Grace Keller POV:

The hospital room door flew open with such force it slammed against the wall, jolting me from a fitful, pain-ridden sleep.

Julian stood there, his face a mask of pure fury. Before I could even register what was happening, he had ripped the blankets off me and hauled me out of bed. The sudden movement sent a fresh wave of agony through my broken ribs. I cried out, my legs buckling beneath me.

"Where is she?" he roared, his face inches from mine, his breath hot with rage. "What did you do with Fabiola?"

"What are you talking about?" I gasped, clutching my aching side. "I've been here, in this bed."

He didn't listen. He shoved something at me, something small and sharp. It was one of my own diamond stud earrings, the one I thought I' d lost. It was covered in blood.

"Her security team found this at her apartment," he snarled. "The place was ransacked. There was blood everywhere. She's gone, Grace. And you are the only person with a motive."

"No," I whispered, shaking my head in disbelief. "Julian, this is a setup. She's doing this to frame me. Again!"

His hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my throat. "Liar," he hissed, his grip tightening. Stars exploded behind my eyes as my air supply was cut off. He truly believed I was capable of this. He believed her, a woman who had systematically destroyed me, over me, his wife.

"I... can't... breathe," I choked out, my hands clawing at his.

He held me there for a terrifying moment longer before flinging me away. I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air.

"You want to play games, Grace?" he said, his voice a low, terrifying growl. "Fine. We'll play."

He snapped his fingers. Two of his guards appeared, dragging a whimpering, terrified figure into the room.

It was my brother, Bryan. They had brought him from the prison.

"What are you doing?" I screamed, scrambling to my knees.

They didn't answer. They dragged Bryan outside, onto the hospital's rooftop helipad. I saw them tie his hands behind his back, forcing him to stand at the very edge. Below him, the city lights swam dizzily. A car, one of Julian' s, sat idling a few feet away, its headlights pinning my brother like a frightened animal.

"Julian, no!" I sobbed, crawling towards him, grabbing the hem of his pants. "Please, don't do this!"

The car's engine revved. It lurched forward, its bumper nudging Bryan's legs, pushing him closer to the precipice. He cried out in terror.

"Admit it, Grace," Julian said, his voice as cold as the grave. "Admit you had something to do with Fabiola's disappearance."

"I didn't! I swear to you, I had nothing to do with it!" I wailed, my heart shattering into a million pieces. "Why are you doing this to me? To us?"

He gave a signal. The car lurched forward again, more forcefully this time. I heard a sickening crack, and Bryan screamed, a sound of pure agony. His leg was broken.

"Ten," Julian began to count, his voice calm and even. "Nine..."

"Please, stop!" I begged, tears streaming down my face. "I'll say whatever you want, just make it stop!"

He just laughed, a hollow, mirthless sound. "Eight... seven..."

The car engine roared again.

"NO!" I shrieked. My mind snapped. An animalistic surge of adrenaline propelled me forward. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the fire in my ribs, and ran. I ran towards my brother, my only thought to shield him with my own body.

"Grace, no!" Julian's voice was sharp with alarm, a flicker of panic in his eyes for the first time.

He was too late.

The car, already in motion, couldn't stop. I threw myself in front of Bryan just as the vehicle slammed into me. The impact was a brutal, bone-shattering explosion of force. I was thrown through the air like a rag doll, landing in a crumpled heap several feet away.

The world went red. I tasted blood. A thick, warm stream of it spilled from my lips.

Julian rushed to my side, his face a canvas of horror and disbelief. He gathered me into his arms, his hands trembling. "Grace... oh God, Grace, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

His phone rang. An assistant's frantic voice crackled through the speaker. "Mr. Pena, we found her! We found Ms. Barron! She was at a spa resort upstate, her phone was off. She's fine!"

Fine. She was fine.

Julian froze, his eyes locked on my face, the truth of what he had done crashing down on him. He had tortured me, broken my brother, and nearly killed me, all for nothing. All for a lie.

He looked from my blood-splattered face to my brother, who was now being untied, then back to me. His choice was instantaneous.

"Get a medic for her," he snapped at one of his men, his voice strained. Then, into the phone, "Where is Fio? I'm on my way."

He was leaving me. Again. To go to her.

Grace Keller POV:

The world was a blur of frantic motion and muffled sounds. I was being lifted onto a gurney, my brother onto another. The sterile white ceiling of the hospital corridor rushed past above me.

Just as they were wheeling me towards the emergency room, a commotion erupted at the main entrance. Paramedics rushed in a new gurney. On it, looking pale and artfully disheveled, was Fabiola.

"Julian!" she cried, reaching a hand out dramatically. "I was so scared! I needed some time away, but then I heard what happened to Grace... I came as fast as I could."

The head of the ER, a doctor I recognized, looked between me, my brother, and Fabiola. "We only have one trauma team available right now."

I watched Julian's face. For a moment, just a moment, he looked torn. His eyes met mine, and in their depths, I saw a maelstrom of guilt and confusion.

It was almost enough to make me hope.

But then Fabiola spoke again, her voice weak but laced with steel. "My hands," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm a surgeon, Julian. My hands are my life. If anything happens to them... I don't know what I'll do. It's all my fault. If I hadn't gone away, Grace wouldn't have done... this."

The conflict in Julian's eyes vanished, replaced by a familiar, chilling resolve. He made his choice. It was always his choice.

He turned to the doctor. "Treat her first."

Then he looked at me, his expression a mixture of pity and blame. "I'm sorry, Grace," he said, his voice low. "But you brought this on yourself."

The world began to fade to black. The last thing I heard was Fabiola's soft, triumphant voice and the sound of my own gurney being pushed to the side.

