One Lethal Allergy Too Many

My boyfriend's childhood best friend found out I was severely allergic to cilantro, so she secretly poured cilantro extract into every single dish at the dinner party.

Almost immediately after taking a bite, a fiery rash exploded across my skin.

Panic setting in, I shoved my hand into my pocket, pulled out my small pillbox, and threw a tablet into my mouth.

But a second later, the blood drained from my face.

The antihistaminemy lifelinehad been swapped out for a strawberry gummy.

Seeing my face swell and turn a mottled red, my boyfriend's best friend erupted into laughter.

"Hahaha, surprise! I had Valentine swap them out especially for you!"

"You're such a drama queen. Who actually dies from a little cilantro?"

I snapped my head toward my boyfriend, gasping hard, my chest tight.

"Valentine," I wheezed, "if you don't give me the pills right now, I'm actually going to die!"

Valentine just frowned, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features.

"Do you really have to play the fragile little princess all the time? I've never heard of anyone dying from a damn herb."

"Chloe is right. You're just putting on a show. It's pathetic."

I realized then that arguing was useless. With trembling fingers, I reached for the panic button hidden in my necklace and pressed it hard.

Valentine caught the movement. His eyes narrowed slightly.

"What did you just press? Don't tell me you're calling the cops over a stupid prank."

He reached out and yanked the small bear pendant right off my neck. He inspected it for a moment, turning it over in his hand. Finding nothing obviously electronic about it, he scoffed, tossed it onto the floor, and crushed it under his heel.

I reached out, trying to grab the broken pieces, but my throat was already closing up. My movements were becoming sluggish, heavy.

"I'm having an anaphylactic reaction," I gasped out, my voice raspy. "Please. Give me the medicine."

Chloe crossed her arms, watching me with an amused smirk, completely unbothered.

"Are you really in that much pain, Lady Stacey? Or are you just trying to steal Valentine's attention again?"

"I mean, it's one thing when you make up excuses to monopolize him on a normal day, but today is his birthday. Could you stop being such a buzzkill for five minutes?"

It felt like invisible hands were wrapping tightly around my windpipe. I stared at Chloe, entirely helpless.

She and Valentine had grown up together. They always played the "we're basically siblings" card.

Whenever I expressed even a hint of insecurity, Valentine was quick to shut it down.

"She's just like a little sister to me, Stacey. If there was ever going to be anything between us, it would have happened years ago."

And Chloe would chime in, playing the perfect tomboy best friend, to prove how platonic they were.

"Honestly, only a saint like you would put up with a dense, unromantic guy like Valentine."

Like a fool, I believed them. I genuinely thought it was just a pure, lifelong friendship.

But slowly, the cracks started to show.

At every group hangout, whenever I tried to talk to Valentine, she would accidentally-on-purpose interrupt. Then, she would pivot the conversation to some inside joke, some shared memory only the two of them understood, effectively shutting me out.

I would just sit there in silence, unable to get a word in edgewise.

And right on cue, she would throw me a bonelaced with poison.

"Oh no, Stacey, you aren't mad that Valentine and I are having fun, are you?"

"Girl, we practically shared a crib. You can't be this insecure, can you?"

When the hostility became too obvious to ignore, I tried bringing it up to Valentine.

He just laughed and called me paranoid.

And now, that hostility wasn't just obvious; it was weaponized. She was wearing her malice like a badge of honor.

"No tiara, but all the princess syndrome. Does it physically hurt you if Valentine doesn't revolve his entire universe around you for one day?"

"So now you're faking a severe allergy just to get him to pity you?"

A few of Valentine's friends chuckled, the sound ugly and mocking in the private dining room.

"I really am allergic to cilantro," I forced out, my voice tearing into a raw, desperate scream. "Give me the medicine!"

The room fell silent for a single heartbeat. Then, a wave of uproarious, mocking laughter crashed over me.

Among all the jeers, Chloe's voice was the loudest, dripping with pure venom.

"Hahaha, you're really committing to the bit, aren't you? This performance belongs in an acting masterclass!"

"Valentine, don't tell me you're actually falling for this?"

Before Valentine could even open his mouth, his frat brothers chimed in.

"Oh man, if you start babying her now, you're doomed for life!"

"Bro, you aren't really whipped by this drama queen, are you? You can't indulge this kind of toxic behavior!"

Spurred on by his friends' taunts, any hesitation Valentine might have felt vanished completely. He tilted his head back, looking down his nose at me.

"Who says I'm babying her? Frankly, I think we let her off too easy."

He lightly nudged my leg with his foot.

"Drop the act, Stacey. Seriously. One more second of this and I'm actually going to be pissed."

When I didn'tcouldn'trespond, a flicker of doubt finally crossed his face. He started to lean forward, but Chloe immediately grabbed his arm.

