Ericka POV

I woke up in the hospital again, the sterile smell of antiseptic doing little to mask the scent of smoke that still clung to my memory.

My skin felt too tight, blistered and raw from the heat and the shock of the explosion.

Caleb was sitting in the chair next to the bed.

He wasn't reading. He was just watching me, his gaze unreadable.

"You're a danger to yourself," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. "And to everyone around you."

"I have cancer," I whispered, my throat dry and scratching. "I have broken ribs. I have burns. And you think *I'm* the danger?"

"Stop lying," he snapped, the sound sharp like a whip crack. "Dr. Evans told me everything."

"He told you I was dying."

"He told me you paid him to fake the report."

My blood ran cold. Hailie. She had gotten to Evans. Or maybe she had just threatened his family. Either way, the trap had snapped shut.

"I didn't..."

The door swung opened. Hailie walked in, holding her arm delicately against her chest. It was wrapped in a bandage.

"Oh, Caleb," she whimpered, her lower lip trembling. "It hurts."

Caleb was out of his chair in a second. "What happened?"

"When she... when she pushed past me at the sauna," Hailie lied, her eyes tearing up on command. "She shoved me into the doorframe. I think it's fractured."

I hadn't touched her. I had crawled out of that sauna on my hands and knees, gasping for air.

Caleb turned to me. The look in his eyes was terrifying. It wasn't just anger anymore. It was pure hatred.

"You hurt her," he said, his voice dangerously low.

"I couldn't even stand!"

He walked over to my bed. He reached out, wrapped his fingers around the plastic tubing, and ripped the IV line out of my arm.

Blood spurted —a stark, violent red against the white sheets.

"You don't deserve comfort," he said. "Get up."

"Caleb, please."

"Get. Up."

He dragged me out of the hospital room, ignoring the nurses who stared but dared not intervene. He didn't sign discharge papers. He was the Underboss; he didn't have to.

He drove us to the Family Cemetery in silence.

It was raining. A cold, grey Chicago drizzle that felt like ice against my feverish skin.

He pulled me out of the car.

"Walk," he ordered.

We walked to the plot where his father was buried. The father who died in the fire he thought I tried to replicate.

"Kneel," he said.

"Caleb, the gravel..."

He kicked the back of my knees.

I collapsed instantly. The sharp stones tore through my thin hospital pants, digging into my skin like teeth.

"Apologize," he said. "Apologize to my father for disrespecting his memory. Apologize to the Family for being a traitor."

Hailie stood under a black umbrella, watching. She looked like a widow grieving a husband who wasn't dead yet.

"I'm sorry," I sobbed, the rain mixing with my tears until I couldn't tell the difference. "I'm sorry I loved you. I'm sorry I saved Fitzgerald. I'm sorry I didn't die in the coma."

"Louder," Caleb said.

I screamed my apologies to the wet earth until my voice gave out into a broken rasp.

He left me there.

He took Hailie and drove away, leaving me alone with the dead.

I knelt in the rain for an hour, shivering, bleeding.

Finally, I stood up.

My knees were raw meat.

I limped to the cemetery office. The caretaker, an old man who knew the Families, looked at me with pity.

"Miss Reid?" he asked. "Should I call your father?"

"No," I said, my voice hollow. "I need to buy a plot."

"For whom?"

I pulled a crumpled wad of cash from my pocket—emergency money I had stitched into my gown before the coma, the only thing Hailie hadn't found.

"For me," I said.

He hesitated.

"Do it," I said. "Somewhere far away from the Reids. In the pauper's section. I don't want them to find me."

I signed the papers with a shaking hand.

It was the first decision I had truly made in five years.

I realized then that I wasn't just buying a grave. I was buying my freedom.

Ericka POV

The wind on the lake was fierce, whipping the dark water into jagged whitecaps.

I stood on the lower deck of the *Vittoria*, the Family yacht.

I wasn't a guest. I was a prop.

Caleb had dragged me here for Hailie's birthday party. "To show the Associates that the Reids are united," he had insisted.

I wore a dress that didn't fit, the fabric straining to cover the bruises and the burns.

Upstairs, on the main deck, the music throbbed. Laughter floated down like shards of broken glass.

I saw them through the glass railing. Hailie was wearing a tiara. A literal, sparkling tiara.

She was holding court. My mother was laughing at her jokes; Fitzgerald was pouring her champagne.

And Caleb... Caleb was watching her with a look of feral, intense protection.

Then, he spotted me.

He came down the stairs, his expression thunderous.

"Why are you hiding?" he demanded. "You're making us look bad."

"I'm dying, Caleb," I said, my weight sagging against the railing. "I can't pretend anymore."

"Stop with the cancer act," he spat, snatching my arm. "You bought a grave yesterday. Just to manipulate me. To make me feel guilty."

"I bought it because I have nowhere else to go."

"You have *here*!" he shouted. "You have the life I give you!"

"This isn't a life! It's hell!"