I survived. Barely. They called it a miracle. I called it a curse.

Days later, I lay in my hospital bed, a broken doll held together by pins and plates. A phone, a burner phone Josephine had arranged to be smuggled in, rang softly under my pillow.

"Are you sure about this, Grace?" Josephine's voice was grave. "There's no turning back."

I thought of Julian's cold eyes as he chose her. I thought of my father in his coma, my brother with his shattered leg. I thought of the rats in the dark, the peanut paste clogging my throat, the brutal impact of the car.

"I'm sure," I said, my voice a steel blade. "Burn it all down."

The plan was in motion. Josephine, with her immense, quiet power, was moving pieces on a chessboard Julian didn't even know he was playing on. My father and brother would be moved to a private facility under new names. A new life was waiting for us, somewhere far away. All that was left was the final act.

When Julian came to visit, his face etched with a hollow sort of guilt, I was ready.

"I need you to leave," I said, my voice cold and empty.

He flinched as if I had struck him. "Grace, I..."

"Get out," I repeated, my gaze fixed on the ceiling. I refused to look at him.

He stared at me, his mouth opening and closing, but no words came out. For the first time in his life, Julian Pena was speechless. He, the man who commanded boardrooms and brought competitors to their knees with a single word, was dismissed. By me.

He finally turned and left, the sound of his footsteps echoing the hollow space he had carved out of my heart.

Grace Keller POV:

Julian's footsteps faded down the hall, leaving a silence that was more profound than any noise. For a moment, I allowed myself to feel the phantom weight of his presence, the ghost of the man I once loved. Then, I let it go. He was a storm I had weathered, and now, the sky was clearing.

He was stunned by my command, I could tell. He was used to me being pliant, forgiving. His face, a mask of confusion and wounded pride, was almost comical. He accused me of being ungrateful, of not understanding the "pressure" he was under. He insisted he would not visit me again until I had "come to my senses" and learned to be properly sorry for the trouble I had caused. Then he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

I let out a small, cold laugh and closed my eyes. Let him think what he wanted. His opinions were less than dust to me now.

A few days later, under the cover of a pre-dawn gloom, I checked myself out of the hospital. No farewells, no forwarding address. I was a ghost, slipping through the cracks of the life he had built around me.

My first stop was the private care facility where Josephine had moved my family. Bryan was in physical therapy, his face tight with concentration as he learned to walk again. But he smiled when he saw me, a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes.

My father was in a quiet, sunlit room. He was still in a coma, but his condition was stable. I went to his bedside, my heart aching with a familiar sorrow.

As I reached for his hand, I froze. A figure stood in the corner of the room, partially obscured by a privacy screen. They were holding a syringe, their hand hovering over my father's IV line.

My blood ran cold. I didn't scream. I didn't hesitate. I moved.

With a speed born of pure adrenaline, I grabbed a heavy water pitcher from the bedside table and lunged. "Get away from him!" I roared, bringing the pitcher down with all my strength.

The figure cried out and stumbled back into the light.

It was Fabiola.

Her eyes were wide with shock and fury. In her hand, the syringe glittered menacingly. A clear liquid-potassium chloride, I would later learn, enough to stop a heart instantly-dripped from the needle onto the pristine floor.

"You," I breathed, my voice trembling with a rage so pure it was almost sublime.

For a moment, we just stared at each other. Then, the dam of my control broke. I lunged at her, my hands finding her throat. The satisfaction of feeling her frail bones under my fingers was dark and intoxicating.

"You tried to kill him," I snarled, shaking her like a rag doll. "You evil, twisted bitch."

She clawed at my hands, her face turning a blotchy red. "He... deserved it!" she choked out. "You both do! Ruining my reputation! Julian is mine! He was always supposed to be mine!"

I slammed her against the wall. "He can have you," I spat. "You two parasites deserve each other."

Suddenly, the door flew open. "Grace! What the hell are you doing?"

Julian stood there, his face a thundercloud. Fabiola, ever the actress, immediately went limp in my grasp, sobbing hysterically.

"Julian, thank God!" she cried. "She tried to kill me! She's insane!"

Julian ripped me away from her, his grip like iron on my arms. "Have you lost your mind?" he roared in my face.

"She was trying to murder my father!" I screamed, pointing a shaking finger at the syringe on the floor. "Look! The proof is right there!"

Julian's gaze flickered to the syringe, then back to Fabiola's tear-streaked, innocent-looking face. He didn't want to believe it. He couldn't. Admitting she was a monster meant admitting what he had become in his blind devotion to her.

"It's for my migraines," Fabiola sobbed, a brilliant, desperate lie. "A special vitamin cocktail. I was just going to sit with him, and she attacked me!"

Julian's rage, which had momentarily faltered, returned with a vengeance, all of it directed at me. "You are out of control, Grace."

"You are a fool, Julian," I said, my voice dripping with scorn. "A blind, pathetic fool."

I refused to apologize. I demanded he look at the evidence, that he question the nurses. I dared him to punish me. "What will it be this time, Julian? The cellar? Another little allergic reaction? Or will you just have your goons break the rest of my bones?"

Fabiola, seeing her grip on him was absolute, stepped in. "Julian, darling, don't be angry," she said sweetly, placing a hand on his arm. "She's not well. All this stress... it's clearly affected her mind. Maybe she needs professional help. A good psychiatrist. Someplace quiet, where she can rest and get better."

The suggestion hung in the air, sinister and cold.

Julian looked at me, his eyes hard. "That's a good idea."

My heart stopped.

"Take her," he said to his guards.

They dragged me from the room, my feet scrabbling for purchase on the polished floor. The last thing I saw was Fabiola smiling at Julian, her victory complete.