"You vile witch! I’m gonna make sure you join my son in the grave today!"

The shrill scream rang in Zara Powell’s ears right before a boot connected with her ribs, sending her sprawling back into the edge of the dining table. She curled in on herself instinctively, shielding her abdomen with both arms and ignoring the searing pain screaming up her spine. "It really was self-defense when I killed Watson Rivera! The court ruled it, they found me not guilty! You can’t just go taking the law into your own hands like this."

Cataleya Rivera, clutching a sobbing Ailani Rivera to her chest, spat her words like poison right at Zara’s feet.

"Ha! Don’t kid yourself—we know exactly how much the Powells paid your lawyer. And who even knows what else you gave him for that verdict! The law failed our family, but even if it costs me my life, you’re gonna pay for what you did today!"

Cataleya’s eyes blazed with raw fury. She snatched a paring knife off the counter and lunged straight for Zara.

"Bang!"

The front door flew open off its hinges.

Cataleya froze mid-step, spinning around to see who’d burst in.

Zara lifted her head and caught sight of Samir Powell stepping over the threshold. It was like seeing a flicker of lightning cut through a dreadful, pitch-black night. Her throat tightened, emotion clogging her words before she could even speak. "Samir, tell them I didn’t mean to kill Watson. You’re the only one who believes me, right?"

The cold, imposing man walked straight toward her, then sank to one knee in front of her.

Zara reached out, aching to throw herself into his arms. She’d spent three days locked in jail, living every second paralyzed by fear and anxiety, and finally the court had set her free. She’d barely made it out, and here he was.

Her hand stretched out… but before she could even brush his shirt, a hard, brutal hand clamped around her throat.

Samir’s fingers squeezed tight, no mercy at all, cutting off her air.

His voice was ice-cold, stripped of every scrap of warmth it had ever held for her. "How dare you walk out of that place alive?"

Zara’s eyes blew wide open. She couldn’t believe the violent stranger staring down at her. The suffocating feeling swallowed her whole, but she pushed past the black spots dancing at the edges of her vision, voice raw and desperate. "The court cleared me—it was self-defense… I have the ruling right here, Samir, it’s in my pocket. Let me show you."

To her shock, Samir let go.

A tiny flicker of hope sparked in Zara’s chest. She fumbled frantically in her pocket, pulled out the folded court document, and shoved it at him.

He didn’t even glance at it. He struck a lighter, set the whole paper on fire, and tossed the burning scrap straight onto Zara’s dress.

Her pale, flowy Victorian-style dress burst into a small blaze instantly, leaving a charred hole through the fabric. The tender skin underneath bubbled up into a angry, throbbing red burn.

Zara frantically brushed the smoldering paper off onto the floor. Samir never moved, his eyes still cold, thick with contempt. "Just because Ailani had a thing for me, you had to kill her brother, leave her broken and suicidal. Then you bribed your way out of the charge. Zara, you’re shameless. You’re heartless."

Desperate, Zara crawled forward, clutching at his trouser leg, her voice fragile and shaking. "No, I didn’t. Watson said I had to get out of the way so his sister could have you. Samir, you have to believe me—Ah!"

Samir wrenched his leg free of her grip and kicked her hard in the side. The pain left Zara drenched in cold sweat, her face as pale as death.

Just as he lifted his foot to kick her again, Zara screamed out, "You can’t do this! I’m pregnant. It’s our baby—our child."

"Child?"

Samir’s eyes flashed with icy rage. He stepped forward, grabbed Zara’s frail shoulders, and wrenched her head up to force her to look him in the eye. "You actually have the guts to say you’re carrying some bastard in there?"

Zara shook her head so hard her neck ached. "No! It’s not! It’s our baby—mine and yours!"

"I went to the doctor’s appointment with you last week. You never said a word about being pregnant. How do you lie to my face like this, so shamelessly? Hmm?"

His grip tightened until her bones ached, and Zara gasped in pain.

