The restaurant reservation confirmation felt heavy in my purse as I drove through the winding roads toward downtown. Hunter had actually agreed to meet me tonight—no mentions of Violeta's emergencies, no sudden cancellations. For the first time in months, I felt a flutter of hope.

Maybe tonight would be different. Maybe tonight he would choose me first.

I took the curve too fast, my mind racing ahead to our dinner conversation. I'd prepared everything carefully—the restaurant he liked, a dress he'd once complimented, even rehearsed what I'd say about our relationship.

The car gave a strange lurch.

I frowned, pressing harder on the brake pedal. Nothing happened.

Panic surged through me as I pumped the pedal again. The pedal went straight to the floor with no resistance.

"No, no, no!"

The road ahead curved sharply to the right, a steep hill dropping away to my left. I yanked the emergency brake, but it barely slowed the car's descent. The speedometer crept higher as gravity pulled us down.

"Someone help!" I screamed, though there was no one to hear me on this deserted stretch of road.

The curve approached too quickly. I swung the wheel hard to the right, but without brakes, the car skidded sideways. There was a moment of terrible clarity as I saw the tree looming ahead, its bark rushing toward my windshield.

Then came the impact.

Metal crumpled. Glass shattered. Pain exploded through my body as I was thrown forward, then caught by the seatbelt. The airbag deployed with a violent burst of powder and force.

And then... darkness.

* * *

I woke to the sterile smell of hospital disinfectant and the steady beep of monitors. My body felt like one massive bruise, but the pain was distant, muffled by whatever drugs flowed through my IV.

"She's waking up," someone said—a nurse, I thought.

I tried to speak, but my throat was dry. A gentle hand helped me sip water through a straw.

"Jade," Hunter's voice came from beside me. "Thank God you're awake."

I turned my head slowly, wincing at the pain. Hunter sat in the chair beside my bed, his face drawn with what looked like concern. Behind him stood Violeta, her expression a perfect mask of worry.

"What happened?" I whispered.

"Your car went off the road," Hunter said, taking my hand. His palm was sweaty. "The police think your brakes failed."

Brakes failed. The words echoed strangely in my mind. My car was only two years old, regularly serviced.

"I need surgery," I managed to say. "The doctor said—"

"We've already arranged everything," Hunter interrupted, squeezing my hand too tightly. "Violeta is going to operate."

I blinked, certain I'd misheard. "What?"

"Violeta studied medicine abroad," Hunter explained, gesturing to her. "She's perfectly qualified."

Violeta stepped forward, her white coat crisp and pristine. "I specialized in trauma surgery in Switzerland," she said smoothly. "I can handle this procedure."

"That's impossible," I said, trying to sit up despite the pain. "You're not even a real doctor. You studied art history."

A male doctor I didn't recognize burst into the room, his face flushed with anger. "Mr. Armstrong, I must protest again. This is highly irregular and dangerous. Your wife needs qualified surgical intervention, not some amateur—"

"She's not an amateur," Hunter snapped. "And she's the only one I trust with my wife's life."

The doctor's face darkened. "With all due respect, sir, this woman has no medical license in this country. I cannot allow this in my hospital."

"You can't stop me," Hunter said coldly. "Not when I'm paying for a private room and private medical team."

I watched in horror as the argument escalated, my consciousness fading in and out. Why was Hunter insisting on this? Why would he risk my life?

Violeta leaned over me, her smile not reaching her eyes. "Don't worry, Jade. I'll take good care of you."

The last thing I saw before the anesthesia took hold was Hunter nodding to Violeta, their eyes meeting in silent understanding.

* * *

I woke again to searing pain and the sound of raised voices.

"—could have prevented this!" Dr. Sarah Mitchell's voice cut through my fog. "The damage to her reproductive system was entirely avoidable with proper surgical technique."

"Are you saying she can't have children?" Hunter's voice, hollow with shock.

"The internal damage was too severe," Dr. Mitchell said grimly. "A qualified surgeon could have saved her fertility. But with the unnecessary complications introduced during that... procedure..."

I lay perfectly still, tears sliding silently from beneath my closed eyelids. They thought I was still unconscious, but every word burned into my memory.

