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.

Elfrieda Stewart POV

Three days later, Jaxon tried to buy my forgiveness.

He arrived at my parents' house, where I had sought refuge, in a sleek black town car with a chauffeur.

"We're going shopping," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Get in."

He didn't ask about my burns.

He didn't ask about my arm.

He simply assumed that, as always, I would fall in line and do exactly what I was told.

I got in the car.

Not because I forgave him.

But because I intended to bleed him dry before I made my escape.

We were driven to the Diamond District.

He ushered me into the most exclusive boutique in the city.

"Pick whatever you want," he said, waving his hand expansively. "Anything to make you smile again, El."

I noticed a sheen of perspiration on his brow.

The Boss must have been asking difficult questions about the gala.

He needed me happy. He desperately needed the optics.

I pointed to a diamond necklace displayed under the glass.

It was delicate, shaped like a single, frozen teardrop.

"That one," I said.

The jeweler took it out.

Jaxon pulled out his black card.

Then, the door chimes announced an arrival.

Janice walked in.

Of course she did.

She wasn't stalking us; he had been feeding her our location.

She walked straight up to the counter, ignoring me completely.

"Oh, Jaxon," she cooed. "It's beautiful."

She reached out and snatched the necklace from the jeweler's hand.

"Try it on me," she commanded.

Jaxon froze.

His gaze darted to me.

Then back to her.

This was the test.

"Janice, that's for Elfrieda," he said, his voice weak.

"But I like it," Janice pouted. "And it's my birthday next week. Don't you love me?"

She held the diamonds to her throat.

She looked at him with that manipulative, heavy-lidded gaze that she knew he couldn't resist.

Jaxon swallowed hard.

He turned to me.

"El," he said, forcing a smile. "You don't really like diamonds, right? You've always preferred pearls. They're more... innocent."

I stared at him, my expression unreadable.

"Give her the necklace," I said.

Jaxon let out a breath of relief.

"Wrap it up," he told the jeweler. "For the lady in white."

He bought me a pair of pearl earrings as a consolation prize.

Cheap ones.

We walked out of the store.

Janice was wearing the diamonds, preening in the reflection of the window.

Jaxon tried to take my hand.

I pulled away sharply.

"I have to go," I said.

"Where?"

"To sell these," I said, holding up the bag with the pearls.

"What?"

"And the car you bought me," I continued, my voice steady. "And the dresses. And the furniture in the penthouse."

"You can't do that," Jaxon laughed nervously. "That's my money."

"It was a gift," I said. "Gifts are property."

I hailed a passing taxi.

I went straight to a high-end pawn shop.

I sold everything I had on me.

Every token of affection, every lie he had ever wrapped in a bow.

I walked out with a check for fifty thousand dollars.

I went back to my parents' house.

I retreated to my room and pulled a letter out from under my mattress.

It was an acceptance letter to the Royal Academy of Music in Oslo, Norway.

I had deferred it for three years.

Because Jaxon said he couldn't live without me.

Because Jaxon said Chicago was my home.

I opened my laptop.

I sent an email to the admissions office.

*I accept.*

My phone rang.

It was Jaxon.

"My lawyer drafted a pre-nup," he said, skipping the hello. "Just standard stuff. To protect the family assets. I'm coming over to have you sign it."

"Don't bother," I said.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not signing a pre-nup, Jaxon."

"You have to," he growled, his patience evaporating. "Or there's no wedding."

I looked at the Norwegian stamp on the envelope.

"Exactly," I said.

I hung up.

I blocked his number.

But I knew it wasn't over.

Men like Jaxon Tate didn't let their property walk away.

They destroyed it first.