Ava POV:

My body slammed against the hospital floor, every bone aching, every muscle screaming in protest. My father's last breath, a flatline echoing in the sterile room, was a sound that would haunt me for eternity. I scrambled on my hands and knees, clawing my way towards his bed, towards the cold, still form that was once my vibrant, loving father.

"Father!" My voice was a raw, guttural cry, a sound of pure, unadulterated anguish. I reached for his hand, his skin cool beneath my touch. He was really gone. Because of them.

A rage, cold and absolute, ignited within me. I twisted, snarling, and lunged at Chris, my hands forming fists, striking him wherever I could reach. "You killed him! You murdered my father!" My blows were weak, fueled by grief more than strength, but they carried the weight of seven years of betrayal and a lifetime of love for the man he had just destroyed.

Chris grabbed my wrists, his strength easily overpowering mine. He twisted them behind my back, forcing me to my knees. "Enough, Ava! You're making a scene." His voice was a low growl, utterly devoid of the emotion that gripped me. How could he be so calm? So unfeeling?

"Let me go!" I thrashed against his hold, but it was futile. He held me captive, just as he had held my life captive for so long.

"Ava," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. The choice is yours." He paused, letting his words hang heavy in the air. "Sign the waiver for Kimberli, and I'll allow you to see your father's body one last time. You can arrange a funeral. If you refuse..." He trailed off, but the implication was clear. He would erase my father's existence, just as he had tried to erase mine.

My breath caught in my throat. My father's funeral. The last rites for the man who had always been my anchor. My only remaining family. I hated him, hated Kimberli, hated myself for ever loving such a monster. But I couldn't deny my father his dignity. I couldn't let them desecrate his memory.

"Fine," I choked out, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "I'll sign. Now let me go."

Chris released my wrists, pushing me roughly towards the small table in the corner where the clipboard lay. My hands still trembled, but a cold resolve had settled in my heart. This was not surrender. This was a tactical retreat. A promise of future war.

A nurse, her face pale with shock, brought the clipboard and a pen. My hand was unsteady as I scrawled my signature across the bottom of the document, a meaningless scrap of paper in the face of such monumental loss. It was done. Kimberli Luna was legally absolved of any wrongdoing in my father's surgery. A grotesque parody of justice.

I looked up at Chris, my eyes burning with a hatred so profound it felt like a physical entity. "Now," I said, my voice dangerously soft, "I want to see my father. And then, I want to be left alone to mourn him. You and your... doctor can leave."

Chris hesitated, his eyes flickering towards the doorway as if expecting Kimberli to appear. A frown creased his brow. It was a moment of weakness, a tiny crack in his carefully constructed facade. He actually looked almost... confused.

But Kimberli, ever the puppet master, conveniently reappeared at that moment, her arm still cradled in Chris's. Her eyes, still wide and innocent, darted to me, then to the signed waiver on the clipboard. A small, victorious smile touched her lips. "Chris, darling, are you alright? You look troubled."

He immediately stiffened, his gaze snapping back to her. The fleeting moment of confusion vanished, replaced by his familiar mask of cold control. "I'm fine, my love. Just dealing with Ava." He pulled her closer, his concern for her painfully obvious.

I ignored them both. My focus was solely on my father. I rushed to his bedside, collapsing beside him, cradling his head in my arms. His skin was already growing colder. The machines were silent. The room felt immense, cavernous, filled with the echo of my silent screams.

"We need to get him to emergency care!" I cried, my voice hoarse. He wasn't truly gone, was he? There had to be something. A miracle.

But then, an orderly came in, followed by two security guards. "Mrs. Blevins, Dr. Luna needs the room."

"No! My father needs help!" I screamed, clinging to him.

Dr. Henderson, my father's primary physician, rushed in, looking distraught. "What's going on? Why are they removing the equipment? He needs ongoing monitoring!"

Chris stepped forward, his voice chillingly calm. "Dr. Henderson, Kimberli needs you. She had an unfortunate incident. Your patient here has been... terminated." He used the word with such a clinical detachment it made my blood run cold.

"Terminated?" Dr. Henderson's eyes widened in horror. "What are you talking about? And what incident?"

Kimberli, ever the actress, dabbed delicately at her cheek, a faint red mark visible. "Ava... she attacked me, doctor. Her mental state is fragile. I need immediate attention."

"You lying bitch!" I shrieked, making another desperate lunge for Kimberli, but the security guards grabbed me, restraining my arms behind my back.

"Take her away!" Chris commanded, his voice echoing in the small room. He looked at Dr. Henderson. "You heard her. Kimberli needs you. She's far more important right now. My wife is unstable."

"But... the patient..." Dr. Henderson protested, glancing at my father.

"Is no longer a concern," Chris finished, his voice final. "Now, go. Kimberli is waiting."

The guards dragged me towards the door. I clawed at them, desperate to get back to my father. "No! Don't touch him! He's my father! You can't just leave him here!"

