Elfrieda Stewart POV

The Tate Family Gala was less a celebration and more an exercise in gluttony.

Crystal chandeliers the size of compact cars loomed overhead, casting prismatic light onto men who had blood under their fingernails and wore tuxedos that cost more than my father’s entire house.

I stood by the buffet table, feeling exposed in the red silk dress Jaxon had selected for me.

He was across the room, laughing.

His arm was draped casually over the back of a chair, fingers brushing the shoulder of the blonde woman seated there.

Janice.

She was here.

She sipped her wine, looking at me over the rim of the glass with a smirk that communicated she knew everything.

Jaxon had introduced her as a “consultant” for the family’s legitimate real estate holdings.

But looking at them now, I knew the truth. She was his wife.

I watched the magnetic pull between them, a gravity he couldn’t control as his body leaned instinctively toward hers.

Then, he checked his watch.

It was time for the performance.

The “Denzel Protocol” required a public display of affection at every major family event, a ritual to sell the lie.

Jaxon strode toward me.

The room quieted down, the murmur of conversation dying out.

The Boss, an old man with eyes like shark glass, watched silently from the head table.

Jaxon took my hand.

He led me to the center of the dance floor, positioning us perfectly under the lights.

“Elfrieda,” he announced, his voice booming with practiced sincerity. “You are the light of my life. My brother asked me to protect you, but I found myself loving you.”

He dropped to one knee.

He pulled out a velvet box.

A diamond ring glittered under the chandelier. It was huge. It was vulgar.

“Will you marry me?” he asked.

The crowd applauded on cue.

Janice was clapping too, her eyes dead and cold.

I looked down at Jaxon.

I saw the bead of sweat on his upper lip. I saw the terror.

He wasn’t proposing to me.

He was proposing to the Boss, proving he was a good soldier, a loyal brother.

I opened my mouth to speak, to play my part.

A groan from above stopped me.

It was a sound like a bone snapping, loud and sharp, echoing through the ballroom.

I looked up.

The massive crystal chandelier directly above us groaned again.

It detached from the ceiling.

Gravity took over.

Time seemed to warp, slowing down into a nightmare crawl.

I saw the shadow of the crystal monster plummeting toward us.

Jaxon saw it too.

He lunged.

But he didn’t lunge for me.

He threw himself to the left, tackling Janice, who was standing five feet away and completely out of the impact zone.

He covered her body with his own, shielding her.

I stood alone in the center of the target.

The chandelier crashed.

The sound was deafening, a symphony of shattering glass and twisting metal that vibrated in my teeth.

The force of the impact knocked me backward.

Pain exploded in my arm and shoulder, white-hot and blinding.

Dust filled the air, choking the light.

Silence followed, heavy and thick.

Then the screaming started.

I lay on the floor, dazed, the world spinning.

Warm liquid soaked the red silk of my dress, turning it a deeper, darker shade.

I looked at my arm.

A shard of crystal the size of a butcher knife was embedded in my forearm.

Blood pooled rapidly on the expensive Persian rug.

“Jaxon?” I croaked.

I forced my eyes open.

Jaxon was scrambling up, frantically checking Janice for scratches.

“Are you okay? Did it hit you?” he was yelling, his hands roaming over her face, desperate.

Janice didn’t have a scratch on her.

She looked at me, then pointed.

Jaxon turned.

He saw me lying in a pool of my own blood.

He didn’t run to me.

He looked annoyed.

He glanced at the Boss, then back at me with a sneer.

“Jesus, Elfrieda,” he snapped, his voice carrying across the silent room. “Stop bleeding on the carpet. You’re making a scene.”

The words hit me harder than the glass.

He wasn’t worried.

He was inconvenienced.

A shadow fell over me.

My brother, Jameel, slid across the floor on his knees, crashing to a halt beside me.

His face was a mask of pure terror.

“El!” he screamed.

He ripped off his tuxedo jacket and pressed it against my arm, trying to staunch the flow.

