Addison POV:

I dragged my broken body out of that house, the word "dead" echoing in the hollow chambers of my heart. I didn't look back.

The next few days were a blur of pain and antiseptic smells. I checked myself into a private clinic under a false name, letting doctors patch up the lacerations on my back. I was alone, truly and completely alone, and the solitude was a bitter balm.

On the third day, my phone rang. It was Grayson.

My fingers trembled as I answered.

"Addison," his voice was the same calm, level tone it always was, as if he hadn't abandoned me in the rain, as if my world hadn't just imploded. "There is a charity gala tonight for the Children's Health Foundation. You will accompany me."

It wasn't a question. It was a command.

"I'm not going," I said, my voice flat.

There was a pause. "I am aware of your tendency towards defiance," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "But your presence is not optional. It is a necessary component of our public-facing partnership. I will have a car for you at seven." He hung up.

A cold, mirthless laugh escaped my lips. Our "public-facing partnership." He was still playing the game. He didn't know I'd already flipped the board.

Fine. If he wanted a performance, I'd give him one he'd never forget.

I called Chloe. "I need a dress," I told her. "Something that screams 'I'm back, and I'm untouchable'."

At seven o'clock, I walked out of the clinic. The dress was a masterpiece of shimmering silver, cut low in the back to hint at the bandages underneath, and slit high on the thigh. I was a walking, talking embodiment of revenge.

The gala was a sea of black ties and diamonds. I entered on my own, and a wave of whispers followed me. I was a supernova in a galaxy of pale stars. Men's eyes followed me, hungry and appreciative. For the first time in a long time, I felt a flicker of my old self.

Then he was there. Grayson materialized at my side, his presence a sudden drop in temperature. He draped his suit jacket over my shoulders, his knuckles brushing the bare skin of my back.

"You'll be cold," he said, his voice a low murmur in my ear.

I flinched away from his touch.

"You always hated these formal dresses," he continued, his gray eyes scanning my face. "And the heels. That first night, I promised you could be yourself."

The irony was so thick it was suffocating. He was quoting the very line that had made me fall for him, the beautiful, perfect lie.

"A promise you made to keep your shield polished and in place, right?" I whispered, my voice dripping with venom.

He didn't answer, but I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. He knew. He knew that I knew.

I shrugged his jacket off, letting it fall to the floor in a heap of expensive wool. "Don't worry about me, Grayson," I said, my smile bright and brittle. "I'm drawing quite a bit of attention. Isn't that the point of a 'public-facing partnership'?"

He calmly bent down and picked up the jacket, his movements unhurried. "The divorce," he said, changing the subject. "This is just another one of your games, isn't it? A tantrum to get my attention."

My blood boiled. "This is not a game," I hissed, my voice low and shaking with rage. "I want out. For real."

He looked at me, a strange, confident light in his eyes. "No, you don't," he said, his voice soft but certain. "You're in love with me, Addison. You wouldn't be trying this hard if you weren't."

The words hit me like a slap. He knew. He had known all along, and he had used it. He had watched my pathetic, one-woman show, my desperate attempts to win his affection, and he had been a silent, calculating spectator. My love wasn't a secret to be discovered; it was a weakness to be exploited.

The humiliation was a physical thing, a hot, burning wave that threatened to consume me. I felt like a fool, a clown who had performed her heart out for an empty theater.

I struggled to keep my composure, to keep the tears of shame from falling.

And then I saw it. His gaze shifted, just for a second, over my shoulder. His jaw tightened. The air around him grew heavy, charged with a dark, possessive energy I had only seen once before-in the dive bar, when he was protecting Kennedy.

I followed his line of sight.

There she was. Kennedy Dillard. She was standing across the room, looking exquisite and fragile in a pale blue gown. She wasn't alone. A handsome, smiling man had his arm around her waist, his head bent close to hers as he whispered something in her ear.

Grayson' s hand, which was resting on the back of a chair, tightened. I heard a sharp crack. He had snapped a piece of the wood clean off.

He was jealous. Not for me, but for her.

He didn't even try to hide it. The mask of calm discipline was gone, replaced by a raw, naked possessiveness. All for her.

He grabbed my arm, his grip like a vise. "We're leaving," he growled.

"Let go of me!" I tried to wrench my arm free, but he was too strong. He dragged me from the ballroom, his strides long and angry. He shoved me into a deserted, dimly lit corridor, pressing me against the cold marble wall.

"You think this is a game?" he snarled, his face inches from mine, his gray eyes stormy. "You want to provoke me, Addison? You want a reaction?"