"I wasn’t lying! I wanted it to be a surprise at our engagement next week, that’s why I didn’t say anything at the checkup. I really am pregnant, and Watson’s death really was self-defense. Please, just believe me."

"Slap!"

Samir finally lost his patience, and his hand cracked hard across Zara’s face.

He sneered down at her. "A surprise? You’ve been dying to marry into the Powell family, and you’d keep something this big quiet? I bet that brat in your belly is your lawyer’s. Zara, you’re more depraved than I ever imagined."

Zara clutched her stinging cheek, too stunned to even breathe as she stared up at Samir.

What was he talking about? What lawyer? What lawyer’s baby?

Everyone in this town knew: Zara Powell had only ever loved one man. Her whole world had always revolved around Samir Powell.

Samir saw her wide-eyed shock and assumed she was faking it. He pulled a stack of photos out of his jacket and hurled them straight at her face.

"You talked your way out of a murder charge with that self-defense bullshit. What’s your excuse for this?"

Zara stared blankly at the photos scattered all around her on the floor. They showed her with her defense lawyer, in intimate poses she’d never been in.

Everything in those photos—the location, the poses—were all wrong. Things she never did.

She lifted her head, suddenly so exhausted she didn’t have the strength to fight anymore, to defend herself.

"I didn’t do any of this. I can’t even explain where these photos came from."

Samir pressed the sole of his shoe down hard on her burnt hand, twisting until the broken blisters popped and oozed.

He looked like a completely different person—his face, his voice, nothing like the man she’d loved. All she saw was a stranger’s raging hatred burning back at her.

"What? Got all that fake innocence and you can’t keep lying anymore?" he purred, cruel and cold.

Zara looked up at him weakly. The light in her eyes—the light that had always been only for him—was fading fast.

She spoke so softly it was almost a whisper. "Samir… do you really think I’m that despicable?"

Not satisfied with his answer, he lifted his foot again and kicked her as hard as he could right in the abdomen.

"Despicable? That’s too nice a word for you. The name Zara Powell should be in the dictionary next to the definition of filthy, evil trash!"

The agonizing pain in her belly finally broke through her last bit of composure. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and a bitter, broken smile tugged at her lips. "Even a tiger doesn’t eat its own cubs. Samir… you really are that cruel."

"Breaking already? Save the tears. The real show hasn’t even started yet."

Samir left her bleeding and broken on the floor. He cast a warm, soft glance at Ailani before walking out the door, never once looking back.

Zara Powell had passed out from the pain, and when she finally came to, dusk had already fallen. She woke up to find herself stretched out on a hospital bed.

When she fluttered her eyes open, a news report was playing on the wall-mounted TV.

"This morning, Mr. Samir Powell, president of Powell Group, announced he is cutting all ties with Powell Enterprises and pulling every last cent of his investment. The move sparked a massive industry-wide boycott of Powell Enterprises, throwing the company into an unprecedented crisis..."

Zara sat bolt upright, a crippling wave of dizziness crashing over her.

Ailani Rivera was sitting right beside her bed, remote in hand, staring at her with a toxic mix of spite and glee. "How does this feel, seeing all this?"

Zara clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. "How could you do this..."

"Ah, right," Ailani cut in smoothly, like she’d been waiting for the opening.

"You’ve been locked up for three days, so you’re probably totally out of the loop. That story broke three days ago. In those three days, your dad panicked so bad he got tangled up in some illegal fundraising scheme. He’s already behind bars."

Zara’s eyes turned blood red. She lunged at Ailani, screaming, "You’ve gone too far! I’ll kill you!"

Ailani effortlessly shoved the weakened Zara right back onto the mattress, then kept going, twisting the knife deeper.

"Don’t be so hasty—there’s more. With your dad in prison, Powell Enterprises went up in flames. Your mom panicked and ran straight out into the street… and got hit by a car. She’s still clinging to life here in the hospital, no one knows if she’ll pull through."

