"Marco!" Sophia squealed, running toward the car.

I barely lifted my eyelids. I needed answers.

But it wasn't Marco. It was Adrian—his secretary.

Sophia's smile dropped. She pouted. "Ugh, YOU? I'm in a mood today. Didn't even get my nails done. He sends you to brush me off? No way. I want HIM here."

"Mr. Varonetti's with his grandfather for the surgery," Adrian said.

She crossed her arms. "So? I hired some foreign expert—it'll be fine! And he still won't come comfort me?"

Adrian frowned. Then his eyes met mine—and he froze.

He rushed over, dropping to his knees beside me, eyes locked on the blood and torn skin.

"Mr. Varonetti said to take her to the hospital right away."

He reached for the ropes.

Barely hanging on, all I felt was bitter irony.

He must've realized the surgery went south—and now he wanted me back.

That operation was high-risk. No one but me could've pulled it off.

"Her?"

Sophia stared at me like she'd seen a ghost, jealousy warping her face.

"So THAT'S why you snuck into Marco's house!" she shrieked. "Pretending to be a driver just to mess with me? Admit it! You've been seducing him, you tramp!"

She smacked Adrian's hand away.

"You think you can replace ME?" she spat. "I've seen your type a thousand times. Marco's just toying with you. And when he's done, he hands you to ME. I get rid of girls like you. Even if I kill you, he'll thank me for it!"

Completely unhinged, Sophia bolted back into the car.

The engine roared to life.

She floored it.

Adrian was left in the dust as the SUV tore forward.

My back split open—skin and fabric shredded together.

My wrists? Ground down to bone.

"AAAHHHHH!"

Sophia shrieked.

Bang! The SUV slammed to a stop.

Adrian had rammed her car with his own.

"Enough!" he yelled, chest heaving. "Mr. Varonetti said bring her back!"

"He doesn't love me anymore?" Sophia sobbed. "He'd rather be fooled by some cheap whore than comfort ME..."

While she melted down, I made my move.

With the last ounce of strength, I ripped through the frayed ropes and crawled toward Adrian.

My bloodied fingers gripped his phone.

My hands—raw, torn, useless. I'd never hold a scalpel again.

The mission was over. I couldn't save Chancellor Ravel.

Bleeding out, I took one last breath.

Through the pain, I forced my ruined fingers to type:

[I failed you. I failed the Council's trust. I can never repay this.]