Before I could answer, his mouth crashed down on mine. It was a brutal, punishing kiss, fueled by his jealousy for another woman. He was using me, my body, as an outlet for the rage he felt watching Kennedy with someone else.

The realization was a fresh wave of agony. I was a tool. A convenient, available object for him to use to vent his frustrated passion.

Then, the corridor door opened.

Kennedy stood there, her eyes wide, her face pale. She saw us. She saw him kissing me, his hands tangled in my hair, my body pressed against his.

And Grayson, my husband, didn't stop. He deepened the kiss, his eyes locked on Kennedy's, a tormented, defiant fire blazing in their depths.

I was a weapon. He was using my lips, my body, to wound the woman he truly loved.

---

Addison POV:

A strangled gasp escaped Kennedy's lips. Her face, already pale, turned ashen. Her eyes, fixed on us, filled with a mixture of shock and betrayal. Then, without a word, she turned and fled, her blue gown a whisper in the silent corridor.

The moment she was gone, Grayson's assault ceased. He pulled back, his chest heaving, his eyes still staring at the empty space where she had been. The look on his face was one of profound, agonizing regret. It was the look of a man who had just deliberately shattered the one thing he held sacred.

The coldness in my veins turned to ice. I was nothing. Less than nothing. I was a prop in his twisted, tragic play, a convenient body to be used to provoke a reaction from his true audience of one.

"A prostitute," I whispered, the word tasting like bile in my mouth. "You use me like a common prostitute."

My hand moved before my brain could process the command. I slapped him, hard, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the corridor. The force of it snapped his head to the side.

He slowly turned back to face me. The wild, pained look in his eyes was gone, replaced by a dazed, empty confusion, as if he was waking from a trance. He looked at me, a stranger in his own life, and the emptiness in his gaze was the final, killing blow.

I scrambled away from him, my hands shaking as I tried to smooth down my dress, to piece together the shredded remnants of my dignity. I ran, my heels clicking a frantic, desperate rhythm on the marble floor, away from him, away from the suffocating truth of my life.

I burst out of the corridor and almost collided with a small, trembling figure.

It was Kennedy.

"Mrs. Daugherty," she said, her voice soft, but her eyes anything but. There was no heartbreak in them now. Only a cold, hard hatred that was unnervingly familiar. It was the look of a rival.

"Get out of my way," I said, my voice hoarse. I was too tired, too broken, to deal with her.

She didn't move. "You think you've won, don't you?" she sneered, the fragile facade dropping completely. "Just because you have his name? He will never love you. He's mine."

"He's all yours," I spat, trying to push past her. "I don't want him."

Suddenly, she moved. She grabbed a half-empty champagne bottle from a passing waiter's tray and swung it. I saw a flash of green glass, a glint of reflected light, and then an explosion of pain at the side of my head.

The world dissolved into a cacophony of shattering glass and a high, piercing ringing in my ears. Black spots danced in front of my eyes, and the floor rushed up to meet me.

I woke to a throbbing, relentless headache and the sterile white of a hospital room. I was alone. For a moment, I thought I' d imagined the whole thing. Then I heard voices from the hallway. Grayson's voice, low and tense. And hers.

"I didn't mean to, Gray," Kennedy was saying, her voice thick with unshed tears. "I was just so angry. So jealous. She's so beautiful, and her family is so powerful. I saw you with her, and I just... I panicked."

It was a masterful performance. The vulnerable, frightened girl, driven to violence by love and fear.

I heard Grayson sigh, a sound of deep, bone-weary resignation. "I know, Kenny. It's not your fault."

My heart, which I thought had already been shattered into a million pieces, somehow found a new way to break.

"She's just a contract, Kenny," he said, his voice dropping to a soothing murmur. "That's all she's ever been. A necessary arrangement to keep you safe. She is nothing. You are everything. I'll handle this. I'll make it go away."

She is nothing.

The words echoed in the silent room, in the silent chambers of my soul.

She. Is. Nothing.

---

Addison POV:

The door creaked open, and Grayson stepped inside. He looked tired, his perfect suit slightly rumpled, a dark, healing bruise visible on his shoulder where Kennedy had bitten him. He carried the scent of her perfume.

He looked at me, his face a mask of cool authority. "Kennedy feels terrible about what happened," he began, the lie smooth and practiced. "It was an accident. She mistook you for someone else in the heat of the moment."

I just stared at him. The audacity of it, the sheer, insulting fabrication, was breathtaking.

