Eleanora Bryan POV:

The demand for public humiliation, for a fabricated confession of being a homewrecker and a secret mistress, ripped through me. It was a violation far deeper than any physical blow. It was an assault on my very soul.

"No," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I can't."

Brittnie's face hardened, her patience wearing thin. She grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into my flesh, and twisted it, forcing me to my knees. The pain shot through me, a sharp, searing fire.

"You think you have a choice?" she snarled, her voice a low growl. She gestured towards Gabe with her free hand. "Look at him, Eleanora. He's almost gone. One more minute, perhaps two. You want to watch him die while you cling to your... 'dignity'?"

My eyes, swimming with tears, focused on Gabe. He was barely a shadow now. His small body was utterly still. There was no more fight in him. Just the faint, terrifying absence of movement.

Despair, cold and absolute, washed over me. I had no leverage. No power. Only a dying child and a monster holding his life in her hands.

Clabe stood a few feet away, his phone still recording, his eyes predatory and cold. The guards watched with detached amusement. Their gazes, vulgar and judging, stripped me bare, even though I was still fully clothed. I felt a primal urge to cover myself, to shrink from their leering eyes. I pulled my arms tighter around myself, trying to disappear.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening.

Brittnie let out a short, sharp laugh. It was a sound of pure triumph, of unadulterated evil. "Tick-tock, Eleanora. The little bastard's time is running out."

My heart shattered. Cannon had always described Brittnie as ambitious, driven, a little high-strung, but ultimately kind, loving. He said she was misunderstood, that her intensity was just passion. Lies. All lies. This woman was pure venom, a viper disguised in scrubs. Every cell in my body recoiled from her.

"Come on, sugar mama," Clabe drawled, his voice thick with malicious amusement. "Give us a show. Make it good. Cannon's girl here will be very pleased."

Brittnie held up her phone, ready to record. "Your choice, Eleanora. Humiliation or death. For your 'son'." She emphasized the word "son" with a nasty sneer. "Thirty seconds."

The world tilted. My breath caught in my throat. I had no other option. My baby. My precious Gabe.

"Okay," I choked out, the word tearing from my broken throat. "Okay. I'll do it."

Brittnie's smile widened. "Good girl." She gestured to the floor in front of me. "Now, get on your knees. And start with the coat. We need to see that lovely emerald you stole."

My hands trembled as I fumbled with the buttons of my coat, the torn fabric where she'd ripped off the brooch flapping uselessly. I slowly peeled it off, the cold air hitting my exposed arms.

"Looking good, ma'am," Clabe snickered from behind his phone. "Looks like Cannon's got an eye for older women, after all."

My cheeks burned with shame. My eyes fell on Gabe again. His chest was motionless. No. Not yet. I had to believe there was still time.

"Save him," I begged Brittnie, my voice cracking. "Please. Just save him."

Brittnie rolled her eyes. "After the video. And make sure it's convincing. Every word." She angled her phone, making sure to get my face, my humiliation, in the frame.

"Now, the blouse," Clabe said, his voice a lewd suggestion. "Let's see what Cannon's been missing."

I flinched, instinctively pulling my arms across my chest. My mind screamed. This was too much.

Brittnie's face tightened. "Don't make me wait, Eleanora. Gabe won't." She grabbed my arm again, yanking it, forcing me to face her phone. "Show them what you are."

"Tell them you're a homewrecker," Brittnie commanded, her voice like ice. "Tell them you stole the brooch. Tell them Gabe isn't Cannon's."

Eleanora Bryan POV:

"Tell them," Brittnie snarled, her voice a whip-crack, "or your little puppet dies."

I stopped struggling. My body trembled, but my mind was numb. Gabe. Only Gabe mattered.

With shaking hands, I unbuttoned my blouse, feeling the cold air, feeling the predatory gazes of Clabe and the guards. My skin crawled. My dignity was being shredded piece by piece, but I had to do it.