"I told you she was a good actress. You almost bought it! Who turns purple from an allergy anyway?"

I struggled to lift my head, forcing the words through a throat that felt like it was packed with wet sand.

"The pills... please..."

Before I could finish, Chloe shoved my head back down. She slapped my cheekhard, twice.

My face, already swollen, burned a violent red.

"Is this what you want?"

She pulled a small, familiar plastic bottle from her pocket, tipped the little white pills into her palm, and tossed them lightly in the air, taunting me.

My eyes tracked the pills like they were my only salvation.

"Give them... to me..."

My breathing was shallow and erratic. I used every ounce of strength I had left to reach for her hand.

But just as my fingers grazed the plastic, Chloe snatched her hand back and danced out of reach.

I collapsed sideways onto the leather sofa. My vision blurred, but I could still see clearly enough to watch Chloe dump every single pill into a dirty ashtray on the coffee table.

Then, she poured half a glass of stale beer over them.

The pristine white pills dissolved into a muddy, toxic sludge, dark bubbles clinging to the edge of the glass.

My stomach heaved, and I dry-heaved, the violent motion tearing at my swollen throat.

"Oh, look at that! She still knows how to act disgusted. Doesn't look like an allergic reaction to me!"

Chloe glared at me, her face twisting with impatience.

Valentine's expression darkened, his eyes reflecting pure irritation.

"Stacey, enough! Can you just stop making a scene and let me have one normal birthday?"

One of Chloe's friends rolled her eyes, groaning.

"Seriously, we used to pull this kind of stunt in middle school. Can't you come up with some new material?"

My entire body began to convulse. Every breath I fought for felt like swallowing broken glass.

"I'm not... I'm really... allergic..."

I prayed, silently screaming for someone, anyone in that room to help me. But no one moved.

Chloe grabbed Valentine's arm and pulled him toward the lounge area on the other side of the room.

"Just ignore her. Let's go cut the cake. Once she realizes she doesn't have an audience, she'll magically recover."

Valentine sliced the cake.

And then, whether by accident or entirely on purpose, the slice slipped from Chloe's hand.

A massive dollop of frosting landed squarely on her chest.

The room erupted into catcalls and whistles.

"Chloe! Giving us a free show for dessert?"

"Don't waste napkins, let Valentine clean it up!"

"That's not a punishment, that's a reward! Hahaha!"

"Wait, won't Valentine's little girlfriend get jealous?"

"Nah, she's too busy pretending to die. She won't even notice!"

They laughed, a chorus of cruel, careless sound.

My vision was tunneling, the edges going dark. But through the blur, I saw Valentine shoot a glance in my direction. Then, he lowered his head toward Chloe's chest.

Amidst the roaring cheers, I watched their silhouettes merge.

It felt like a million fire ants were marching through my veins. Every inch of my skin felt pierced by hot needles.

I clawed at the sofa, trying to drag myself toward the door, but the moment I lifted my head, the last of my strength evaporated.

Just as despair threatened to swallow me whole, a memory flashed: A few days ago, one of the pills had slipped out of the box and fallen into the lining of my jacket pocket.

I scrambled frantically, my numb fingers digging into the fabric.

When my fingertip brushed against the chalky surface of the pill, my breath caught.

I clamped my hand around it, slowly drawing it out of my pocket.

As I brought it toward my lips, my heart pounded so hard I thought it might crack my ribs. I was going to live.

But my hand was shaking violently. My grip slipped. The little white pill bounced off my collarbone and rolled onto the floor.

I dove for it, but a designer heel slammed down before I could reach it.

Chloe pivoted on her toe, grinding her heel directly into my swollen, sausage-like fingers.

The pain was blinding. I didn't even have the breath left to scream.

Why?

Why was she doing this to me?

Chloe crouched down, bringing her face level with mine.

"Word is, your family is pretty loaded. And you're an only child. Say you happened to tragically pass away tonight... wouldn't your grieving parents eventually leave everything to your devoted, heartbroken fianc?"

"And then, if I just so happened to marry your fianc... wouldn't all that money end up with me?"

A white-hot rage flared in my chest. I wanted to kill her.

She wasn't pulling a prank. She had fully intended for me to die.

But her twisted little fantasy was flawed.

Yes, I was my parents' only child, but the Scott Group was a massive corporate empire with branches run by extended family.

Even if I died, another Scott heir would step up. She wouldn't see a dime.

My eyes practically burned with fury.

But to Chloe, my anger just looked pathetic.

She smileda slow, terrifying smirk that belonged on a demon.

"You're really hard to kill, aren't you? Let me help you along."

Chloe reached for me.

Her cold fingers clamped around my throat, applying pressure.

Maybe it was the sheer terror of death closing in, but a sudden, primal surge of adrenaline flooded my system. I roared with everything I had left:

"Get off! GET OFF!"

