Deidre tried to push herself up, but her arms were shaking too badly. Daria reached out with one finger and pressed it against Deidre's collarbone, shoving her back into the cushions. It was a tiny motion, but it held absolute dominance.

Daria swirled the wine in her glass, her eyes fixed on Deidre's chest, watching the erratic, labored rise and fall. "Tell me, Deidre. Do you remember the Hamptons yacht party? Five years ago?"

Deidre's breath caught. The Hamptons. The yacht. The explosion. The memories were a blur of fire, smoke, and agonizing pain. It was the event that had ruined her heart.

"Of course I remember," Deidre gritted out. "You almost died."

Daria threw her head back and laughed. It was a sharp, grating sound that echoed off the high ceilings. Some of the red wine sloshed out of her glass, staining the pristine white rug.

"You stupid girl," Daria said, wiping a tear from her eye. "Everyone thinks I'm the hero. Everyone thinks I pushed Danial out of the way just before the blast hit. Everyone thinks I was struck by the falling beam, destroying my heart to save the man I loved."

Deidre's jaw clenched. "That's exactly what happened. And Danial has spent the last five years treating you like glass because of it. You got your happily ever after."

Daria stopped laughing. She leaned in close, her face inches from Deidre's. "It wasn't me, Deidre. I was terrified. The moment the fire started, I jumped overboard and swam for my life. I didn't look back."

Deidre's mind went blank. The ringing in her ears returned, louder this time. She stared at Daria, her eyes wide with shock. "What?"

"I said, it wasn't me." Daria enunciated every word slowly, savoring the reaction. "The person who stayed behind in the fire, the person who shielded Danial with their own body, the person who took the hit from that steel beam... was you, Deidre."

Deidre's body began to tremble violently. The memories she had suppressed-the searing heat, the crushing weight on her chest, waking up in a hospital bed alone-rushed back. She had saved him. She had nearly died for him. And when she woke up, Danial had proposed to Daria.

"How..." Deidre's voice was a broken whisper. "How could you? How could you steal that?"

Daria stood up, looking incredibly smug. She reached up and unbuttoned the top three buttons of her silk blouse. She pulled the collar aside, revealing the skin below her collarbone.

There, marring her perfect skin, was a massive, jagged scar. It looked exactly like a burn wound, puckered and discolored.

"Medical tourism is a wonderful thing," Daria said, tracing the edge of the scar with a manicured nail. "I paid a small fortune to a specialist in Switzerland. He used laser ablation and skin grafts to create this masterpiece. It looks real, doesn't it? Even Danial believed it. He cried when he saw it."

Deidre lunged. She didn't care about the pain in her chest. She didn't care that she could barely stand. She just wanted to rip that fake scar off Daria's face.

But two large hands grabbed her shoulders from behind, slamming her back into the sofa. The bodyguards. They held her down, their grips like iron vices.

Daria looked down at her, shaking her head in mock pity. "He felt so guilty. He swore he would spend his life making it up to me. Every time he holds my hand, every time he buys me a gift, it's because he thinks I saved his life. And the best part? He thinks you're just a weak, useless burden he has to tolerate."

Tears spilled down Deidre's cheeks. She wasn't crying because she was sad. She was crying because of the sheer, cosmic injustice of it all. She had given her heart-literally-to Danial, and Daria had stolen the credit and used it to destroy her.

Daria reached for a document on the coffee table. She picked it up and threw it at Deidre's face. The sharp edge of the paper sliced across Deidre's cheekbone, drawing a thin line of blood.

Deidre looked down at the document. It was a property transfer agreement. Danial was gifting a sprawling mansion in Beverly Hills to Daria. The note, dated from last month, read: For our five-year anniversary. Thank you for my life.

The rage inside Deidre hit a boiling point. Her heart rate spiked, the organ fluttering wildly in her chest like a bird trapped in a cage. She clutched her shirt, gasping for air, her vision graying at the edges.

Daria watched her struggle, a cruel light in her eyes. "Not yet, Deidre. We're not done."

