The van jerked to a halt, throwing me against Allison's shoulder. My damaged face screamed in protest as I bumped against the metal floor. Through the fog of pain and whatever drugs they'd given us, I registered the sudden stillness—we'd arrived somewhere.

"End of the line, princesses," Madelyn's voice cut through the darkness, gleeful and sharp as broken glass.

The van doors swung open with a metallic groan. Cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of concrete dust and damp earth. I blinked against the sudden brightness of industrial floodlights illuminating what looked like a construction site.

"Where are we?" Allison whispered, her voice tight with fear as she cradled her belly protectively.

"Rivera Tower," Madelyn announced proudly, as if unveiling her masterpiece. "Your husband's latest project. Well, it was supposed to be his masterpiece before you ruined everything."

Two men in dark clothing appeared at the van's opening. They didn't speak as they hauled us out—first Allison, then me. My legs buckled beneath me as soon as my feet hit the uneven ground. One of the men caught me roughly by the arm, his fingers digging into my flesh.

"Careful with her face," Madelyn said mockingly. "We wouldn't want to damage our precious heiress any more than necessary. Not yet, anyway."

I forced myself to look around. We were in what appeared to be the skeleton of a massive skyscraper—just concrete pillars and floors, with exposed rebar and unfinished walls. Wind whistled through the open framework, creating an eerie howling sound that seemed to mimic my own inner terror.

"This way," Madelyn commanded, gesturing toward what looked like a construction elevator—little more than a metal cage with an exposed motor.

The men shoved us inside. I stumbled, catching myself against the cold metal railing as the elevator lurched upward with a grinding noise. Allison pressed against my side, her breathing rapid and shallow.

"Priscilla," she whispered, her lips close to my ear. "When we get to the top, I'll create a distraction. You run."

"No," I hissed back. "She has a gun. We both stay calm and look for an opportunity."

The elevator climbed higher, each floor bringing us closer to whatever fate Madelyn had planned. Through the open sides, I could see the Brooklyn skyline growing smaller beneath us, lights twinkling like distant stars.

"Almost there," Madelyn sang, her voice eerily calm now. "Just a few more floors to our special place."

When the elevator finally stopped, we were at the very top—a flat, unfinished rooftop that stretched out like a concrete plain under the night sky. The wind hit us with full force, whipping my hair across my burned face and causing Allison to stumble.

"Walk," Madelyn ordered, poking me in the back with what felt like a gun barrel.

We moved across the open space, our footsteps echoing on the hollow concrete. The city spread out below us like a glittering tapestry, beautiful and distant. So far from help. So far from safety.

"Stop here," Madelyn commanded when we reached the edge.

I looked down and felt my stomach drop. Below us was a massive foundation pit, where workers had been pouring concrete for the building's base. The wet concrete gleamed gray and viscous in the floodlights, a thick liquid that would swallow anything dropped into it.

"Perfect spot, don't you think?" Madelyn circled around us, her torn wedding dress billowing in the wind. "No one will ever find you once you're buried in the foundation. Just another couple of construction accidents."

"Please," Allison begged, her hands still cradling her belly. "Not my baby. Take me if you want, but let my sister and my baby go."

Madelyn laughed, the sound almost lost in the howling wind. "So noble. That's what I love about you Rogers women—always so willing to sacrifice yourselves for each other."

She pulled something from her pocket—zip ties. With practiced efficiency, she bound our wrists behind our backs, the plastic cutting into my skin.

"Now," she said, pulling out her phone. "Time for the main event."

She held up the phone, tapping the screen to initiate a video call. The wind whipped around us as we stood at the edge, teetering on the precipice of death.

"Say hello to your husband," Madelyn said as the call connected.

Dominic's face appeared on the screen, his expression shifting from confusion to horror as he took in the scene—me with my scarred face, Allison with her pregnant belly, both of us dangling over certain death.

"Priscilla! Allison!" His voice was thin with panic. "What's going on?"

"Choose, darling," Madelyn purred into the phone. "Your real family—me—or these two. Come alone, or I drop them both into the concrete."

The phone trembled in her hand as she held it out over the edge, showing Dominic exactly how close we were to falling.

"Choose wisely," she whispered. "And choose quickly."

The Plaza Hotel's VIP suite reeked of expensive cologne and vomit. I could smell it even through my damaged nostrils as security escorted me to where Dominic had been found hiding.