"You should have signed the waiver sooner, Ava," Chris said, his voice devoid of pity. "Your choices have consequences."

My head hit the doorframe as they pulled me through. A sharp pain. My hand went to my head, my fingers coming away sticky with blood. But I barely registered it. All I could see was my father, alone in that cold room, his life cruelly extinguished by the man I had once loved. I would not let this stand. I would fight for him, even if it meant my own destruction. They had robbed me of everything, but they would not rob me of my revenge.

Ava POV:

The guards dragged me down the sterile hospital corridor, my head throbbing, a thin stream of blood trickling down my temple. My father. They had left him there, a silent, damning testament to their cruelty. My legs felt like lead, my body a dead weight, but I fought them, every ounce of my remaining strength fueled by a desperate, burning need to get back to him.

"Chris!" I screamed, my voice raw and hoarse, echoing uselessly in the empty hallway. "Please! Don't do this! He's my father!"

He stood at the end of the corridor, near the elevators, with Kimberli clinging to his arm. He turned, his gaze falling on my bloodied face. A flicker of something – concern? surprise? – crossed his features. He took a step forward, his hand subconsciously reaching out.

"Don't touch me," I spat, recoiling from his gesture, the mere thought of his touch making my skin crawl. "Don't you dare touch me, you murderer."

His hand dropped, and the fleeting spark of emotion vanished, replaced by the familiar, chilling mask. "Ava, you're being hysterical. Look at you. You're bleeding."

"I'm bleeding because of you!" I shrieked, no longer caring who heard. "My father is dead because of you! Because of your precious Kimberli! How can you stand there, so calm, after what you've done?" Tears streamed down my face, mingling with the blood.

He sighed, a sound of profound weariness, as if I were merely an inconvenient child. "Your father's passing was regrettable, Ava. But it was a complication of a pre-existing condition, exacerbated by your refusal to sign the waiver. Kimberli did her best." He spoke with such practiced ease, such calculated detachment, it was sickening.

"Complication?" I choked out a laugh, a harsh, broken sound. "She sabotaged him! And you stood by and watched! You even helped! And now you're worried about her 'unfortunate incident'?" I pointed a trembling finger at Kimberli, who was now hiding her face in Chris's shoulder. "She's a doctor! A doctor who deliberately harmed a patient! How can you defend that?"

Chris' s eyes narrowed, his gaze hardening. "Kimberli is under immense stress. You attacked her. She's fragile, Ava. Unlike you, she feels things deeply."

The words were like a physical blow, designed to cut, to wound. "She feels things deeply?" I echoed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "She's a sociopath! A medical professional who uses her skills to torture and kill! There's nothing fragile about that, Chris. That's pure evil."

His face flushed with color, a rare crack in his composure. His eyes blazed with a cold fury. "Don't you dare speak about Kimberli like that!" He took a step towards me, his hand reaching for my throat. The guards tightened their grip, holding me back. "She means more to me than you ever did, Ava. You'll regret those words."

"I regret loving you!" I screamed, my voice breaking. "I regret every single second I wasted on you!" I struggled against the guards, desperate to break free, to run back to my father. "Let me go! I need to go back to him!"

Chris turned to the guards, his voice low and menacing. "She's clearly unstable. Take her to room 3B in the isolation wing. Sedate her if necessary. And ensure she doesn't leave until further notice."

The words hit me like a physical punch. Isolation. Sedate. He was locking me away, just like before. My head reeled. "No! Chris, please! My father! I need to be with my father!" I begged, tears streaming down my face, my voice choked with raw despair.

He watched me, his face impassive, as the guards tightened their hold, forcing me down the corridor. My head throbbed, the blood from my wound was drying on my skin. I could feel the cold, sterile air on my skin, the overwhelming sense of dread.

"Consider this a necessary measure for your own good, Ava," he called after me, his voice distantly cold. "It's for your protection. And for Kimberli's."

My vision blurred. "You demon! You'll pay for this! You'll pay for everything!" I cursed him, my voice cracking, as they dragged me into a dark, confined space. The door slammed shut, plunging me into darkness. The last thing I heard was the click of a lock, and Chris's words echoing in my mind. Then, the piercing pain in my head became too much, and the darkness consumed me.

Ava POV:

I woke to the insistent, rhythmic beeping of an IV pump and the smell of stale air. My head throbbed, a dull, persistent ache behind my eyes. I was in a different room than before, smaller, with no windows. The walls were padded, a horrifying realization dawning on me. They had moved me to psychiatric observation.

A nurse stood talking to an orderly just outside my door, their voices muffled but clear enough to hear snippets.

"They just cleaned out her father's room," the orderly said. "Poor man. Went so fast."

"Yeah," the nurse replied, her voice tinged with pity. "Dr. Luna signed the death certificate. Acute cardiac arrest. Just hours after his surgery. Tragic."