She snapped her fingers. The bodyguards released Deidre and stepped back. Daria walked to the mantelpiece and picked up a silver-framed photograph.

Deidre's heart stopped. It was the only photo she had of Lily. A tiny, wrinkled newborn with her eyes closed, cradled in Deidre's arms. It was the only proof that her daughter had ever existed.

"Put it down," Deidre snarled. Her voice was barely human. It was the sound of a mother protecting her young.

Daria ran a long fingernail over the glass, right across Lily's face. The scraping sound made Deidre's skin crawl. "Look at this. A dead little thing. She didn't even live long enough to open her eyes. And yet, she gets a fancy grave and a spot on the Ortega family tree. It's so unfair, isn't it?"

Deidre didn't think. She just moved. She shoved the heavy coffee table out of the way, the muscles in her arms tearing with the effort, and lunged at Daria.

Daria sidestepped easily. Deidre missed, crashing into the mantelpiece. She fell to the floor, her elbow landing squarely on a shard of broken glass from the dropped wine glass.

Pain shot up her arm. Blood immediately soaked through her sleeve, dripping onto the white rug. But Deidre didn't feel it. She only had eyes for the photo in Daria's hand.

Daria stood over her, looking down with a triumphant smirk. She had Deidre exactly where she wanted her: broken, bleeding, and desperate.

"You know," Daria said, her tone light and conversational, "you've always blamed God for taking your baby. You've always thought that ectopic pregnancy was just bad luck."

Deidre froze. The blood pounding in her ears seemed to stop. She looked up at Daria, a terrible premonition gripping her soul.

Daria smiled, a wide, terrifying smile. "What if I told you it wasn't bad luck at all? What if I told you that pregnancy was perfectly healthy?"

The words hung in the air, heavy and toxic. Deidre's mind refused to process them. The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the sound of Deidre's ragged breathing.

Deidre's hand shot out, grabbing Daria's ankle. Her grip was weak, but the desperation in it was terrifying. "What did you say?" she rasped, her voice shaking so badly it was almost unrecognizable. "What do you mean, healthy?"

Daria looked down at Deidre's hand on her ankle with utter disgust. She kicked out, her sharp heel scraping against Deidre's wrist, forcing her to let go. She stepped back, her eyes shining with sadistic glee.

"Two years ago," Daria said slowly, enunciating every syllable, "you were pregnant. And it was a perfectly normal, healthy, viable pregnancy. There was absolutely nothing wrong with that baby."

Deidre's brain felt like it was exploding. The ringing was deafening. She shook her head violently, refusing to accept the words. "No. No, the doctor said it was ectopic. The fallopian tube ruptured. I was bleeding out-"

"The doctor lied," Daria interrupted, her voice cold and hard. "Dr. Eduardo Lamb. I paid him two million dollars to alter your ultrasound images and forge your blood work. He made it look like an ectopic pregnancy."

The room tilted. Deidre's stomach heaved, but there was nothing in it to throw up. She remembered that night. The sudden, agonizing pain. The blood soaking the sheets. The rush to the hospital. The frantic doctors.

"Danial was in Europe," Daria continued, pacing slowly in front of the sofa. "It was so easy. I just had to wait for the 'emergency' to happen, and then Dr. Lamb did the rest. He made it look like your tube had ruptured. He convinced the surgical team that it was a life-or-death situation."

Deidre clutched her stomach, the phantom pain of that night ripping through her. "You killed her. You killed Lily."

"Oh, it gets better," Daria sneered. "Dr. Lamb couldn't just operate without consent. And since Danial was your next of kin, they had to call him. He was on his private jet, flying over the Atlantic."

Daria paused, letting the suspense build. She looked directly into Deidre's eyes. "Danial authorized the surgery. He gave the verbal consent over the satellite phone. With a single word, he signed your daughter's death warrant."

