Camera flashes exploded like strobe lights along the red carpet outside Rockefeller Center. Reporters screamed over the howling wind, thrusting microphones against the velvet ropes.

A black Rolls-Royce Phantom glided to a stop. A valet in a heavy coat rushed forward and pulled the door open.

Laelia Winters stepped out. She wore a backless silver couture gown that defied the freezing temperature. Her red-soled heels clicked against the pavement. She smiled, a perfect, practiced expression.

Alistair stepped out behind her. His black tuxedo fit flawlessly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and cold, aristocratic features.

He extended his right arm. Laelia instantly wrapped her hands around his bicep, pressing her chest against him.

They walked down the carpet together. The flashes captured the perfect image of the billionaire and his returning first love, broadcasting it to every screen in New York.

Inside the massive ballroom, the heat was stifling. High-society elites swarmed them, offering fake smiles and exaggerated welcomes to Laelia.

Laelia handled them with effortless grace. She leaned her head against Alistair's shoulder. "Thank you for tonight," she whispered, her breath brushing his neck.

Alistair gave a tight nod. His eyes drifted over the crowd. They locked onto a white grand piano sitting empty in the corner of the room.

A sudden, vivid image flashed in his mind. Seraphina, sitting on a similar bench, her head tilted, her fingers moving softly over the keys.

His chest tightened. A sharp, irritating itch crawled up his throat. He grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and swallowed half of it in one gulp.

Laelia noticed the shift in his posture. Her eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second, but her smile never faltered.

"Did your little stand-in finally take the money and leave?" Laelia asked, her tone dripping with fake sympathy.

Alistair stared at the piano. "She signed the papers. She'll be gone by morning."

Laelia smiled in satisfaction. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his cheek.

Across the room, a photographer snapped the intimate moment. Within seconds, it was uploaded to social media.

Julian materialized beside Alistair. He leaned in close. "Sir. I have the papers. She signed."

Alistair frowned. He expected her to refuse, to cry, to demand to see him. Her sudden surrender felt wrong. It felt like a loss of control.

"Process the settlement," Alistair ordered, his voice harsh. "And I want her out of the penthouse by morning. No exceptions."

Laelia sipped her champagne, hiding her smirk behind the crystal rim.

The charity auction began. Alistair sat in the front row. When a rare pink diamond necklace was presented, he raised his paddle. He won it for ten million dollars.

He stood up, took the necklace from the presenter, and fastened it around Laelia's neck in front of five hundred people. The crowd erupted in applause.

Laelia turned and hugged him tightly, burying her face in his chest, claiming him in front of the world.

Alistair wrapped his arms around her waist. But his eyes looked past her hair, staring out the massive windows at the falling snow.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He opened his messages with Seraphina. The screen was blank. No missed calls. No desperate texts. Just silence.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket, anger flaring in his gut. He forced himself to look down at Laelia.

She pulled him toward the dance floor. The orchestra played a slow waltz.

They moved together under the chandeliers. But beneath the expensive fabric of his suit, Alistair felt a cold, hollow draft blowing through his chest, a void he couldn't explain. The image of her jagged, blood-smeared signature haunted him. He abruptly stopped dancing, pulling away from Laelia's embrace. "I have to go," he muttered, his voice tight. He ignored her shocked, indignant expression and strode straight off the dance floor. He needed to see her broken submission with his own eyes. He needed to know she wasn't playing another game.

Clara Donovan burst through the heavy doors of the VIP ward. She still wore her white lab coat, her chest heaving from sprinting up three flights of stairs.

She gripped her phone so tightly her knuckles were white. The screen was illuminated, playing a looped video of Alistair fastening the pink diamond around Laelia's neck.

Clara shoved open the door to Seraphina's room. She stopped dead in her tracks.

Seraphina lay against the pillows. A thick white bandage wrapped around her forehead. Her skin was the color of ash.

Clara gasped. The phone slipped from her fingers, hitting the linoleum floor with a sharp crack.

She rushed to the bed and gently pulled back the thin hospital blanket. She stared at Seraphina's legs and arms. Massive, dark purple bruises mottled her skin. Deep red abrasions covered her knees.

As a trauma surgeon, Clara's brain instantly categorized the injuries. Blunt force trauma. Violent impact.

She thought of the news video. She thought of Alistair's cold, ruthless reputation. Tears welled in her eyes.

"Did he do this?" Clara's voice shook with rage. She pointed a trembling finger at the dropped phone. "Did that bastard beat you to force the divorce?"

Seraphina pushed herself up on her elbows. Pain shot through her ribs. "Clara, listen to me-"

"He beat you!" Clara sobbed, the tears spilling over. "He beat you until you lost the baby! I'm calling the police. I'm going to destroy him."

Clara spun around and grabbed the hospital phone from the bedside table.

Seraphina lunged forward. She grabbed Clara's wrist, her fingers digging in with desperate strength.

"Stop!" Seraphina hissed. "If you call the cops, he will crush you. You'll lose your medical license tomorrow."

In the hallway outside, the elevator doors chimed. Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed on the tile. Alistair walked down the corridor, a dark cloud of fury surrounding him. He had come to see if her submission was just another trick.

