Ava POV

I was trying to heal. Or at least, I was going through the motions.

The safe house was quiet, more of a tomb for the woman I used to be than a sanctuary.

Then the door burst open.

It wasn't an assassin. It was Ethan.

He strode in like he owned the very air I breathed, bringing the sharp scent of rain and expensive leather with him.

Ben Carter trailed behind him, eyes fixed firmly on the floor, clutching a medical bag like a shield.

"You look terrible," Ethan said.

He didn't sound concerned. He sounded annoyed, like a mechanic looking at a broken engine.

"Get out," I said. My voice was raspy, scraped raw from disuse. "We have an agreement. I signed the papers."

"Papers are for lawyers, Ava. Blood is forever."

He signaled to Ben with a sharp jerk of his chin. "Check her."

"No." I backed away until my legs hit the metal edge of the cot. "I don't need a checkup. I need you to leave."

Ethan erased the distance between us in two long strides. He clamped a hand onto my shoulder, his fingers digging mercilessly into the bruise from the fall at the gala.

"Don't be difficult," he hissed. "Ben needs to make sure you're... viable."

Viable?

I looked at Ben. "What is he talking about?"

Ben finally looked up, his gaze trembling. His eyes were wet. "I'm sorry, Ava. He didn't give me a choice."

Before I could scream, Ethan pinned my arms to my sides. He was strong, terrifyingly so. I struggled, kicking at his shins, but he didn't even flinch, like I was nothing more than a tantruming child.

"Do it," Ethan commanded.

I felt the sharp bite of a needle in my neck.

"No!" I tried to twist away, but the room was already tilting sideways. "Ethan, please..."

"Shh," he whispered, smoothing my hair as my knees gave out. He caught me, lowering me onto the bed with mocking gentleness. "It's for the greater good. You'll understand."

The world went black.

When I opened my eyes, the smell hit me first. Antiseptic. Bleach. Old blood.

I wasn't in the safe house.

I was in a room with concrete walls and fluorescent lights that buzzed like angry hornets. I tried to move my arms, but heavy leather straps bound my wrists to the metal rails of a hospital bed.

Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my veins like ice water.

"She's awake," a voice said.

I turned my head. Ethan was standing there. Next to him was a gurney.

And on that gurney lay Chloe.

She looked pale, sickly. But when she saw me, her lips curled into a weak, triumphant smirk.

"Hi, sis," she rasped.

"Ethan," I choked out. "What is this?"

Ethan walked over to me. He looked calm. Rational. It was terrifying.

"Chloe is in renal failure," he said simply. "The years of... lifestyle choices. Her kidneys are shutting down."

My blood ran cold.

"And?"

"And you're a match," he said. "We checked your file years ago. Just in case."

"No," I whispered, horror clawing at my throat. "You can't."

"It's just one kidney, Ava," he said, casual as a neighbor asking to borrow a cup of sugar. "You have two. You owe this family. You owe me."

"I owe you nothing!" I screamed, straining against the straps until the leather burned my skin. "I saved your life! I gave you ten years! You killed my baby!"

"Don't start with the hysterics," he snapped, dismissing my agony with a wave of his hand. "This is happening. I'll compensate you. A million dollars. Cash."

He was buying my body parts. He was harvesting me like livestock.

"Don't struggle," Chloe said from the other bed, her voice dripping with venom. "You're just property, Ava. You always were."

Ben Carter stepped into my line of sight. He was wearing surgical scrubs. He looked like he wanted to vomit.

"Ben, please," I begged. "Don't do this."

"If I don't," Ben whispered, leaning down to check the IV line, refusing to meet my eyes, "he'll kill my sister. I'm sorry, Ava."

Ethan leaned over me one last time. His face was close, too close.

"This is your final service," he said. "Do this, and we're square."

He nodded to Ben.

Ben injected something into my IV.

"Ethan!" I screamed, the darkness rushing in fast this time, a tidal wave of nothingness. "I will kill you! I swear to God, I will-"

The words dissolved into silence.

