Annis POV

We never made it to the safe house.

Instead, we had ended up at a cheap airport hotel on the outskirts of the city. I was trembling, sitting on the edge of the sagging mattress, clutching my bag like a lifeline. Haven was pacing the narrow space, his phone pressed tight to his ear as he tried to arrange a flight.

Then, the door didn't just open; it exploded inward.

I didn't even have time to scream. Two of Dominick's soldiers filled the small room, blocking out the hallway light. Haven moved to intercept them, his reflexes sharp, but he was hopelessly outnumbered.

One of them slammed the butt of a pistol into Haven's temple with a sickening crack.

He hit the carpet instantly, unconscious before he even landed.

"No!" I screamed, lunging for him.

Strong hands grabbed me from behind, halting my movement with bruising force. I smelled expensive cologne mixed with the sharp tang of gunpowder.

Dominick.

He spun me around, his fingers digging into my arms. His face was a mask of cold, unyielding fury.

"You think you can just walk away?" he hissed, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "You think you can just leave with him?"

He dragged me out of the room, stepping over Haven's unconscious body as if he were nothing more than trash on the sidewalk. He threw me into the back of his armored SUV with enough force to knock the wind out of me.

"Drive," he ordered the driver.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, my voice trembling so hard the words barely formed.

"Home," he said, staring straight ahead. "But we aren't going to the house. We're going to the clinic."

"Why?"

"Chastity is hemorrhaging," he said. His voice was devoid of emotion, completely detached and clinical. "The stress of your little stunt caused complications. She's losing blood."

I stared at his profile, horrified. "What does that have to do with me?"

"She has a rare blood type, Annis. B-negative." He finally looked at me then, his eyes empty. "Just like you."

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, erratic rhythm. It wasn't just fear. It was the arrhythmia I had lived with since childhood. A condition Dominick knew about. A condition that made giving blood dangerous, potentially fatal.

"I can't," I whispered, pressing a hand to my chest. "You know I can't. My heart... Dr. Evans said my iron levels are too low. It could trigger a cardiac event."

Dominick looked at me. He didn't see a wife. He didn't even see a human being. He saw a spare part.

"She is carrying my son," he said coldly. "You will give her whatever she needs."

We arrived at the private family clinic minutes later. It smelled of antiseptic and old money. They dragged me into a prep room. Chastity was in the next room, wailing about pain, though her voice sounded strong enough to me.

The family doctor, Dr. Evans, looked pale when Dominick shoved me into the chair.

"Mr. Reyes," he stammered, looking between us. "Mrs. Reyes's chart... her heart condition. A transfusion of this magnitude is risky. She could go into shock."

"Do it," Dominick commanded.

I grabbed Dominick's arm, my fingers desperate.

"If I do this," I said, my voice shaking. "If I save your mistress and your bastard... you let me go."

Dominick looked down at me. He smirked, a cruel twist of his lips.

"You're in no position to bargain, Annis. But fine. Give the blood, and we'll discuss your vacation."

He was lying. I knew he was lying. But I had no choice.

The nurse inserted the needle. I watched my dark red blood flow through the tube, leaving me to sustain the woman who had destroyed my life.

I felt the cold creep in immediately. My chest felt heavy, like a stone was sitting on my sternum, crushing the air out of my lungs.

"Slow down the draw," Dr. Evans warned, his eyes on the monitors. "Her pulse is dropping."

"Keep going," Dominick said from the doorway. He was watching the monitor in Chastity's room, not me.

The room started to spin. Grey spots danced in my vision, obscuring the harsh fluorescent lights. My heart fluttered-a bird trapped in a cage, beating its wings against the bars in a panic.

"Dominick," I whispered, my head feeling impossibly heavy. "I... I don't feel good."

He didn't turn around.

"Chastity's stats are stabilizing," a nurse called out from the other room.

"Good," Dominick said.

My head lolled back against the chair. The beeping of my heart monitor grew erratic. Fast. Then slow. Then painfully slow.

"Mr. Reyes!" the doctor shouted, panic rising in his voice. "She's crashing!"

