The memory of the hospital didn't end there. It dragged Carmen's soul deeper into the nightmare.

Flashback.

The next morning, the hospital room was quiet. The rain had stopped.

The door opened softly. Forrest walked in. He was alone this time. He wasn't wearing a suit. He wore a soft cashmere sweater. In his hands, he held a massive bouquet of white roses-her favorite.

He pulled a chair up to her bed. He didn't mention the lawyer. He didn't mention the security chief.

He picked up an apple from the fruit basket and began to peel it with a small silver knife. His movements were slow, gentle, domestic.

"I remember the first time I saw you," Forrest said softly, his eyes focused on the apple. "At the charity gala in the Hamptons. You were wearing that blue dress. You looked so out of place among all those sharks. I knew I had to protect you."

He handed her a slice of the apple. His fingers brushed against hers. They were warm.

This was Forrest's most dangerous weapon. Gaslighting. He would break her down with cruelty, and just when she was ready to leave, he would drown her in nostalgia and fake tenderness, making her doubt her own sanity.

Carmen's heart, which had died the night before, gave a weak, pathetic flutter. She was so tired. She just wanted the pain to stop.

Forrest saw her shoulders relax. He leaned in, taking her hand in both of his.

"Carmen," he whispered, using his pet name for her. "I need you. I am drowning in this mess. Evelin is just a kid, she's terrified. If you help me do this... if you let us use your things to catch this guy... it will all be over. We can go back to how we were. Just you and me."

He framed the suicide mission not as a sacrifice, but as a team effort. He made her feel essential. He made her feel like she could win his love back by playing the hero.

Carmen looked into his dark, pleading eyes. She felt physically sick to her stomach. She knew it was manipulation. But the exhaustion won. She touched her stomach beneath the blankets. For the sake of the life growing inside her, she just wanted this nightmare to end.

She gave a slow, numb nod.

Forrest exhaled a heavy sigh of relief. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. It felt like ice.

"Thank you," he said briskly, standing up. The tenderness vanished instantly, replaced by business. "I'll have the team coordinate the drop location to pick up your car and coat. You're doing the right thing."

He walked out of the room without looking back.

Carmen sat alone in the quiet room. Her hands shook violently as she grabbed her phone from the bedside table. She couldn't hold it in anymore. She had agreed to his insane plan, but he needed to know the truth. He needed to know he was a father, so he would finally send Evelin away and protect their family.

She dialed Forrest's private number. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang.

Finally, there was a click.

"Hello?"

It wasn't Forrest. It was a woman's voice. High-pitched, breathy, and dripping with honey.

Evelin.

Carmen's blood turned to ice. She couldn't speak. Her throat locked up.

"Oh, is this Carmen?" Evelin asked innocently. "Forrest left his phone on the nightstand. He's in the shower right now."

Through the receiver, Carmen could hear the sound of running water echoing off expensive marble tiles.

"Do you need me to give him a message?" Evelin purred. "Or is it just another one of your little emergencies?"

Carmen gripped the ultrasound photo she had hidden under her pillow so hard the paper crumpled. She opened her mouth, but only a dry sob came out.

In the background of the call, the bathroom door opened. The water stopped.

"Who is it?" Forrest's voice echoed. He sounded annoyed.

"It's Carmen, darling," Evelin called out sweetly.

"Hang up," Forrest snapped. "I told you, I don't want to deal with her drama today. Tell her I'm busy."

Evelin giggled softly into the phone. "Sorry, Carmen. Forrest is a little tied up right now. I'll tell him you called. Bye-bye."

Click.

The dial tone hummed in Carmen's ear. It sounded like a flatline.

She slowly lowered the phone. She looked down at the crumpled ultrasound photo in her lap. The tiny blur of life.

It wasn't a miracle. It was a sick, twisted joke.

A tear fell from her eye, landing directly on the glossy paper, smudging the black ink. Then another fell. And another. She didn't scream. She just sat there, letting the tears soak the paper until the image of her baby was completely ruined.

She had agreed to be the bait. And now, she had absolutely no reason to back out.

The memory skipped forward. The agonizing days of waiting in the hospital blurred into nothingness.

Carmen's soul was dragged to the final night.