The words hit Deidre like a physical blow to the chest. The air rushed out of her lungs. Danial. It was Danial's voice that had ended Lily's life. He had killed their daughter, not knowing she was perfectly healthy, because Daria had set the trap.

"And just to add a little insurance," Daria added with a shrug, "Dr. Lamb removed your healthy fallopian tube while he was at it. Just to make sure you wouldn't be popping out any more little Ortegas."

A scream ripped from Deidre's throat. It wasn't a human sound. It was the raw, primal howl of a mother who had just learned that her child had been murdered by the people she trusted most. The sound bounced off the walls, piercing through the apartment.

Deidre didn't feel her heart condition. She didn't feel the gash on her arm. She only felt a blinding, all-consuming rage. She exploded off the floor, her body moving before her mind could catch up.

Daria's eyes widened in shock. She hadn't expected Deidre to have any strength left. She stumbled backward, her hands raised.

Deidre grabbed a fistful of Daria's perfect blonde hair. She yanked it hard, dragging Daria's head down. With her other hand, she swung.

Smack.

The sound was deafening. Deidre's palm connected with Daria's cheek with every ounce of strength she possessed. The force of the slap whipped Daria's head to the side.

Daria cried out, her hand flying to her face. Blood immediately started to seep from her lip where her teeth had cut the inside of her cheek.

Deidre didn't stop. She raised her hand again, the rage taking over. Smack. The second slap was harder than the first. She poured all her grief, all her betrayal, all her hatred into that blow.

Daria's eyes rolled back. Her knees buckled. She stumbled backward, her high heel catching on the edge of the rug. She fell sideways, crashing into the sharp corner of the glass coffee table.

Crack.

Daria's forehead hit the heavy glass. She collapsed onto the floor, clutching her head. Blood began to pour from a gash on her temple. She curled into a ball, her hands moving down to her stomach.

"My baby!" Daria shrieked, her voice filled with genuine terror. "The baby! It hurts!"

The bedroom door flew open.

Danial stood in the doorway, his hair disheveled, a silk robe tied loosely around his waist. His eyes were wild, still foggy with sleep, but they quickly focused on the scene in front of him.

He saw Daria, crumpled on the floor, bleeding from the head, crying and holding her pregnant belly. He saw Deidre standing over her, her hand raised, her face contorted with fury.

His face drained of color. Then, it twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage.

"She's crazy!" Daria screamed, pointing a bloody finger at Deidre. "She attacked me! She's trying to kill my baby!"

Danial moved like a predator. He crossed the room in three long strides, shoving Deidre out of the way. He fell to his knees beside Daria, gathering her into his arms. "Daria! Daria, look at me. Are you okay? Is the baby okay?"

Deidre watched him cradle the woman who had murdered his daughter. A hysterical, broken laugh bubbled up from her chest. It was a sound of absolute madness, echoing in the quiet room.

Danial looked up at her, his eyes blazing with hatred. "What the hell is wrong with you? Have you completely lost your mind?"

Deidre stopped laughing. She pointed a trembling finger at Daria. "She's a liar! She lied about the yacht! She killed Lily! She paid the doctor to kill our daughter!"

"I said, shut up!" Danial bellowed. He reached out, his large hands shoving her shoulders with brutal force. She stumbled backward, her feet tangling in the thick rug.

Deidre fell hard, her head striking the cold marble of the feature wall with a sickening thud before she crumpled to the floor. Danial loomed over her, his chest heaving, his imposing frame trapping her against the baseboard. "Are you insane?" he hissed, his face inches from hers, his eyes bloodshot with fury. "You attack a pregnant woman? You could have killed her! You could have killed my child!"

Deidre's lungs burned as she gasped for air, the impact knocking the wind completely out of her. Black spots danced in her vision. She scratched at the floorboards, trying to push herself away from his looming shadow, but he didn't even flinch. The sudden shock and physical trauma were making her weak, her heart sputtering in her chest.

Daria, still lying on the floor, let out a pitiful moan. "Danial... the pain... I think I'm losing it..."

