Elena POV:

A nurse bustled in, her expression a bright mask of professional cheerfulness that felt like sandpaper on my raw nerves.

"Oh, you're awake! Mr. Emerson had us fill the room with these for you. Isn't he the most romantic man?"

She gestured to the peonies, their cloying scent clogging my throat, making my eyes water and my skin begin to itch.

Romantic. He'd forgotten my severe allergy.

It wasn't just a detail; it was everything.

He didn't love me. He loved the idea of being a man who loved his wife, a man who filled her hospital room with flowers. The specific flower, the specific woman, didn't matter.

The door opened and Killian stepped inside, holding a vase of lilies—another flower he should have known I disliked.

He looked tired, a shadow of a bruise under his eye.

"You're awake," he said, his voice tentative, as if testing the temperature of the room.

I said nothing. My eyes remained locked on the vase of peonies on the nightstand.

With a surge of cold energy, I shoved it.

It crashed against the floor, shattering, sending a spray of water and petals across the white linoleum.

"Get out," I whispered, the words barely audible.

Instead of leaving, he knelt, playing the part of the caring husband, picking up the larger shards of glass.

"Elena, let's just talk."

He cut his finger. A drop of red welled on his skin. His eyes instinctively flickered to mine, that old, familiar search for sympathy.

I turned my head away, staring at the blank wall.

"It was a tactical decision," he said, his voice low as he straightened, wrapping a tissue around his bleeding finger. "In a hit, you protect the most vulnerable asset first. Dallas was on the passenger side. It was just… tactics."

He offered me a box of my favorite chocolates, a peace offering. I slapped them out of his hand.

They scattered across the floor, mixing with the broken glass and ruined flowers.

"I said, get out."

The mask slipped. The patient, concerned husband vanished, and the ruthless Don I knew so well emerged.

His jaw tightened, his eyes hardening to ice.

"Don't be stupid, Elena. Who do you think is paying for this room? Who paid for every single one of Leo's medical bills before…"

He trailed off, the threat hanging in the air between us.

My finger, trembling slightly, pointed to the door.

Killian stared at me for a long, hard second. Then he turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

The sound echoed in the silent room, and finally, the tears came.

Hot, silent tears of grief and a sheer, soul-crushing exhaustion.

Dallas POV:

I sauntered into the hospital room, the scent of antiseptic and Killian’s cloying peonies making my nose wrinkle.

Elena was sitting up in bed, looking pale and pathetic. A charity case. That’s all she’d ever been—something Killian had scooped out of the gutter in a moment of weakness.

"You really don't belong in this world, do you?" I said, letting the door click shut behind me.

I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms. "Still playing the victim."

I pulled out my phone. "Remember this?" I hit play on a video from high school. Me, holding her down. The compass in my hand. The glint of the needle as I carved the word "Worthless" into her wrist. Her pathetic little sobs.

"Killian’s seen it," I added casually. "He thought it was hilarious. 'Kids being kids,' he said."

The color drained from her face, leaving it a blank, porcelain mask.

"He told me everything, you know," I purred, stepping closer to the bed. "About your depression. How you used to slice up your arms for attention. He even said Leo was a… what was the word? A burden. A financial drain."

I saw the flicker in her eyes, the shift from shock to pure, unadulterated rage.

"Oh, and the day your brother died?" I leaned in, my voice a cruel whisper. "Killian was in my bed. We were celebrating the funding for the sanctuary. He didn't even check his messages until the next morning."

Her hand shot out, reaching for the fruit knife on her meal tray. But my next words froze her mid-reach.

"He wants a divorce," I lied, a slow, triumphant smile stretching my lips. "He wants to be with me. A real woman, from a real family."

I expected a fight, tears, a satisfying breakdown.

Instead, she just nodded, her gaze unnervingly steady. "Fine. I'll sign."

That infuriated me. She was supposed to *fight* for him. Her easy surrender felt like an insult. I wanted to see her grovel.

In a fit of rage, I shoved her. Hard.

She tumbled from the bed, her body hitting the floor with a dull, sickening thud. Her head cracked against the metal leg of the nightstand. I heard a small, sharp snap as her hand twisted beneath her.

Perfect.

I ground my stiletto heel into her injured hand, right over the old scar, enjoying the small whimper of pain she couldn't suppress.

The door opened. Killian.

I instantly recoiled, my face transforming into a mask of pure terror.

"She attacked me!" I shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at the knife on the floor. "She tried to stab me!"

Just then, Elena’s phone, lying on the bedspread, rang. The screen lit up. The caller ID read: MARK - COUNTY CLERK.

"Ma'am?" a man's voice said from the speakerphone. "This is Mark from the County Clerk's office. I'm calling to follow up on your inquiry. I’ve reviewed the documents."

There was a brief pause.

"There is no record of a marriage license ever being filed for an Elena Ramos and a Killian Emerson. According to the state, you were never legally married."

Killian POV:

For a split second, seeing Elena on the floor, her face a pale mask of pain, a protective instinct flared deep in my chest.

But Dallas’s theatrical sobs shattered the impulse, dragging my focus back to her. I wrapped an arm around her, glaring down at Elena.

"Can you stop causing trouble for one goddamn day?" I snapped, my voice made raw by the exhaustion of the past week. "I've barely slept. I've been dealing with the fallout from the hit, with the police, with *you*."

Elena looked up at me, her eyes empty.

"You've been sleeping just fine. In her bed."

Silence. The truth of her words landed, a punch to the gut. I had no defense.

I knelt beside her, my movements stiff. I took a cloth from a nearby tray and roughly dabbed at the blood welling on her hand where Dallas’s heel had dug in. "Be smart, Elena," I whispered, my voice low and urgent, for her ears only. "You know how this works. Pretend you don't know. Let me get bored of her."

I leaned closer, my lips almost touching her ear.

"I'll get rid of her. And when I'm done, I'll ruin her for you, just like I promised. Just be patient."

I tried to kiss her, to seal the deal, to bring her back under my control.

She recoiled as if my touch were poison, her face a mask of pure disgust.

"I wish I'd never met you," she said, her voice a dead, flat thing.

Her words were a blade twisting in my chest. I stood, my face a blank mask to hide the sudden, gaping wound she’d opened inside me. I took Dallas’s arm, pulling the still-sobbing woman from the room.

Elena POV:

The moment they were gone, a strange clarity descended.

The pain, the grief, the love—it all receded, replaced by a cold, sharp purpose.

I made a call. Within the hour, a discreet security expert sent by Josiah was in my room. He retrieved the footage from the camera in the corner, the one that had captured everything Dallas did.

I gathered the screenshots of her DMs, the news clippings of her with Killian, every piece of evidence of their affair.

I sat in the uncomfortable hospital chair and composed an email to Killian's private account. I attached every file, every video, every single, damning piece of his betrayal.

I set it on a 24-hour timer.

Then I walked out of the hospital, leaving the expensive clothes and that empty life behind.

I was no longer Elena Emerson, the Don's wife.

I was Elena Ramos again.

And I was ready for my vendetta.