Flashback.

Carmen sat in the driver's seat of her Range Rover. She was parked on a quiet, dimly lit street in the Upper East Side. She wasn't supposed to be here. The security team had instructed her to stay in her penthouse while the body double took over. But ten minutes ago, her phone had buzzed in the cup holder.

The screen lit up with a text message from Forrest.

Plan changed. I know about the baby. I saw the ultrasound in your bag. The security team doesn't know. Drive to the Meatpacking District, the alley behind the old slaughterhouse on 14th. I am waiting for you there. We need to talk about our child face-to-face. Don't tell anyone.

Carmen stared at the glowing screen.

Every logical instinct in her brain screamed that this was wrong. Forrest never texted like this. He never went into the field. He hated dirty alleys.

But the poison of love is hope. And the mention of her unborn child was a weapon she had absolutely no defense against.

Deep in the darkest corner of her shattered heart, a tiny, pathetic spark ignited. Did he realize he loved her? Was he waiting there to tell her he was calling off the wedding to run away with her?

That single, foolish spark of hope made her put the car in drive.

She drove downtown. The Meatpacking District was quiet at this hour. She found the alley on 14th Street. It was a narrow, deep chasm between two towering brick buildings. The only light came from a flickering streetlamp at the entrance. The air smelled faintly of old iron and decay.

She parked the car at the mouth of the alley and stepped out. The cobblestones were slick with grime.

"Forrest?" she called out. Her voice echoed off the brick walls.

Silence.

She walked deeper into the shadows. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Forrest, are you here?"

She reached the dead end. There was only a rusted dumpster and a locked metal door. No Forrest.

The spark of hope died instantly, replaced by a freezing rush of pure terror. She had been tricked.

She spun around to run back to the car.

A shadow detached itself from the wall near the exit, blocking her path.

It was a man. He was massive, easily six-foot-four, wearing a filthy canvas jacket. He stepped into the dim light. His face was scarred, and he wore a smile that made Carmen's stomach heave. It wasn't the smile of a mugger. It was the smile of a predator looking at a wounded rabbit.

Carmen didn't know it then, but this was Cletus Paskowski. A serial killer.

She screamed and bolted toward the narrow gap between him and the wall.

Her stiletto caught in the uneven cobblestones. Her ankle twisted with a sharp pop. She crashed hard onto the wet ground, scraping her hands raw.

Panic consumed her. She scrambled backward, pulling her phone from her pocket. Her bloody fingers fumbled with the screen. She hit the speed dial for Forrest.

It rang once. Twice.

"What?" Forrest answered.

The background noise on his end was deafening. Thumping bass music, clinking glasses, people laughing. He was at a party.

"Forrest!" Carmen shrieked, tears streaming down her face as the giant man took a slow step toward her. "Help me! Please! He's here! The stalker! I'm in the alley in the Meatpacking District! Help!"

There was a pause on the phone. Then, Carmen heard Evelin's voice, close to the microphone.

"Oh my god," Evelin whispered loudly. "Is she seriously doing this right now? She tracked you to the party just to ruin our night?"

Forrest's voice came back on the line. He wasn't panicked. He was furious. He was drunk.

"Carmen Campos, have you lost your damn mind?" Forrest roared over the music. "You are so insanely jealous that you're faking an attack to drag me away from a party? You are pathetic!"

Carmen froze. The giant man was five feet away. He pulled a dirty rag from his pocket.

"Forrest, no, I swear to God-"

"I'm done!" Forrest yelled. Jax's laughter echoed in the background. "You are a sick, twisted woman. I don't want to hear your voice again."

The giant man lunged.

A thick, chemical-soaked rag was clamped over Carmen's mouth and nose. The sickening sweet smell of ether flooded her lungs.

She thrashed violently, kicking her legs, but the man's grip was like iron.

Through the phone dropped on the cobblestones, she heard the final sound of her life.

Click.

Forrest hung up.

The darkness swallowed her whole.

End of Flashback.

The memory dissolved. The truth was absolute. The text wasn't from Forrest. Evelin had used a syncing software to send a fake message from his account. Evelin had lured her to the killer. And Forrest had handed her over to the executioner.