Pushing off the sofa, I lurched upwards, swaying wildly.

The commotion wasn't loud, but it was enough to make Valentine turn his head.

"What's going on?"

Chloe shot me a venomous glare and quickly dropped her hands.

Losing my balance, I slumped heavily against her.

She gave a sickly sweet smile and suddenly threw herself backward.

My dead weight carried us both down, and I crashed on top of her.

Chloe shoved me off violently.

"Look at all that energy! I thought you were dying of anaphylaxis? You're not even trying to make this believable anymore!"

My forehead slammed directly into the sharp bottom edge of the glass coffee table.

A welt the size of a golf ball formed instantly.

Valentine walked over and stood above me.

He looked down, his eyes filled with absolute disappointment.

"Stacey, when does this end? My patience has a limit."

But as he took in the greenish, mottled hue of my face, a tiny sliver of unease flickered in his eyes.

He started to bend down to help me up, but Chloe snatched his hand.

"Valentine! Are you an idiot? She's playing you!"

"If she's actually having an allergic reaction, I will chop my head off and let you kick it like a soccer ball."

Valentine still hesitated.

"But... she looks like she's in a lot of pain. Maybe we should just give her the medicine."

Chloe clapped her hands together like she had just heard the funniest joke in the world.

"Wait, you actually believed her? Hahaha, we were just messing around!"

She grabbed my arm and shook me like a ragdoll.

"Look at her face! Red one minute, green the next. She's really putting her back into this performance."

"Oh, right! Earlier Stacey said she was thirsty. That's probably why she looks so faint."

The tension immediately drained from Valentine's face.

"Just thirsty? Well, that makes sense."

He quickly grabbed a glass of ice water from the table.

As the freezing glass touched my lips, I shook my head frantically.

My throat was swollen shut, feeling like it was packed tightly with cotton. Even a microscopic movement caused agonizing pain.

Valentine's hand hovered in the air, a shadow of doubt crossing his face again.

"See? She's faking again!"

Chloe snatched the glass from his hand.

"Valentine, you don't understand girls. When they play hard to get, it means they want you to force them."

She pinched my jaw, her knuckles white, her fingernails digging deep into my swollen skin.

Freezing water and crushed ice poured violently down my throat. I choked, a brutal, racking cough tearing out of me. The water spilled down my chin and into my collar, the sudden cold raising a fresh wave of angry red hives across my chest.

Chloe just laughed harder.

"Look at her! Doesn't she look much more energetic after some water?"

My vision went completely black at the edges. I dug my fingernails so hard into my palms that they broke the skin.

But Valentine just smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, much better. Guess she was just dehydrated."

He turned to walk back to the party, but I clamped my hand around his pant leg, gripping the fabric like a vise.

I forced my eyelids open, using the absolute last dregs of my strength to push the broken syllables past my lips:

"Help... me... I am... the heir... to the Scott... Group..."

He looked down at me like I was a circus animal performing a trick. He let out a sharp, derisive snort.

"The Scott heir? Why don't you just tell us you're the Queen of England while you're at it?"

The laughter in the room hit a deafening crescendo.

Someone banged their fist on the table.

"Man, she is really committing to the role! Should we get her an Oscar for this soap opera?"

Another voice chimed in:

"With how pathetic she looks, the only thing she's inheriting is a cardboard box under a bridge!"

Chloe was laughing so hard she was bent double. Suddenly, she grabbed a handful of my sweat-drenched hair and slammed my head toward the table leg.

"Still pretending to be a billionaire heiress? I'll let you inherit this table leg!"

My wounded forehead cracked against the solid wood. Blood mixed with cold sweat, running into my eyes, burning like acid.

"Say it! Tell us again about your fake inheritance!"

She yanked my hair again, throwing me face-first onto the floor. My face smashed into the discarded cake scraps. Buttercream and blood smeared across my cheeks.

Valentine stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his voice light and unbothered.

"Take it easy, Chloe. Don't actually leave a mark."

He didn't sound worried about me. He sounded worried that his favorite toy was going to break too soon.

I felt the oxygen being slowly, agonizingly vacuumed from my lungs. It felt like I had swallowed a burning coal that was lodged permanently in my windpipe.

Every breath tasted like rust.

Chloe's manic grin, Valentine's cold indifference, the roaring laughter of the crowd.

They swirled in my fading consciousness like a nightmare I couldn't wake from.

I stared up at the warm, amber lighting of the private room, but the light felt millions of miles away.

I felt untethered, like my soul was slowly peeling away from my broken body, drifting upward toward the ceiling.

Just as my eyes slipped shut, a familiar, thunderous voice shattered the noise.

STACEY!

A second later, the heavy oak doors of the private room burst open, and blinding light from the hallway flooded in.