Inside the room, Clara tried to yank her arm away. "I don't care! He belongs in jail!"

Seraphina heard the footsteps stop right outside her slightly open door. She saw the shadow of a man's dress shoes block the light from the hallway gap.

Alistair was listening.

Seraphina's mind calculated the variables in a fraction of a second. She needed Alistair to stop hunting her. She needed him to be so disgusted that he would never look for her again.

She let go of Clara's wrist. She reached for the heavy glass water pitcher resting on the bedside table and hurled it violently against the wall. It shattered with a deafening crash, sending shards of glass flying across the linoleum.

Clara screamed and stumbled backward, covering her face.

Seraphina immediately dropped to her knees beside the bed, carefully protecting her stomach, and let out a loud, agonizing wail. She grabbed Clara's coat, pulling the doctor down with her. "Don't move," she whispered fiercely under the cover of her fake sobs.

Outside, Alistair froze. His hand hovered over the door handle.

"He beat you until you miscarried!" Clara cried out, her voice carrying clearly into the hall. "Why are you protecting him?"

Alistair's heart stopped. The word 'miscarried' slammed into his brain like a bullet.

Seraphina looked up at Clara. She let out a dry, harsh laugh. The sound was eerie, echoing off the bare walls.

She raised her voice, making sure every syllable pierced the crack in the door. "He didn't do this, Clara. I did."

Clara froze. She stared down at her best friend, confusion replacing her anger.

Seraphina stared at the wall, her eyes wide and empty. "I threw myself off that cliff. I wanted the baby to die. I made sure it didn't survive."

Outside the door, Alistair's body went entirely rigid. The blood drained from his face. His fists clenched so hard his fingernails cut into his palms.

Seraphina sat on the cold floor, her back against the metal bedframe. She looked up at Clara's horrified face and kept pushing the lie.

She forced tears into her eyes, letting them spill down her cheeks in a display of manic grief. "Why should he get to be happy with his first love while I raise his bastard? I wanted him to feel it."

She spat the words out with venom. "I want him to live the rest of his life knowing his own flesh and blood is dead because of him."

Clara covered her mouth with both hands. She backed away slowly, looking at Seraphina as if she were a monster.

A deafening crash shattered the room. The heavy wooden door flew open, slamming against the wall so hard the plaster cracked.

Alistair stood in the doorway. His eyes were bloodshot. The veins in his neck bulged against his collar. He radiated a terrifying, murderous energy.

He crossed the room in two massive strides. He shoved Clara out of the way. She hit the edge of the bed and fell.

Alistair bent down. His large hand clamped around Seraphina's throat. He stood up, dragging her off the floor by her neck.

Seraphina's feet dangled in the air. Her hands instinctively flew up, clawing at his iron grip. Her lungs burned as the airway crushed shut.

"Is it true?" Alistair's voice was a demonic growl. He shook her. "Did you kill it?"

Seraphina looked down into his furious eyes. Her vision swam with black spots. She forced the corners of her mouth up into a twisted, victorious smile. She gave a single, jerky nod.

She managed to force a whisper through her crushed windpipe. "You couldn't... protect it. You're... nothing."

The insult hit Alistair's core. His pride, his ego, his fundamental need for control-she had destroyed it all.

He opened his hand. Seraphina dropped like a stone. She hit the mattress and bounced, gasping violently for air. She coughed, her chest heaving, but her eyes gleamed with cold triumph.

Clara scrambled up and stood in front of Seraphina. "Get away from her! You're a murderer!"

Alistair didn't even look at Clara. He stared down at Seraphina. The fury in his eyes morphed into something worse. Pure, unadulterated revulsion.

"You are the most disgusting, vile creature I have ever met," he said. His voice was terrifyingly calm now.

Seraphina's heart gave a painful throb, but she kept her face locked in a mask of defiance.

"Discharge her," Alistair ordered. "Now."

"Sir," the director stammered. "She has severe trauma. Legally, we can't-"

Alistair stopped. He slowly turned his head. His eyes were dead. "My men will handle the paperwork. Get her out of my sight."

He walked away. The sound of his dress shoes faded down the hall.

Julian stepped into the room, followed by two of Alistair's massive private security contractors. Julian dropped an 'Against Medical Advice' release form on the bed along with a pen.

"Sign it," Julian commanded coldly. Seraphina's hand shook, but she scrawled her name, finalizing her own eviction.

The two bodyguards stepped forward. They grabbed Seraphina by the arms and hauled her up.

Clara tried to fight them, but one of the men shoved her back against the wall with brutal force. Seraphina looked back and gave Clara a sharp look, warning her to stay quiet.

A terrified nurse rushed forward and threw a thin cashmere coat over Seraphina's shoulders before retreating.

Alistair's men dragged her down the corridor. The hospital staff averted their eyes, terrified of the billionaire's wrath.

They reached the loading dock at the back of the hospital. The heavy steel doors were pushed open. The guards shoved her forward into the alleyway.

Seraphina stumbled out into the freezing night. The metal doors slammed shut behind her, the deadbolt sliding into place, locking her out in the deadly storm.