Zara bit her lip until it bleed, her heart splitting clean in two. She didn’t know where she found the strength, but she launched herself off the bed and wrapped her hand around Ailani’s throat.

"This is bullshit! Samir would never do this to me, he never would!"

Ailani only looked more pleased, pouring more gasoline on the fire. "Oh, he absolutely would. My brother’s dead, and Samir hates seeing me upset. So he ruined your whole family just to cheer me up."

"How do you sleep at night? How do you live with yourself!" Zara shook violently, her rage boiling over as she squeezed harder around Ailani’s neck. With her other hand, she ripped at Ailani’s hair hard enough to pull it out by the roots.

"Ailani, you witch! I’ll kill you right here! Don’t act like I don’t know what you did—you manipulated my unstable brother to come after me, you started all of this!"

Zara didn’t know Samir had called a few minutes earlier. Ailani had just muted the call on purpose, let him listen.

Ailani practically had a death wish, even choking she still gasped out more poison: "And about the engagement next week? Samir says it’s still on… just with me. He’s gonna take care of me for the rest of his life, step in for my brother, who was his best friend."

"I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you! Samir is mine! Ailani, you’ll never have him, never!"

*CRASH!*

A rough force suddenly wrenched Zara backward, slamming her hard into the floor. Pain exploded through every fiber of her body, sharp and searing.

It was Samir who’d pulled her off. Now he was gently helping Ailani back onto the chair beside the bed, brushing her off like she was spun glass. Once he was sure she was unhurt, his soft, worried expression melted straight into fury. He strode over to Zara, wrenched her chin up roughly in his grip.

"You asked for this, Zara. You finally showed your true fucking colors. Marry me? You think you’re even worthy of that?"

Marry me? You think you’re worthy? Worthy.

Zara stared blankly up at the man who looked ready to tear her apart, a bitter, crippling sadness swelling in her chest.

Once, he’d whispered to her, "Zara, I’m the luckiest man alive to get to marry you. I swear I’ll spend my whole life being loyal to you, trusting you, protecting you."

That vow still rang in her ears, now it was just hollow, painful noise.

Zara breathed out a soft, shaky sigh. The pain of his grip on her chin was nothing compared to the agony twisting her heart apart.

When she finally spoke, her voice was eerily calm. "Samir, I only have two questions. Once you answer them, I’ll accept whatever you decide to do with me."

He blinked once, his face quickly sliding back into that cold, unreadable mask, and said nothing.

Zara stared straight into his eyes, her voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. "Was it you that pushed my family to the edge? That put my father in jail, that got my mother hit by a car and left her fighting for her life?"

Ailani looked away, unable to hold Zara’s gaze. But Samir’s merciless voice rang out clear and cold: "Yes."

One word. Light as a feather, and it stabbed straight through Zara’s heart.

Haze began to cloud her empty, numb eyes.

Looking at him now was like staring at a total stranger, someone she’d never known at all. "They loved me, they raised me for almost twenty years. They did nothing wrong. I killed someone, I’m beyond saving, I deserve every punishment I get… but Samir. They did nothing wrong."

Her voice shook, stripped of all warmth.

She’d been wrong. So utterly, completely wrong.

She’d misjudged him, dragged her parents—who should have been enjoying their peaceful retirement—straight into a living hell.

Samir turned away in disgust, scoffing coldy. "Nothing wrong? Failing to raise a decent daughter is their fault. They raised someone as vicious as you. That’s failure enough."

Zara couldn’t help it. She laughed.

It got louder and louder, until it was almost hysterical, tears streaming down her face blurring everything she saw.

Samir looked away, disgusted by her little show.

The killer was her. The one who hid what she’d done was her. The one who betrayed him, slept with another man, was her!

What right did she have to feel wronged? What right did she have to play the victim?!

"Any more questions?" Samir snapped, impatient.

Zara finally stopped laughing. She looked up at him, and her eyes were completely empty of any expectation.

"No more. There’s no point."

From now on, whether Samir married Ailani or any other woman, it didn’t mean a thing to her anymore.