“I’ve got you,” he choked out. “I’ve got you.”

He looked up at Jaxon.

The look on Jameel’s face promised murder.

Jaxon took a step back, realizing his mistake too late.

“I... I was just making sure the guest was safe,” Jaxon stammered, the confidence draining from him.

I looked at the ring box lying open amidst the shattered glass.

The diamond was fake.

I could see the lack of fire in the stone, the dullness of a prop.

Even the ring was a lie.

“Get her to the car!” Jameel barked at two other soldiers.

He lifted me up.

The pain was blinding, threatening to pull me under, but my mind was crystal clear.

I looked at Jaxon one last time.

He was still holding Janice’s hand.

I closed my eyes.

The naive girl who played the violin and believed in fairy tales died on that rug.

Elfrieda Stewart POV

The hospital lights were unforgivingly bright.

They hummed with a sterile frequency that drilled straight into my skull.

Forty stitches.

That was the cost of Jaxon’s reflex.

Jaxon had graced the emergency room with his presence for exactly ten minutes.

He stood by the door, checking his phone, looking like a man waiting for a bus rather than a fiancé waiting for a prognosis.

"It was an accident, El," he said, his gaze fixed on the linoleum. "I just reacted. Janice was closer."

She wasn't closer.

She was five feet away.

I had been standing right next to him.

"Go," I said.

"I can't just leave you," he said, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

Then, his phone buzzed.

He looked at it, and naked relief washed over his face.

"Janice thinks she might have a concussion from the fall," he lied. "She's at the other hospital. I have to go handle the insurance."

"Go," I repeated.

He was gone before the second syllable cleared my lips.

I waited until the nurse changed my IV bag and left the room.

Then, I yanked the needle out of my arm.

Warmth trickled down my skin, but I didn't care.

I grabbed my coat.

I knew exactly where he was going.

I had tracked his car's GPS.

It was another "safety measure" he had installed for me, one which I had quietly mirrored to my own phone months ago. Just in case he got kidnapped. Or, as it turned out, just in case he strayed.

I took a cab to the address.

It wasn't a hospital.

It was the Meridian Tower.

The most expensive residential building in the city.

The Outfit used it for two things: high-level mistresses and money laundering.

I walked past the doorman, flashing the Tate family crest on my keychain.

He nodded stiffly and let me pass.

I took the elevator straight to the penthouse.

I didn't knock.

I stood outside the heavy oak door.

I could hear them.

"Look at this place, baby," Janice's voice was shrill with excitement. "The view is amazing."

"It's yours," Jaxon said. "Everything I have is yours."

"What about the Violist?" she asked.

I held my breath.

"Elfrieda?" Jaxon laughed. It was a cruel, hollow sound. "She's a burden. A civilian. She doesn't know how this world works. She thinks I saved Janice because of instinct? I saved Janice because Janice is the only thing that matters."

"She's pretty, though," Janice teased.

"She's a doll," Jaxon spat. "A fragile, porcelain doll. Boring. I have to wind her up every morning just to get her through the day."

I leaned my forehead against the cool wood of the door.

My arm throbbed.

My heart was a stone in my chest.

The door opened suddenly.

I didn't have time to hide.

Janice stood there, wearing nothing but one of Jaxon’s shirts.

She didn't look surprised.

She looked delighted.

She smiled, a slow, predatory curving of her lips.

"Jaxon," she called out, not taking her eyes off me. "Your charity case is here."

Jaxon appeared behind her.

His face went dead pale.

"Elfrieda," he stammered. "What are you doing here? You should be in the hospital."

I looked at him.

Really looked at him.

I saw the weakness in the set of his chin.

The fear in his eyes.

He wasn't a monster.

He was a coward.

And cowards were dangerous because they had no code.

"I just came to return this," I said.

I reached into my pocket with my good hand.

I pulled out the engagement ring I had salvaged from the floor of the gala.

I tossed it.

It hit Jaxon in the chest and bounced onto the floor with a dull clink.

Janice laughed.