"He's been making calls since the attack," the hotel manager explained quietly. "Trying to reach his PR team."

I pressed my bandaged face gently against the door frame, peering through the crack. Dominic paced frantically inside, his tuxedo jacket discarded on the king-sized bed, his bow tie hanging limply around his neck. His phone was pressed to his ear.

"I don't care what it costs," he hissed. "Buy every headline. Tell them it was a disgruntled employee. Tell them anything but the truth."

He ran his free hand through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up in a way that would have been endearing if I hadn't just learned what a monster he was.

"The board can't know about this," he continued, his voice rising. "Not until after the vote. I'm inches away from controlling the company."

That's when his phone chimed with an incoming video call. He glanced at the screen, and I watched the blood drain from his face.

"Madelyn?" he whispered, as if answering would make it more real.

He swiped to answer, and I saw my own reflection appear on his screen—well, what was left of it. Beside me, Allison's terrified face filled the frame, her hands still protectively cradling her belly.

"Choose wisely," Madelyn's voice purred from the speaker.

Dominic's face contorted. He stumbled backward until his legs hit the edge of the bed. Then his body convulsed, and he vomited onto the pristine white carpet.

"I'll be there," he choked out between heaves. "Don't do anything until I get there."

He ended the call and collapsed onto the bed, his breathing ragged. I watched as he fumbled for a bottle of water, rinsed his mouth, then grabbed his jacket.

"Not the front entrance," he muttered to himself, checking his reflection in the mirror. "Too many reporters."

He slipped out through the connecting door to another suite, then disappeared down the service stairs.

---

"Find him," August Rogers commanded, his voice as cold as steel.

I'd never seen my father like this—the diplomatic businessman replaced by something harder, more dangerous. We were in his study at the penthouse, watching security footage from the hotel on multiple screens.

"The woman who attacked you is Madelyn Boyd," he said, tapping a frozen frame of Madelyn's face. "And these two men with her—they're not random thugs."

Victoria Chen, our head of security, leaned forward. "Ex-military contractors. They've worked for several development companies doing 'eviction assistance.'"

"Thugs for hire," my father translated, his jaw tight. "And they were at the gala because someone paid them."

He turned to Victoria. "I want the Tier 1 team mobilized immediately. Full tactical gear."

"Should we notify the police?" Victoria asked.

August's laugh was humorless. "The police will ask questions. They'll negotiate. They'll try to save everyone."

His eyes met mine across the room. "I don't need everyone saved, Victoria. Just my daughters."

He tapped another screen showing a map of Brooklyn. "Dominic's phone signal is pinging here—the Rivera Tower construction site."

"The foundation pouring was scheduled for tonight," I said, remembering the project timeline. "It would be deserted."

"Except for them," Victoria nodded, already moving toward the door. "I'll have the team there in ten minutes."

---

The wind howled across the rooftop, whipping my hair across my burned face. Madelyn paced behind us, the gun never wavering from its target—our backs.

"Where is he?" she demanded, checking her phone again. "He should be here by now."

As if summoned by her words, the elevator motor groaned to life. We all turned to watch as the metal cage slowly ascended, carrying a single figure.

Dominic stepped onto the rooftop, his hair disheveled from the wind during his ride up. His eyes widened as he took in the scene—me and Allison bound and teetering at the edge, Madelyn's gun steady in her hand.

"Priscilla," he breathed, taking a step forward.

Then he stopped. Just three meters from the elevator, he froze, his eyes darting between us and the relative safety of his escape route.

"Madelyn," he said finally, his voice shaking. "What have you done?"

She laughed, the sound almost lost in the wind. "What have I done? I've created a little drama to force your hand."

Dominic's gaze never left Madelyn's face. "How could you do this to me?"

Not "How could you hurt my wife?" Not "How could you endanger my sister-in-law?" But "How could you do this to me?"

In that moment, as I stood balanced on the edge of death, I finally saw my husband clearly.

"Answer me!" he demanded, his voice rising with indignation. "How could you create such a mess for me to clean up?"

Madelyn's smile faltered slightly, as if even she couldn't quite believe his selfishness.

"Your wife and sister-in-law are about to die," she said slowly. "And that's what concerns you?"

Dominic's eyes darted to the elevator again. He took a small step backward.

"This is going to ruin everything," he whispered. "Everything I've worked for."

And in that moment, as the concrete foundation waited hungrily below us, I realized that Dominic Rivera had never loved me at all.