you''re a pro."


    "Jude, I am in the hospital," I snapped before I could stop myself.


    Instant regret. No way he''d buy it. And, sure enough, hisugh got louder, slicing through me like a de.


    He said, "Save the Oscar-worthy act, Ada. I called the doctor. One stitch. One fucking stitch. You call that a hospital stay?


    "You really think a little boo-boo''s gonna make me drop everything and cry for you? Keep dreaming, princess."


    I shut my eyes, pain blooming in my chest like an old bruise ring up. Vivian got


    a scratch, and it was a full-blown emergency-doctors, nurses, the whole circus.


    Me? One stitch, and it was nothing. A fucking footnote.


    Why didn''t he ask the doctor what was really going on? Why didn''t he wonder why I


    was in oncology, of all ces?


    Why didn''t he question why the cops were the ones calling him, not me?


    Because he didn''t give a shit. That''s why.


    To him, I was just milking one stupid stitch to guilt him into ditching his precious deal and ying hero.


    Oh, and apparently making Vivian''s allergies re up because, sure, that was my fault


    too.


    I dragged in a breath, forcing my voice t. "Whatever. I''m hitting the hay, then. Gotta chase those dreams, right?"


    He fucking exploded. "Don''t you fucking hang up on me!" he bellowed. "This project''s been your baby from day one. You''re not bailing now-you''re fixing this shit."


    "I''m out," I shot back and mmed the call dead. His high-and-mighty tone made my


    skin crawl.


    Not even ten minutester, my phone lit up again. By the third ring, I was ready to lose


    1. it.


    I grabbed it and yelled, "Jude, what''s your fucking deal? I said I''m out-why the hell are you still bugging me?"


    The aide nearby swooped in, fussing like I''d rip my stitches just from shouting. Jude


    Chapter 8 Done ying Nice


    muttered some curse under his breath-couldn''t catch it, didn''t care.


    Then his voice turned cold as ice. "You kicked off this project, Ada. You''re seeing


    it through. No fucking debate."


    Yelling it out felt like shaking off a weight, though. I could breathe easier, think clearer.


    He wasn''t wrong-the project was mine from the jump. The hard part was mostly done; it was just dotting i''s and crossing t''s now. And sticking with it meant money. Money meant I wasn''t drowning yet.


    And sticking with it meant money. Money meant I wasn''t drowning yet.


    I let a few seconds pass, then said, "Alright, what''s the payout? You stiffed me on thestmission, remember?"


    Last time, I didn''t finish the job, so they yanked my cut. Shitty move, but I got it.


    "Ada," he hissed, venom dripping from every syble, "is that all you''re about now? Fucking money? What, cash is your whole damn world, Ada?"


    I could see him in my head, jaw locked, teeth grinding so hard he''d probably need


    crown.


    He always got like that when I pushed his buttons, spitting my name like it left a


    bad


    taste.


    I didn''t flinch. “Yup. Pretty much. What else is there?"


    Money was my lifeline-in and simple. With it, I had a shot at keeping my head


    up. Without it, I was fucked, staring down a slow, ugly end.


    If money didn''t matter, what did? Him? That thought almost made meugh, bitter


    and


    sharp.


    I closed my eyes, waiting for his next move. A whole minute dragged by, each second heavier than thest, before he finally growled, "Fine. You''re so obsessed with cash? You get the whole damnmission."


    Relief hit me like a warm tide, washing away some of the dread. I couldn''t resist onest poke. "And my base pay. Don''t forget overtime."


    "Every fucking penny!" he roared, then mmed the call dead.


    For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt... unburdened. Almost good.


    Hell yeah. With thatmission in my pocket, I could hold off on smashing cabs


    to make ends meet for a while.