Violeta had known exactly what she was doing when she took that scalpel.

And Hunter had let her.

I stared at the suitcase in Hunter's hands, unable to process what was happening. The bruises from my accident still ached across my body, but the pain was nothing compared to the hollow feeling spreading through my chest.

"Violeta needs somewhere to stay," Hunter announced, his tone leaving no room for discussion. "The surgery took a lot out of her. She needs rest and care."

I glanced at Violeta, who leaned against the doorframe with perfect fragility. Her eyes met mine, a flash of triumph quickly masked by concern.

"I've already moved your things to the guest room," Hunter continued, carrying Violeta's suitcase toward our bedroom—our bedroom. "Violeta will be staying in the master suite."

"The master suite?" I echoed, my voice barely above a whisper. "That's our room, Hunter."

He paused, turning to look at me with irritation. "Jade, Violeta needs the attached bathroom for her recovery. The guest room doesn't have those facilities."

"And what about my recovery?" I asked, hating the tremor in my voice. "I'm still healing from surgery."

"You're doing fine," he said dismissively. "Violeta risked everything to save your life."

Violeta stepped forward, her hand resting delicately on Hunter's arm. "I don't want to cause any trouble," she said softly. "Perhaps I should look for a hotel?"

"No," Hunter said firmly. "You're staying here where I can make sure you're properly cared for."

I watched as he guided her into our bedroom—the room where we'd shared our most intimate moments, where we'd planned our future together. Violeta turned at the doorway, her eyes meeting mine over Hunter's shoulder. The smirk that crossed her face was so quick I might have imagined it, but the message was clear.

She had won.

* * *

"Kneel," Hunter commanded, his voice cold as ice.

I stood frozen in our living room, unable to believe what he'd just said. The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor.

"I said kneel," he repeated, gesturing to the space in front of Violeta, who sat regally in my favorite armchair. "You owe Violeta an apology."

Violeta's lips curved into a small smile as she watched me, her fingers tracing the pattern on the armrest. "It's really not necessary," she murmured, though her eyes said otherwise.

"Of course it is," Hunter insisted. "After all the stress you've caused, after all the risk Violeta took to save you."

I looked between them, feeling something break inside me. "What exactly do you want me to apologize for?"

"For being ungrateful," Hunter said, his jaw tightening. "For making Violeta worry about your attitude while she was recovering from the trauma of your surgery."

The surgery that had taken my ability to ever have children. The surgery that had been performed by someone with no medical license. The surgery that had been unnecessary if Hunter had allowed a real doctor to operate.

Slowly, feeling as though I were moving through molasses, I sank to my knees on the hard floor. The pain from my still-healing injuries flared, but I bit back a wince.

"I'm sorry," I said, the words like ash in my mouth.

"For what?" Hunter prompted.

I looked up at Violeta, who was watching me with gleaming eyes. "For causing you stress," I managed. "For... for making you risk your wellbeing."

Violeta nodded graciously. "I accept your apology, Jade. We all have our moments of ingratitude when we're suffering."

* * *

"Willowbrook is the best rehabilitation center in the state," Hunter explained as we drove through wrought-iron gates. "You'll get the care you need here."

I gazed out the window at the manicured grounds and elegant buildings. Willowbrook looked more like a country club than a medical facility, with its sprawling gardens and fountain-adorned entrance.

"I don't need rehabilitation," I said quietly. "Dr. Mitchell said I could recover at home."

Hunter's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Dr. Mitchell doesn't understand your needs like I do."

The car stopped at the main entrance, where two staff members waited with wheelchairs—though I could walk perfectly well.

"Your stay here is for your own good," Hunter said as he helped me from the car with firm hands that brooked no argument. "You need time to recover properly."

As they wheeled me toward the entrance, I caught sight of Hunter already turning back to the car, his phone to his ear. I could hear Violeta's voice on the other end, soft and intimate.

The doors closed behind me with a soft click that sounded oddly final.

Only then did I notice the security cameras tracking my movement, the key cards required for every doorway, the discreet but unmistakable locks on the outside of each patient room.

Willowbrook wasn't just a rehabilitation center.

It was a beautiful prison.

And Hunter had just walked away, leaving me locked inside.