She stepped forward and kissed Jaxon, hard, on the mouth.

She marked him.

She looked dead at me while she did it.

Jaxon didn't push her away.

He let her claim him right in front of me.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out.

A notification from Instagram.

*Janice_Tate has requested to follow you.*

She was declaring war.

I looked at the two of them, framed in the doorway of their stolen paradise.

I accepted the request.

Elfrieda Stewart POV

The Daily Grind was supposed to be neutral territory.

It was a coffee shop on the edge of the financial district, sanitized and bright, far from the dark corners of the Outfit's clubs.

Janice’s text had been explicit.

*We need to talk. Woman to woman. Come alone, or I send the wedding photos to your father.*

My father had a heart condition.

She knew that. She had done her research.

I walked in, my movements stiff.

My arm was in a sling.

Janice was sitting in a booth by the window, wearing white.

She looked pristine. She looked like the grieving bride, or perhaps, the perfect wife.

I sat down opposite her.

"What do you want?" I asked.

She slid a piece of paper across the table.

It was a copy of their marriage license.

"I want you to stop embarrassing yourself," she said, her voice smooth. "Jaxon is disgusted by you. Your innocence? It's pathetic. He comes home to me and laughs about how he has to pretend to like your violin music."

"Then why doesn't he leave?" I asked.

"Because of the money, honey." Her smile was razor-sharp. "Denzel left a trust fund. It only unlocks if Jaxon marries the girl Denzel picked. That's you. Once he gets the money, you'll have a tragic accident."

The air left my lungs.

Jaxon wasn't just using me for status.

He was planning to kill me for cash.

"You're lying," I said, though the pit in my stomach told me she wasn't.

"Am I?"

She signaled the waitress.

"More coffee," she ordered.

When the waitress placed the steaming mug on the table, Janice didn't drink it.

She looked at me, her eyes devoid of humanity.

"You need to learn your place," she said.

In one fluid motion, she grabbed the mug.

And flicked her wrist.

The liquid was scalding.

It lashed across my chest and my injured arm.

I screamed.

The pain was immediate and searing, soaking through my bandages like acid.

Janice threw the mug on the floor, shattering it.

Then she flung herself backward out of the booth.

"Help!" she shrieked. "She's crazy! Help me!"

The door to the coffee shop flew open.

Jaxon rushed in.

He had been waiting outside.

It was a choreographed setup.

He saw me, dripping with coffee, gasping for air.

He saw Janice on the floor, heaving with dry tears.

He stepped over me.

He knelt beside Janice.

"Baby, are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with performative concern.

"She attacked me, Jaxon!" Janice cried. "I just wanted to make peace, and she threw hot coffee on me!"

Jaxon stood up.

He turned to me.

His eyes were full of hate.

"What is wrong with you?" he yelled. "Are you insane? You're harassing my wife!"

The word hung in the air.

*Wife.*

He had said it in public.

"She threw it," I whispered, my voice trembling from the shock of the burn. "Jaxon, look at me. I'm the one who's burned."

"Liar," he spat.

He grabbed a napkin and dabbed at a non-existent spot on Janice's dress.

A waitress stepped forward.

She was young, with piercings in her lip.

"Actually," the waitress said, her voice shaking. "I saw it. The lady in white threw the coffee. The other lady didn't do anything."

Jaxon froze.

He looked at the waitress.

"Shut up," he growled, his mask slipping just enough to reveal the monster beneath. "You didn't see anything unless you want your shop burned down."

The waitress went pale and stepped back.

Jaxon looked at me.

There was no apology in his eyes.

Only calculation.

"Get out of here, Elfrieda," he said. "Before I forget my brother's promise."

I stood up.

My skin was blistering.

My chest felt like it was on fire.

But the pain radiating through my body was nothing compared to the ice spreading through my soul.

I didn't argue.

I didn't cry.

I walked out of the coffee shop, past the staring customers, into the cold Chicago wind.

I was done being the victim.

I was done being the task.

If they wanted a villain, then I would give them one.