The sound of Daria's voice acted like a catalyst. Danial's glare darkened, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. He leaned closer, his shadow completely engulfing her. "You vicious bitch. I should have known you'd snap eventually."

Deidre looked into his eyes. She searched for the man she loved, the man she had saved from the fire. There was nothing there. Only a monster. Only a man who was willing to destroy her to protect the woman who had ruined her life.

She stopped fighting. Her hands fell away from her defensive posture, dangling limply at her sides. The fight was gone. The will to live was gone. She just wanted the pain to stop.

She stared into his cold, dead eyes and her voice was a strangled, barely audible rasp. "You killed Lily."

Danial frowned. He didn't hear her, or he chose not to. He let out a sound of disgust and shoved her away from him.

Deidre's body flew backward. She hit the floor hard, her knees cracking against the marble. The impact sent a shockwave of pain through her body, but it was nothing compared to the explosion in her chest.

Her heart, already weak and struggling, couldn't take the physical trauma. It went into overdrive, beating erratically, then slowing down, then skipping beats entirely. She clutched her chest, her mouth open in a silent scream. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. It felt like a giant hand was crushing her heart into pulp.

She curled into a fetal position on the floor, sweat breaking out all over her body. Her face, which had been red from being choked, turned a sickly, ashen gray.

Danial didn't look at her. He turned his back on her and walked over to Daria, helping her sit up. "Call the doctor," he ordered the bodyguard. "Now."

He glanced over his shoulder at the writhing figure on the floor. "Get out," he said, his voice flat and emotionless. "Get out of my sight before I call the police and have you committed."

Deidre looked at his broad back, at the way he tenderly brushed the hair from Daria's face. The last flicker of light in her eyes died. The love she had held onto for five years, the hope that he would one day see her, turned to ash.

She bit down on her tongue again, the coppery taste of blood grounding her. She planted her hands on the cold floor, her arms shaking violently, and pushed herself up. She didn't look at him. She didn't beg. There was no point in explaining the truth to a man who was willfully blind.

She staggered toward the door, leaving a trail of blood from her cut arm and dirty footprints on the pristine marble. Every step felt like her last. Her heart was failing, the world fading in and out of focus.

As she reached the door, Danial felt a sudden, inexplicable pang in his chest. He watched her retreating figure, a flash of doubt crossing his mind. But Daria whimpered, pulling his attention back.

The heavy apartment door slammed shut behind Deidre, sealing her out of the hell she had been living in.

She stumbled into the hallway, leaning against the wall for support. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored elevator doors. Her face was swollen and bruised, her hair a mess, her clothes stained with blood. She looked like a corpse.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. She stepped inside, leaning heavily against the metal wall. The descent made her ears pop, the pressure building in her skull. Her vision was narrowing to a thin tunnel.

The doors opened to the underground garage. The cold wind from the street howled through the opening, biting into her skin. She walked out into the blizzard.

The streets of Manhattan were deserted. The snow was coming down in sheets, piling up on the sidewalks. Deidre walked aimlessly, her body running on autopilot. Every breath was a struggle. Her heart was giving out. She could feel it slowing down, the beats becoming weaker and weaker.

She turned down a dark, narrow alleyway between two towering buildings. The snow was untouched here, deep and treacherous. She took one step, then another.

Her legs gave out.

She fell forward, her body pitching toward the icy concrete. But she didn't hit the ground. Instead, she slammed into something hard and warm. The hood of a car.

A blaring alarm shattered the quiet of the night. Red lights flashed, illuminating the falling snow.

The door of the car opened. A gust of warm air, smelling of expensive leather and fine tobacco, wafted out. A man stepped out into the snow. He was tall, his shoulders broad beneath a heavy wool coat. He wore bespoke leather shoes that sank into the slush.

He stopped right in front of Deidre's crumpled body. He looked down at her, his face obscured by the shadows and the swirling snow.

Deidre looked up, her vision fading. The last thing she saw was a pair of sharp, calculating eyes before the darkness swallowed her whole.