Samir stood up, waved a hand to call the men waiting by the door into the room.

"You’re done asking questions, aren’t you? Good. Take her to the psychiatric institution. Let her spend a year in there to ‘recover’."

A flicker of shock finally crossed Zara’s face. She slowly lifted her head to stare up at the man standing over her, in control of everything. "What did you say?"

He was going to lock her up like she was crazy? Throw her away to rot with the mentally ill? What about Powell Enterprises? What about her parents?

Samir wouldn’t even glance at her again. His voice was colder than ice. "You killed Watson Rivera. I’m not giving you another chance to hurt Ailani."

Two big bodyguards in black stepped forward to pin Zara’s arms behind her back.

Zara didn’t struggle. She knew fighting back was useless. Her voice cracked, raw with a despair she’d never felt before in her life.

"Samir. I, Zara Powell, swear on everything sacred to me—if my parents get out of this safe, I will never forgive you for as long as I live. If anything happens to them… I will come back for you one day. I will avenge them."

Samir’s fingers twitched slightly. Even as Zara was dragged out of the hospital room, he never looked back.

Whether it was because he didn’t want to. Or because he didn’t dare.

Zara was dragged out of the hospital, and her frantic, wild laughter echoed down the corridor, lingering long after she was gone, refusing to fade.

Zara Powell had been locked in the psych ward for five days already. She was burning up with a fever that hit 104, half-unconscious on the thin hospital bed. Her clothes were soaked clean through with sweat, and she shook so hard her teeth chattered from the bone-deep cold.

In the dim, flickering light, a handful of other patients crowded around her, gawking with wide, curious eyes.

Suddenly—*crash*!

The rotting old door flew right off its hinges. A crew of huge, rough-looking goons barged in, all of them looking ready to break something. The patients shrieked and scattered like spooked mice. The leader stepped straight over to Zara, tangled a fist in her hair, and wrenched her off the bed to the floor before kicking her hard into the corner.

Warm blood trickled down her thigh, her face drained to ghostly pale, and she clutched her abdomen, agony ripping through her.

She fought to pry her eyes open, staring up at the strangers looming over her. Her voice came out so thin it was barely a whisper: "Who are you?"

A man with a jagged scar slicing across his cheek stepped forward, and ground his lit cigarette out right into the meat of Zara's shoulder. The searing, blinding pain almost shoved her straight into unconsciousness.

He growled, low and menacing: "Where's the money? Samir gave you half a million. The Powell Corp owes us tens of thousands—you think you can play games with me?"

Half a million. What a sick joke, she thought bitterly.

When she huffed a bitter laugh, he kicked her again, hard. "Spit it out! Quit messing me around!"

The blow landed square on her jaw. Blood oozed from the corner of her mouth, mixing with the cold sweat dripping down her face.

She pulled her cracked lips into a smirk: "I don't have any money. If you want my life, take it."

"No money? Really?" He dropped to his knees, slapping her over and over with his greasy, calloused hand.

Just then, a voice crackled from the hidden phone tucked in her shirt—Samir Powell’s voice, cold as ice: "Don’t call me unless you’re dead."

The goons froze for a beat, then scrambled to yank the phone out of her clothes.

Another guy pulled their boss aside, hissing under his breath: "Boss, let’s bounce. If Samir shows up, we’re all screwed."

Grumbling, the boss pushed to his feet, spat right in Zara’s face, and stormed out.

Zara tried to scream, tried to beg. Her whole spirit was already shattered… but even now, she clung to one thin, fraying thread of hope.

"Samir, they’re here to kill me. Will you save me? Will you save our baby?"

The answer sliced through the air, cold and sharp as a blade: "Stop faking it. Even you dying to atone for Watson’s life, for the Rivera family—this is what you deserve."

The goons paused in the doorway, listening.

Samir went on, short and brutal: "And as for that brat? It deserves to go to hell right with you."

The men swapped knowing, sleazy grins and burst out laughing.