I saw Dominick turn then. I saw a flicker of annoyance on his face, as if my dying was merely an inconvenience to his evening.

"Stop the draw!" the doctor yelled.

The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me was Dominick walking out of the room to go hold Chastity's hand.

I closed my eyes. And for the first time in a long time, I hoped I wouldn't wake up.

Annis POV

I woke to the cloying scent of lilies.

I loathed them. To me, they reeked of funerals.

Forcing my heavy lids open, I realized I was lying in a private recovery suite. My arm was thickly bandaged, and my chest ached with a dull, persistent throb that radiated through my ribs.

Dominick was sitting in the wingback chair next to the bed, idly scrolling through his phone. He looked immaculate-freshly showered, hair perfectly coiffed, and dressed in a crisp new charcoal suit.

"You're awake," he said, not bothering to look up.

I tried to push myself up, but the room lurched violently. I fell back against the pillows, gasping.

"The deal," I croaked, my throat feeling like sandpaper. "You said... if I gave the blood..."

Dominick finally lifted his gaze. He stood up, sauntered to the bedside table, and fastidiously adjusted a petal on the vase of white lilies.

"I said we'd discuss a vacation, Annis. I never said I'd grant you a divorce," he replied smoothly. "You're my wife. You belong at the penthouse."

He set the vase back down with a deliberate click.

"Besides," he added, checking his Patek Philippe watch, "you need to recover. You look terrible."

He walked to the door, his hand resting on the handle.

"I have a charity gala tonight. Chastity is feeling much better, thanks to you. She'll be accompanying me."

He opened the door.

"Get some rest. The driver will collect you in the morning."

And then he was gone.

I lay there in the silence, staring at the sterile white ceiling. He had drained me to save her, and now he was parading her around town while I rotted in a hospital bed.

I reached for the bedside table. My phone was gone. Dominick must have confiscated it.

Desperate, I found the room phone and dialed a number I had memorized years ago.

Haven picked up on the first ring.

"Annis?" His voice was laced with panic. "I'm in the lobby. Security won't let me up. They claimed you were in critical condition."

"I'm alive," I whispered. "But I need to get out of here."

"I'm coming up," he said, his voice hardening.

"No," I said quickly. "Wait. I need to go back to the penthouse one last time."

"Why?"

"My passport," I said, my mind racing. "And the files. If I leave now, he'll hunt me down. I need the leverage. I need the documents from the safe."

"Annis, that's suicide."

"I have to, Haven. Just wait for my signal."

The next morning, my discharge was processed with suspicious speed. I felt hollowed out, fragile as spun glass.

Dominick was waiting at the hospital entrance. But he wasn't alone.

Chastity was sitting in the front passenger seat of the limo. She was radiant, her skin flushed with health. She waved at me cheerfully through the window.

Dominick stood by the open back door, impatience etched on his face.

"Get in," he ordered.

I looked at the front seat, then back at him.

"She gets carsick in the back," Dominick said, dismissing my stare with a wave of his hand.

I climbed into the back seat. My luggage was piled on the leather bench next to me, leaving me cramped in the corner like an afterthought.

As we drove through the city, Chastity rested her hand on Dominick's thigh. He immediately covered her hand with his.

"Oh, Dom, look," she chirped, holding up her phone. "The press loved my dress last night. They're calling us the 'Power Couple of the Year.'"

Dominick smiled at her-a genuine, warm smile. One I hadn't seen directed at me in years.

Quietly, I pulled out the burner phone I had hidden in my bra-the one thing Dominick hadn't found because he never touched me anymore.

I opened Instagram.

There it was. A photo of Dominick and Chastity on the red carpet. His arm was wrapped possessively around her waist. The caption read: Building a legacy.

I stared at the screen, my vision blurring.

Five years ago, I had miscarried our child at four months. I had called Dominick from the hospital, bleeding and terrified. He didn't answer. He was in a meeting. When he finally came home, he told me to stop crying, that we could always "make another one."

He never posted a photo of us. He never called us a legacy.

I looked at the back of his head.