"Now," Brittnie commanded, her phone held steady, capturing every agonizing second. "Say it. 'I, Eleanora Bryan, confess that I am Cannon Bryan's secret mistress. I tried to break up his engagement to Brittnie Snow, and I stole her emerald brooch. Gabe is not his son.'"

The words felt like poison on my tongue. Each syllable was a knife twisting in my gut. But I forced them out, my voice raspy, broken. "I... I, Eleanora Bryan... confess that I am Cannon Bryan's secret mistress. I tried to break up his engagement to Brittnie Snow, and I stole her emerald brooch. Gabe is not his son."

My voice broke on the last word, a choked sob. "Please," I choked out, tears streaming down my face. "Now, help him. Save my son."

Brittnie's eyes narrowed. She grabbed my chin, forcing me to look into her cold, merciless gaze. "That's not enough. You added your little plea for him. You think you can manipulate me?" She slapped me again, a sharp, stinging blow that echoed in the silent room.

"You will say it again," she hissed, her voice radiating pure hatred. "And you will say it without any of your pathetic pleas. Just the confession. Pure. Undiluted. Or I swear to God, I will watch him take his last breath right in front of you."

I tried to argue, to clarify Gabe's true relationship to Cannon, but her grip tightened, her fingers like iron clamps. "He's his brother, Brittnie, his half-brother! My son with my late husband. Cannon loves him!"

She just laughed. "Cannon loves me. And he's going to propose to me tonight. He wouldn't care about some... some mistake from your past."

"I forgive you!" I cried, desperate, offering the one thing I had left. "I forgive you for all of this. Just please, save my son."

Brittnie's eyes flashed with contempt. "Forgive me? You? You have no right to forgive me, you pathetic old whore. You have nothing." She backhanded me again, sending me sprawling. "You think I want your forgiveness? I want your suffering."

"Clabe," she snapped, her voice ringing with command. "Record this. Every single tear. Every agonizing moment."

Clabe instantly obeyed, his phone a weapon in his hand. My humiliation was broadcast, a grotesque spectacle for his perverse pleasure. There was no escape. No privacy.

Panic, raw and animalistic, surged through me. I couldn't bear it. I couldn't. I scrambled backward, trying to get away, trying to hide from the lens, from her cruel gaze, from the leering men.

My foot caught on something, and I tripped, falling backwards onto the gurney. A jolt went through the thin mattress. My hand instinctively reached out, grasping for something, anything, to steady myself.

My fingers closed around Gabe's small, still hand.

And then I felt it. A coldness that seeped into my bones, a terrifying stillness that stole my breath. It wasn't just the lack of movement. It was the absence of warmth, the absence of life.

No.

My heart stopped. My mind screamed.

"Gabe?" I whispered, my voice a ragged gasp. I pressed my palm against his cheek. I felt nothing. No warmth. No breath.

My fingers flew to his neck, searching for a pulse. There was nothing. Just cold, still flesh.

No. No. No.

"Gabe! Baby, wake up! Breathe for Mommy!" I started shaking him gently, then harder, my mind refusing to accept the horrifying truth. "Wake up! Please, God, wake up!"

I pressed my ear to his chest, listening, praying, begging for a heartbeat. Silence. Absolute, terrifying silence.

My baby. My sweet, innocent Gabe.

He was gone.

My screams tore through the sterile air, primal, agonizing. He was gone. All that humiliation. All that pain. For nothing. Brittnie had won. And Gabe had paid the price.

A cold, burning rage, unlike anything I had ever known, ignited in the pit of my stomach. It consumed the fear, the despair, the humiliation. It left only a raw, searing inferno.

Brittnie Snow killed my son. She killed my baby.

I slowly pushed myself up, my body aching, but the pain was a distant echo compared to the monstrous grief and rage roaring in my soul. My eyes, no longer filled with tears, fixed on Brittnie. They were cold, hard, and utterly feral.

"You killed him," I whispered, the words laced with pure venom. My voice was calm, too calm, a terrifying quiet before the storm. "You killed my son."