Why would they worry? Why would Samir bother saving the woman who killed his family?

Zara’s hand, clutching the phone to her trembling lips, finally went limp.

Her voice broke into a ragged whisper: "It’s our baby, Samir. No matter how much you hate me, just save the baby. Didn’t you say you always dreamed of having our child?"

"Samir, the doctor said my condition is rare. I can’t get pregnant again. If I lose this one, I’ll never have another chance."

"Samir, I’m begging you. Save me. Save this baby."

Silence.

Zara’s tears fell silent and hot, despair deeper than a frozen heart—no, worse than that. It was despair that wouldn’t let her die, wouldn’t let her fade.

She never should have called.

She hung up, letting the phone slip from her numb fingers and clatter to the floor.

The men came back. This time, the boss didn’t hesitate. He pressed his scuffed, dirty boot hard down on her already broken hand.

"Quit your whining! Hand over the money!"

Zara scraped together the last of her strength to speak: "I don’t have money. Only my life."

Suddenly, the boss’s eyes lit up with greed, locked right on Zara’s hand.

He bent down, yanking at her finger to get at the ring: "This thing looks like it’s worth a pretty penny."

Zara wrenched her hand back as hard as she could, gasping: "It’s fake."

A month ago, Samir had proposed to her with that ring.

The whole room burst out laughing.

The boss wrenched her hand back into view, sneering: "Bullshit. The fancy Powell heiress wearing a fake? Let’s see how much it’s worth."

"No, it’s worthless, it really is!" Zara’s voice was barely a breath as she pulled with everything she had left to get away.

The boss paused, surprised she still had any fight left in her.

He sneered again: "Oh? Which little lover boy gave this to you, huh?"

More cackles erupted.

Zara lifted her head weakly, panting: "Give me time. I’ll pay off every cent Powell Corp owes you."

The scarred man’s face darkened. He dragged Zara’s hand out from under her and snapped an order.

"Ungrateful bitch. You want to play hard to get? Fine, you get the consequences. Paul—cut her finger off."

Another man moved instantly, pulling a sharp switchblade out, holding it right over Zara’s knuckle, ready to slice.

Her heart hammered so hard she thought it would burst out of her chest. She whimpered, broken: "Okay, okay, I’ll give it to you, I’ll take it off for you—"

The scarred man laughed, dark and sinister: "Sorry, Miss Powell. Changed my mind. That finger of yours is worth more than any ring to Samir."

The sharp blade sliced down. White-hot agony tore through her, and everything went black.

A bucket of ice water slammed into her face, jerking her back to the pain. Even death wouldn’t let her have it.

Over the ringing in her ears, the scarred man leaned in close, his voice roaring right against her eardrum: "Samir wanted me to tell you—if you want out of here, stop taking it silent. Kill someone, and you get your escape."

"He’s real curious to see if Miss Powell can still walk free if she kills again."

Blood poured down her thigh, and her whole world narrowed down to a blinding, horrifying crimson.

The scarred man stood up, called the lingering patients lingering hovering outside the door in, and tossed a big bag of candy and chips onto the floor.

The simple-minded patients swarmed it immediately, grabbing for the treats: "Candy! Wow, so much candy!"

The scarred man grinned: "See that bleeding lady over there? Every day you make her cry, you get more of this. More than this."

The patients looked up, hungry for more: "Really, mister? I know what to do—I’ll put bugs in her bed, and worse stuff, lots of ways!"

The scarred man nodded: "Smart. Just don’t let the nurses catch you."

They nodded hard, grinning.

The scarred man stepped over to Zara, half-dead on the floor, and whispered soft and cruel right in her face: "Miss Powell, there’s a knife under your pillow. When it gets too bad, kill whoever you want. Thanks for the finger."

Zara closed her eyes, defeated.

The nightmare was over.

No.

This nightmare would replay, day after day, for the next 365 days. Every minute, every second.

Samir Powell. With every breath I have left, I pray that in the next life, and every life after that, I never have to see your face again.