Elara POV:

The cemetery was quiet, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. It was the anniversary of my father's death.

"I'm better now, Dad," I whispered, tracing the cold, carved letters of his name. "I'm leaving. I'm going to start over."

I remembered Dante's promise, made at this very spot years ago. I'll come here with you, every year. You won't be alone.

I waited until nightfall, a silent vigil under a starless sky. The car I'd called was late. As I stood by the cemetery gates, a hand clamped over my mouth from behind. A sweet, cloying smell filled my nostrils, and the world went black.

I woke to darkness and pain. I was bound and gagged, shoved inside a rough burlap sack. Every time I struggled, a heavy boot slammed into my ribs, knocking the air from my lungs.

I was dragged across what felt like a field of rocks and gravel, the rough terrain tearing at my skin through the thin fabric of the sack.

Then I heard his voice. Dante's. And hers. Isabella's.

"Please, Dante, perhaps let them go?" Isabella's voice held a brittle, rehearsed tremor. "They were only hired hands."

Dante laughed, a cold, cruel sound that seemed to scrape the marrow from my bones. "This will be a lesson, Bella. A lesson to anyone who ever dares to cross my wife."

A horrifying clarity sliced through the pain. This was a setup.

"Tie her to the helicopter," Dante ordered his men.

My heart hammered against my ribs. No.

"Dante, isn't this a bit... much?" Isabella asked, her tone laced with the detached curiosity of a spectator.

"I know what I'm doing," he reassured her, his voice softening. "Just watch the kite fly."

The roar of helicopter blades filled the air, deafening me. Then, a violent lurch. My body was dragged across the ground, scraped raw over rocks and thorns until every nerve screamed.

The helicopter ascended. I was hoisted into the air, a broken puppet dangling from a string. I could feel the warm slickness of my own blood, a grotesque rain falling from my battered body.

Then, the sickening sensation of falling.

The drop wasn't high, but it was high enough. I felt bones snap, a blinding, white-hot pain exploding through me before the world started to fade.

The sack was ripped from my head.

My last conscious sight was of Dante, wrapping his arm protectively around Isabella's shoulders. He turned and walked away with her, leaving me broken and bleeding on the ground.

I tried to scream his name, but all that came out was a choked, bloody laugh-a sound that clawed its way out of my ruined lungs.

Elara POV:

Pain was a fog, and in it, I dreamed. I dreamed of Dante in Switzerland, dabbing antiseptic on a cut on my hand. His touch had been impossibly gentle, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored my own.

I dreamed of the time I tried to leave him, packing a small bag, telling him I couldn't live in his world of violence anymore. He had held me, his arms a cage of desperation, his voice breaking as he whispered, "Without you, what's the point of any of this?"

Waking was a fresh wave of agony, and with it, a brutal truth. He had found a new point. Someone more important.

Every movement sent a fresh spike of agony through me, but I dragged my broken body from the floor. I packed a single bag, stuffing in my passport and the last of my cash. I had to get out.

As I limped toward the door, my phone buzzed on the counter. A text from Dante.

I've found a better doctor for you in Boston. I'll take you there myself. I won't fail you again. Please, trust me.

I stared at the words, a bitter, broken smile I couldn't feel stretching my lips. Trust him. The very concept was a cruel joke. Every shard of pain in my body was a monument to that trust.

I found an envelope and a stamp. I carefully packaged the discharge papers from the Swiss clinic-the ones that proved I was cleared for release a year ago-and the empty bottle of his falsified medication. I addressed it to his penthouse.

I bit my lip until I tasted blood, a cold resolve solidifying in my chest. I didn't want his apologies. I didn't want his guilt. I didn't want him.

The journey to the airport was a blur of clenched teeth and sheer will. The plane took off into a raging storm, the turbulence a pale imitation of the chaos raging inside me. I stared out the window at the lightning splitting the dark sky.

I smiled.

I found his contact in my phone, the name I had once cherished. My thumb hovered over the screen.

Then I pressed delete.

Elara, I whispered to the ghost of the girl I once was, this time, you will be happy.