Ava POV:

Pure, unadulterated pain.

It wasn't just a dull ache; it was a raging inferno centered in my side, a tearing sensation that throbbed violently with every sluggish beat of my heart.

I woke up amidst a heavy fog, my mouth tasting of dry cotton and the copper tang of old pennies.

Instinctively, I tried to sit up, but a fresh wave of blinding agony slammed me back against the thin, unforgiving mattress.

With trembling fingers, I reached down.

My hand brushed against thick, rough gauze taped securely to my right flank.

It was gone. A vital part of me was simply... gone.

The door clicked open, slicing through the silence.

Ethan walked in.

He was impeccable in a fresh, tailored suit, the crisp fabric contrasting sharply with the sterility of the room.

Between his fingers, he held a lit cigarette, the smoke curling lazily into the air.

He looked down at me not with guilt, but with a cold, clinical distaste.

"You're up," he stated flatly.

"You... monster," I rasped, the words scraping against my parched throat.

He shrugged, flicking ash onto the linoleum floor.

"Chloe is stable. The transplant was a complete success. You should be proud to have saved a life."

"I hate you," I whispered, putting every ounce of my remaining strength into the venom.

"Hate is a strong emotion, Ava. It implies you still care."

He dropped a heavy duffel bag on the floor with a thud.

"Your money is in there. And your clothes. Get dressed."

"I... I can't move," I gasped.

"Figure it out," he snapped, checking his watch. "This clinic isn't a hotel, and frankly, you've outlived your usefulness."

He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving the door ajar.

It took me twenty agonizing minutes just to pull on my pants.

Every subtle movement felt like the stitches were ripping apart, searing my flesh.

I was sweating profusely, crying silent tears of absolute rage.

When I finally shuffled out into the hallway, clutching the wall for support, two of Ethan's guards were waiting.

They didn't offer a hand.

Instead, they grabbed my arms roughly and dragged me forward.

"Hey!" I gasped, doubling over. "My stitches!"

They didn't care.

They hauled me out the back exit and into the rainy night.

Ethan was waiting by his black SUV, the engine idling.

He opened the back door, and the guards shoved me inside.

I landed awkwardly on the leather seat, crying out as a sharp bolt of pain shot through my abdomen.

Ethan slid in beside me.

He didn't look at me. He kept his gaze fixed out the window as the car sped onto the highway.

"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"Tying up loose ends," he muttered.

We drove for an hour in tense silence.

The city lights faded into the distance as we headed north, toward the desolate cliffs and the old industrial bridges.

The car finally stopped.

Ethan got out, walked around, and dragged me onto the wet asphalt.

We were standing on a bridge overlooking a churning, dark river.

The railing was rusted and dangerously low.

"Ethan, please," I choked out. I wasn't begging for my life-I knew that was forfeit-I was begging for a shred of the man I thought I knew. "Just let me go. I'll disappear. You'll never see me again."

"You know too much," he said, his voice void of emotion. "And you're too angry. An angry woman with your particular set of skills... it's a liability I can't afford."

He pushed me toward the edge.

My hip slammed into the railing.

I looked down.

The water below was black, roiling, and angry.

"This is how it ends," he said softly. "A tragic suicide. Distraught over the miscarriage. It's a clean, tidy story."

"I didn't lose the baby," I spat, forcing him to look into my eyes. "You murdered it."

His expression flickered.

For a split second, I saw a shadow of doubt.

But then the mask slammed back down, harder than before.

"Goodbye, Ava."

He shoved me.

There was a terrifying moment of weightlessness.

The wind roared in my ears, drowning out my scream.

I saw his face, impassive and cold, watching me fall.

Then the cold hit me.

It was like hitting a slab of concrete.

The water knocked the air from my lungs instantly.

The current grabbed me, twisting my injured body violently.

I tried to swim, but the pain was blinding, paralyzing.

My limbs felt like lead.

The darkness swallowed me whole.

As I sank deeper into the abyss, I didn't see my life flash before my eyes.

I saw only one thing.

Revenge.