With trembling fingers, I typed a comment on the post under a fake account.

May you get exactly what you deserve.

I locked the phone and slid it back into hiding.

We pulled up to the penthouse.

"Home sweet home," Chastity sang out.

I looked up at the towering building piercing the sky. It wasn't a home. It was a crematorium. And I was about to light the match.

Annis POV

Dominick had ordered a ginger tonic for me.

The chef placed it on the kitchen island-a sweating glass of ice and false consideration.

Dominick was in the living room, pouring Chastity a glass of sparkling water, his back to me.

"Drink up, Annis," he called out. "You'll need your strength."

I left the glass sweating on the marble.

I slipped into the guest room. Time was bleeding away.

I needed the documents from the hidden safe behind the hallway painting, and I needed my passport.

I threw open the closet door.

And froze.

My clothes-my silk blouses, my winter coats, the few dresses I actually loved-were shredded.

They hung in tatters, dripping with dark red wine. The smell was suffocating, as if a vineyard had been slaughtered in the dark.

"Well, that's unfortunate."

I turned.

Chastity leaned against the doorframe, a bottle of acetone nail polish remover in one hand and a lit candle in the other.

"You did this," I said.

She shrugged. "I needed the closet space. And honestly? Your taste is so... depressing."

She sauntered into the room, kicking a sodden piece of silk with her heel.

"You know," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. "Dom told me about your grandmother. How she died alone because he was 'stuck in traffic.'"

I went rigid. My grandmother had raised me. When she was on her deathbed three years ago, I had begged Dominick to drive me to the hospice. He said he was delayed. I missed her last breath by ten minutes.

"He wasn't in traffic, Annis," Chastity smiled, cruel and bright.

"He was with me. We were at that little bistro on 4th. He turned off his phone because I didn't want him distracted."

A roar filled my ears-not sound, but pure, white-hot rage.

"You lie," I whispered.

"Ask him," she laughed.

I didn't think. I moved. I lunged.

Chastity shrieked. She stumbled back, the acetone bottle slipping from her grip.

It shattered on the floor, splashing clear accelerant over the wine-soaked silks and the carpet.

The candle in her other hand wobbled.

She threw it at me.

It missed, but it found the puddle.

Whoosh.

The room didn't just catch fire; it inhaled.

Flames roared up the curtains, gorging on the alcohol and chemicals.

Chastity screamed, backing into the hallway.

"Dominick!"

I fell to my knees, coughing as black smoke choked the small room instantly.

My chest tightened. My heart stuttered.

Dominick appeared in the doorway. His eyes went wide.

He looked at the inferno. He looked at me, on my knees, fighting for air.

He looked at Chastity, safe in the hallway, fake tears streaming down her face.

"She tried to burn me!" Chastity screamed. "She's crazy, Dom! Save the baby!"

Dominick didn't hesitate.

He didn't step into the room to help me. He didn't reach for me.

He grabbed Chastity, wrapped his arm around her, and turned his back.

"Let's go," he said to her.

He left me.

He left me to burn.

I watched his back disappear around the corner.

The heat was blistering. The smoke was a physical weight, crushing my lungs.

I crawled. I stayed low, beneath the billowing heat.

I made it to the servants' exit in the kitchen, shoved the door open, and collapsed into the cool stairwell.

I didn't stop. I couldn't.

I ran down twenty flights. My legs felt like lead. My heart screamed against my ribs.

I burst into the alley and hailed a cab.

"The airport," I wheezed.

I had the passport. I had the documents tucked into my waistband.

At the terminal, I bought an envelope.

I shoved my wedding ring inside.

I added the medical records from the clinic-the ones I had swiped from the nurse's station while Dominick was holding Chastity's hand.

I addressed it to Don Carl Olsen.

Then I walked to the trash can.

I took out my phone and snapped the SIM card in half.

I dropped it into the garbage.

I boarded the plane to London.

As the wheels left the tarmac, I looked down at the glittering city lights.

Annis Myers had died in that fire.

The woman sitting in seat 4A was someone else entirely.

And she was coming for blood.