Hailie appeared at the top of the stairs. "Caleb? Is she bothering you?"

"Go back up, Hailie," Caleb said, his voice softening instantly.

"I just wanted to offer her a drink." She walked down, balancing two flutes.

Suddenly, the boat lurched violently as a massive wave slammed into the hull.

Hailie stumbled.

She wasn't wearing deck shoes; she was in six-inch stilettos.

She pitched forward, crashing into me.

I lost my footing.

Together, we tumbled over the low railing.

The water hit me like concrete.

It was freezing. Pitch black.

I clawed my way to the surface, gasping. My lungs burned; icy water filled my mouth.

"Help!" Hailie screamed, flailing nearby. "Caleb!"

I saw Caleb grip the railing.

He scanned the water.

He saw me. He saw Hailie.

He had two hands, but the current was ripping us apart. He could only reach one of us before the dark water swallowed us whole.

I looked at him and stopped struggling.

*Choose,* I thought. *Show me who you really are.*

He locked eyes with me. For a split second, I saw hesitation. I saw the boy who used to braid my hair.

Then his gaze snapped to Hailie.

"Hailie!" he roared.

He dove.

He swam past me.

He swam *right* past me.

The wake from his powerful strokes pushed water into my face.

He grabbed Hailie and hauled her toward the ladder.

He didn't look back.

I watched them climb up. I watched him wrap her in his jacket.

I stopped kicking.

The cold was numbing, but strangely peaceful.

I let the water take me.

They had thrown me away years ago; the lake was just finishing the job.

I sank into the black, and for the first time since waking up, I felt warm.

Ericka POV

I didn't die.

That was my first disappointment.

I woke up coughing up water that tasted like the stagnant lake and engine oil. The hospital ceiling was the same cracked beige tile I had stared at days ago, a familiar landscape of misery.

Dr. Evans was there. He looked tired. Worse, he looked guilty.

He didn't meet my eyes. He looked steadfastly at the clipboard.

"Your lungs are failing, Ericka," he said, his tone clinical to mask the pity. "The water from the lake introduced an infection your immune system can't fight. The cancer has spread to the lining of your chest wall."

"How long?" I asked. My voice was shards of glass in my throat.

"Weeks," he said. "Maybe less if the stress continues."

"Good," I said.

He left without another word. He didn't offer sympathy. Sympathy is a weakness that gets you killed in my family.

The door opened. I expected Caleb. I expected him to come and finish what the lake started.

It was Hailie.

She looked pristine, untouched by the chaos. Her arm was cradled in a sling that matched her silk blouse. A fake injury for a fake victim.

She sat on the edge of my bed, claiming my space. She picked up an apple from the untouched tray and bit into it. The crunch was loud, violent in the silent room.

"You are like a cockroach," she said, chewing slowly. "You just won't die."

I looked at the ceiling. I was too tired to look at her.

"Why?" I asked. "Why me? I gave you everything. I welcomed you when you were nothing."

She laughed. It was a hollow, ugly sound.

"Because you were the Princess," she said. "You had the bloodline. You had the respect. You had Caleb. I wanted it. All of it."

She leaned in close. I could smell her perfume. It was mine. She had stolen my signature scent.

"I didn't just want his money, Ericka. I wanted to see the great Ericka Reid broken. I wanted to see Caleb look at you with hatred. It was so easy. A few fake tears. A few forged logs. He is a dog, and I hold the leash."

My right hand was still hidden under the sheet. My thumb rested on the screen of the burner phone I had bribed a nurse to buy with my last ring.

I pressed the red square.

*Stop recording.*

"You think he loves you?" I asked softly.

"He loves the idea of me," she said, her voice dripping with arrogance. "He loves that I am weak. He loves that I need him. You? You were always too strong. Too independent. Men like Caleb want a pet, not a partner. And now that you are dying, I will be the Queen."

She stood up, smoothing her skirt. She walked to the window.

She looked back at me. Her eyes were empty.

"Goodbye, Ericka."

She opened the window.

Then, she screamed.

It was a bloodcurdling sound, practiced and piercing. She ripped the sling off her arm. She threw herself against the wall, then scrambled onto the sill.

"Help!" she shrieked. "She's trying to push me! Caleb!"

The door burst open.

Caleb was there. His gun was drawn.

He saw Hailie teetering on the ledge. He saw me in the bed, my hand still under the sheet.

He didn't see a dying woman holding a phone. He saw a monster.

He holstered the gun. He crossed the room in two massive strides.

He grabbed Hailie and pulled her down. She collapsed into his arms, sobbing, pointing a shaking finger at me.

"She said she would take me with her!" she screamed, burying her face in his chest. "She said if she dies, I die!"

Caleb looked at me.

There was no conflict in his eyes this time. Only cold, hard resolution.

"Get up," he said.

"I can't," I whispered.

He grabbed my ankle. He didn't hesitate. He dragged me off the bed. My head hit the floor with a sickening thud.

"Take her to the roof," he told the guards.