My breath hitched. Acute cardiac arrest. A lie. Another cover-up. They had killed him. They had truly killed him. And Kimberli, the monster, signed his death certificate.

"And they removed all his personal effects too," the orderly continued. "Just like the husband wanted. Said he didn't want any 'sentimental clutter' around."

My father's things. His watch, his old leather-bound books, the small drawing I gave him as a child. All of it gone. Erased. Chris. He was systematically wiping my father from existence.

"And that poor Mrs. Blevins," the nurse added, her voice dropping. "Heard she went ballistic. Tried to attack Dr. Luna. Completely unhinged, they say."

Unstable. Unhinged. The narrative was already set. I was the crazy wife, mourning her father, who had lashed out at the kind, innocent doctor. My blood boiled.

A guard entered my room, carrying a tray of bland food. His eyes were cold, indifferent. "Eat up," he grunted, placing the tray on a small table. "The doctor will be in to see you later."

"My father," I whispered, my voice cracked and dry. "Is he... is he really gone?"

The guard paused, a flicker of something in his eyes – discomfort, perhaps? He shifted his weight. "He passed away last night. Acute cardiac arrest." He recited the official line, then quickly left, unable to meet my gaze.

He was gone. My father. My gentle, kind father who had always believed in me, always supported me, always loved me unconditionally. He was a victim of their cruelty, a pawn in their sadistic game. Every memory of him flashed through my mind: his booming laugh, the way he'd ruffle my hair, his steady hand guiding me, his wisdom comforting me.

"Ava, my dear," he'd said to me just months ago, his eyes twinkling, "you have a good heart. Don't let anyone dim your light. And sometimes, even the brightest light can be too brilliant for others to appreciate. Don't let their blindness make you doubt your own shine." He had warned me. He had seen Chris for what he was, beneath the charming facade. But I, blinded by love, had dismissed his subtle warnings as overprotective fatherly concerns. My foolishness had cost him his life.

A choked sob escaped my lips, then another, until I was wracked with earth-shattering grief. Tears streamed down my face, hot and endless, carving paths through the dried blood on my temple. My body shook with the force of it, a raw, primal scream trapped in my chest. I buried my face in my hands, wishing I could disappear, wishing I could undo everything. The pain was unbearable, a gaping wound in my soul.

Days blurred into a haze of sorrow and forced sedatives. Then, one morning, the door opened, and I was told I could leave. They handed me a small plastic bag with the few belongings I had on me. My phone was gone. My wedding ring was gone from my finger. It was as if I had never existed.

I walked out of the hospital, blinking in the harsh sunlight, a ghost of my former self. My body was weak, but my resolve was solid as steel. My father would have his justice. I would ensure it.

The first thing I did was arrange for my father's cremation, a quiet, somber affair. No Chris. No Kimberli. Just me, saying goodbye to the only true love I had ever known. Then, I went to my home with Chris, or rather, what used to be our home.

It was empty. Stripped bare. All my personal belongings were gone. My clothes, my books, my photographs. Even the small trinkets I had collected over the years. Nothing remained. The only thing left was an empty shell of a house, and an eerie silence that screamed of erasure.

I pulled out my old laptop from a hidden emergency box and connected to the internet. The first thing I saw was Chris's Instagram. A recent post: a picture of him and Kimberli, sun-kissed and smiling, on a yacht in the Mediterranean. "Finally, true happiness," the caption read. My wedding ring was prominently displayed on Kimberli's finger.

My blood ran cold. He had annulled our marriage. And married Kimberli. How long? How brazen? How could I have been so blind? My heart, already shattered, splintered into a million more pieces. But this time, there was no pain, only a chilling void. My love for Chris Bell was not just dead; it had never existed. It was a cruel illusion, a nightmare from which I had finally awakened.

A cold, calculated plan began to form in my mind, precise and deadly. He thought he had taken everything. He thought I was broken. He was wrong. He had only forged me into a weapon, sharpened by grief and betrayal. I had built Bell Dynamics with him. I knew its every secret, every weakness. And I held the key to its destruction, thanks to my father's foresight. Our prenuptial agreement.

I walked to my father's old study, a room Chris rarely entered. Behind a loose panel in the bookshelf, I found the heavy, leather-bound folder. The prenup. It stipulated that in the event of a divorce, and under certain conditions, I retained a significant portion of Bell Dynamics shares. Shares I had contributed directly through my family' s initial investment.

With trembling hands, I retrieved the document. It was old, predating Chris's success, a relic from a time when he was just a struggling entrepreneur and I, a foolish woman in love. But it was my lifeline. My weapon.

I would divorce him. He thought he had annulled it? We would see. I would make sure he paid for every single tear, every single lie, every single breath my father fought for. My revenge would be a symphony of destruction, a meticulous unraveling of his empire, piece by agonizing piece. He wanted to wipe me out? I would wipe him out first.