"She's fragile, Addison," he continued, his voice taking on a warning tone. "I don't want this incident to cause her any more distress. For my sake, you will let this go."

A slow, dangerous anger began to burn through the ice in my veins. "Let it go?" I repeated, my voice a low growl. "She assaulted me, Grayson. She smashed a bottle over my head. And you want me to 'let it go'?"

His brows drew together in a faint line of annoyance. He wasn't used to being defied.

"I will go to the police," I said, my voice gaining strength. "And I will press charges. The Talley family may have disowned me, but our lawyers are still on retainer. I wonder how the Daugherty Corporation's stock will fare when its heir's precious 'white moonlight' is facing an aggravated assault charge."

I had him. I saw it in the flicker of panic in his eyes. He had underestimated me. He'd assumed the broken, lovesick girl he'd married was still there. She wasn't. She had died on a rainy street corner, been buried at a family dinner, and had her grave desecrated on a ballroom balcony.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice tight. It was the language he understood. A transaction.

"I want her to drink," I said, a cruel smile twisting my lips. I pointed to the bottle of whiskey a well-meaning visitor had left on my bedside table. "The whole bottle. Right here, right now."

Kennedy, who had been hovering in the doorway, let out a small gasp. Her face went white. "Gray, I can't... I don't drink..."

"Oh, I know," I purred, my eyes fixed on her. "But you're so good at swinging bottles, I thought you might be just as good at emptying them. Or should I call those men from the bar? I'm sure they'd be happy to help you with a drink."

Her eyes filled with terror. She looked at Grayson, her lip trembling.

He looked from her to me, his jaw tight. Then, he snatched the bottle from the table. "I'll drink it," he said, his voice grim. "She made the mistake. I'll take the punishment."

"Grayson, no!" Kennedy cried, grabbing his arm. "You can't! You're allergic! It could kill you!"

He gently but firmly removed her hand. "Stand aside, Kennedy."

My heart gave a painful lurch. He was willing to risk his life for her. For her honor. The proof was irrefutable, a searing brand on my soul.

I watched, my face a stony mask, as he tilted the bottle back and began to drink. He didn't stop, didn't pause for breath. He drank it like it was water, his Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow. The amber liquid disappeared, bottle after bottle. He'd sent his assistant for more. The room filled with the sharp, cloying smell of whiskey.

Red blotches began to appear on his neck, spreading up to his face. His breathing grew labored. But he kept drinking. When the last bottle was empty, he slammed it down on the table and looked at me, his eyes bloodshot but defiant.

"Are you satisfied?" he rasped.

At that moment, a nurse came in. "Mrs. Daugherty, it's time for your check-up."

It was the perfect distraction. As Grayson swayed on his feet, his body fighting the allergic reaction, I moved. I snatched an empty whiskey bottle from the table.

Kennedy saw me coming. Her eyes widened in terror.

"You hit me once," I said, my voice deadly calm. "I believe in paying my debts. In full."

I swung the bottle. It connected with her head with a sickening thud. She crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

I dropped the bottle, its clatter loud in the sudden silence. I turned and walked out of the room, not looking back.

"Addison!" Grayson roared my name. It was the first time he had ever yelled at me, his voice a raw, broken sound of fury and disbelief. I heard him scrambling, calling for a doctor, his voice full of frantic concern. For her. Always for her.

I didn't stop walking. I let the nurses guide me to the examination room. Lying on the cold table, listening to the hurried footsteps and panicked shouts outside, a single, hot tear finally escaped and traced a path down my temple.

He never came to see me again in the hospital. I spent a week there, alone, with only the hum of the machines for company. When I was discharged, I didn't go back to the penthouse. I called Chloe.

"Find me the most expensive, most decadent, most unapologetically sleazy club in this city," I told her.

That night, surrounded by pulsing music and hedonistic strangers, I tried to burn the memory of him out of my system.

"Are you sure about this, Addy?" Chloe asked, her eyes full of worry as she watched me down another glass of champagne.

"I am a Talley," I said, the name tasting like ash. "We don't break. We just get even." I slammed the glass down. "Now, find me the prettiest boy in this room. I'm paying."

Chloe sighed but did as I asked. Minutes later, a young, beautiful man with eyes the color of the sea and a smile that could melt glaciers was sitting beside me. I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear, ready to lose myself in a meaningless, physical oblivion.

A hand clamped down on my wrist, the grip like steel.

I looked up into the cold, furious eyes of Grayson Daugherty.

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