Cedric stared at me, his cheek red. He was stunned.

His eyes flickered to my bruised face. The anger in his eyes faded, replaced by something I couldn't quite read. He took a deep breath.

"If that makes you feel better, Eleanor." His voice was quiet. "If that's what you need to move past this."

He reached out. His fingers brushed against my temples, tracing the dark bruise. "Are you still angry, Ella?"

"No," I said. My voice was calm. Flat. "I'm not angry."

A sigh of relief escaped him. "Good. That's good." He even smiled a little. "I knew you'd understand."

For the next few days, Cedric was a model husband. He brought me flowers. He sat by my bedside. He fetched me water. He read me stories.

"You have such a wonderful husband," the doctor remarked, smiling warmly at Cedric. "Always here. So attentive."

Cedric puffed out his chest, a proud flush on his cheeks. "I learned from the best. My Eleanor taught me how to be a good partner." He squeezed my hand.

I watched him. My lips curved into a tiny, humorless smile. I didn't correct him. What was the point?

He leaned over. He gently massaged my temples, his fingers soft against my skin. "Still a bit of a headache, my love?"

He stood up. He carefully draped a blanket over my legs. He was still performing.

Then the door burst open. A frantic nurse stood there. "Mr. Hopkins! It's Cassidy Caldwell! She's bleeding! She needs a transfusion! Now!"

Cedric was on his feet in an instant. He was already halfway out the door. He didn't even look back.

He stopped. His eyes met mine. I was watching him. My smile was still there. Cold. Unmoving.

He hesitated. He took a step back into the room. "Her injuries are severe, Eleanor. She needs me." His voice was defensive. Almost angry.

Then he was gone. The door swung shut behind him.

That night, my bandages felt too tight. My skin burned. The pain in my side flared. I drifted in and out of consciousness. The nurse said it was a fever. From infection.

The door creaked open again. It was late. Cedric stood there. His shadow stretched long and distorted across the floor.

"Eleanor," he whispered. "They need your blood. Cassidy's blood type is rare. Yours matches."

My hand, resting on the bed, clenched into a fist. The sheet crumpled in my grip.

He came closer. He sat on the edge of my bed. "Please, Ella. Just a little. For Cassidy. She saved my life once, you know." His voice was soft. Begging.

Cedric's voice was a soft plea. "Please, Ella. Just a little. For Cassidy. She saved my life once, you know."

I laughed. A hollow, bitter sound. "No."

His eyes hardened. The gentle plea vanished. "You will give blood, Eleanor. She needs it." His tone was now a command.

Two orderlies came in. They held my arms. My body felt weak. My side throbbed. I couldn't fight them.

They wheeled me to the blood draw room. The needle slid into my arm. The rhythmic throb of the pump filled the silence. My blood, my life, drained away.

My vision blurred. Black spots danced before my eyes. My body felt heavy. Cold.

Cedric rushed past the door. A bag of my blood clutched in his hand. He didn't see me. He didn't look.

I stared at his retreating back. My teeth gritted. My nails bit into my palms.

I stumbled out of the room. My legs buckled. I leaned against the cold wall. I needed air. I needed to escape.

A door was ajar. A muffled conversation drifted out. Cassidy's voice. Strong. Clear.

"Did it work? Did she give blood?" Cassidy giggled. "I knew she would. She's such a pushover."

My breath caught in my throat.

Cedric's voice. Gentle. Loving. "Of course, it worked, honey. She doesn't have a choice."

"And the injuries?" Cassidy asked, her voice laced with triumph. "The ones I didn't really have?"

Cedric chuckled. "Just a little lesson for her. So she knows her place. So she stops questioning my choices."

"Good." Cassidy purred. "She needed to be taught a lesson. For trying to steal my spotlight."

My body felt cold. Colder than the marble at my parents' grave. A searing pain ripped through my side. Blood bloomed across my hospital gown.

A doctor rushed towards me. Someone screamed. The world tilted.

Then there was nothing.

I was a child again. C small. Alone. The world was a blur of chaos. A man in a dark uniform stood over me. He had kind eyes.

He knelt. He looked at me. "Don't cry," he said, his voice clumsy. "Don't be afraid."

I woke up. My eyes were wet. Salty tears traced paths through the dried blood on my face.

The old Eleanor was gone. The one who wept for a man who didn't care. That Eleanor was truly dead.

I forced myself to heal. To move. To fight. I pushed my body, day after day. My resolve was a burning fire.

I used my family's network. The divorce was processed. Swiftly. Efficiently.

The papers arrived on the day I was discharged. A stark, white envelope. Inside, a single sheet. Final.

Cedric was waiting outside the hospital. He held a bouquet of red roses.

He saw me. The roses dropped from his hand. His jaw went slack. He stared.

Then Cassidy appeared. She held another bouquet. She whispered something to him. Her eyes were triumphant.

"He won't let you go, you know," she hissed, coming closer. Her voice was pure venom. "He told me. He loves my soup. He loves that I understand him."

My eyes narrowed. The flowers. Something was wrong.

She suddenly shrieked. "She pushed me! She's trying to hurt me again!" She threw her bouquet at me. Then she collapsed, clutching her head.

A small explosion. A flash of light. A stinging pain on my arm.

Cassidy screamed, rolling on the ground. She clutched her head. She wriggled like a worm.

Cedric was at her side instantly. "Cassidy! Are you okay?" He ignored me. My bleeding arm.

One of Cedric's teammates grabbed me. He pinned my arms behind my back. "Apologize, Eleanor! Look what you did!"

I smiled. A slow, chilling smile. My face was pale. My lips were stained with dried blood.

I twisted. My shirt rode up. It revealed a fresh, angry burn mark on my back. "Apologize for what?" My voice was cold. "For surviving?"

Cedric looked at my back. His eyes widened. He recoiled. A flicker of something, guilt maybe, crossed his face.

I kicked out. My foot connected squarely with Cassidy's chest. She flew backward. She tumbled down the hospital steps.

Cedric roared. "Eleanor! What have you done?!"

I pulled the wedding ring from my finger. I flung it. It arced through the air. It shattered a window.

The ring tumbled. Down. Down into the mud below. Its shine vanished. It was just a dull piece of metal. Lost.

He grabbed my arm. His grip was tight. "Eleanor, don't!"

I used his momentum. I spun. I executed a perfect over-the-shoulder throw. He crashed to the ground.

I didn't look back. I walked away. My strides were long. Deliberate.

I found his superior. General Thompson. "General. Eleanor Curry. I need to activate Project Falcon." My voice was calm. Controlled.

He looked at me with disdain. "Project Falcon? Who are you? Some housewife playing dress-up?"

I laughed. A short, sharp sound. "I am Falcon. And this isn't a request. It's an order."