Harlow POV

Dawn broke over the estate in a bruised palette of charcoal and violent purple.

I was still kneeling.

My body had transcended pain, settling into a strange, floating numbness that felt dangerously like dissociation.

When the servants finally came to collect me, my legs refused to cooperate.

They had to half-carry me, their eyes fixed on the floorboards, terrified to witness the aftermath of the Don's cruelty.

They deposited me in my room like a broken doll, but I didn't crawl into the sanctuary of my bed.

I couldn't.

I had to leave.

With trembling hands, I washed the gravel embedded in my knees, the water in the basin turning murky.

I changed into a high-necked dress, the fabric stiff enough to hide the fresh bandages wrapped around my torso.

I packed a single bag.

I was limping toward the main staircase, hope fluttering in my throat, when Kaden blocked my path.

He looked immaculate-freshly showered, smelling of sandalwood and arrogance.

Brittaney was draped over the banister behind him, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Going somewhere?" Kaden asked, his voice devoid of warmth.

"I'm leaving," I said, my voice raspy from disuse.

"We have a schedule, Harlow."

He checked his watch, stepping over my declaration as if it were nothing more than debris.

"Brittaney needs a new wardrobe for the season. You have an eye for... decent things."

"You're taking her shopping."

I stared at him, disbelief warring with exhaustion.

"You want me to take your mistress shopping?"

"I want you to do your job," he said smoothly. "Make her look presentable. She lacks your... polish."

"I refuse."

I turned to walk away, my movements jerky and uncoordinated.

"Get in the car, Harlow," Kaden said.

It wasn't a request; it was a command.

Two bodyguards stepped in front of me, walls of muscle in black suits.

I was trapped.

Again.

The limousine ride was a silent torture chamber.

Brittaney sat across from me, kicking my shins 'accidentally' with her heels, her smile sharp enough to cut glass.

At the boutique, she was a monster wrapped in silk.

She tried on everything.

She bought nothing.

She made me fetch sizes, holding dresses up against her body and asking if they made her look 'too skinny,' fishing for compliments I refused to give.

"Carry these," she commanded, shoving a mountain of shopping bags into my arms.

My back was on fire.

The stitches were pulling, tearing at the tender flesh beneath.

"I can't," I whispered, the bags slipping from my numb fingers.

"Pick them up!" she hissed, her facade dropping. "Or I tell Kaden you stole something."

I gritted my teeth until my jaw ached.

I bent down.

I picked up the bags.

I walked behind her like a pack mule, sweat drenching my dress, shivering from a fever that was climbing higher by the minute.

When we finally returned to the mansion, I collapsed onto the foyer bench, my vision swimming.

Brittaney dumped the clothes onto the floor in a heap.

"Oh, Kaden!" she called out, her voice pitching up into a whine.

He appeared from his office, his presence instantly sucking the air from the room.

"Harlow got the clothes dirty," she pouted, pointing a manicured finger. "Look at the dust on the bags."

Kaden looked at the bags. Then at me.

"Wash them," he said.

"What?" I whispered, the room tilting.

"Hand wash them. Silk ruins in the machine."

"Kaden, I'm sick," I pleaded, holding up my trembling hands. "Please."

For a second, the ice in his eyes cracked.

He saw the unnatural flush on my cheeks. The way I was shaking like a leaf.

"Oh, don't be mean to her, Kaden," Brittaney said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "I'll do it. I don't mind doing hard work. Unlike some people."

She reached for a blouse.

"Leave it," Kaden snapped at her, making her flinch.

Then he turned his glare back on me.

"You are useless, Harlow."

"Wash the clothes. Or get out of my sight."

I took the clothes.

I walked to the laundry room, every step a battle against gravity.

I filled the basin with cold water.

My hands were raw.

My back was bleeding again; I could feel the warm wetness sliding down my skin.

I scrubbed the silk until the water swirled pink, the blood seeping through my bandages mingling with the suds.

I heard them in the hallway.

Kaden's voice, low and tender-a tone he used to use for me.

"You're too good for this place, Britt," he whispered.

I scrubbed harder, trying to drown out the sound of my heart breaking.

The room began to spin.

The floor tilted violently.

Black spots danced in my vision, consuming the light.

I fell.

The darkness was a relief.

I woke to the rhythmic beep of machines.

White walls. The stinging smell of antiseptic.

A hospital.

A nurse was adjusting an IV in my arm, her hands shaking slightly.

"Mr. Barnes brought you in," she whispered, looking terrified. "He was shouting at everyone to save you."

Hope, that treacherous little bird, fluttered in my chest.

He cared.

He had brought me here.

The door banged open, shattering the moment.

Kaden stormed in.

He didn't look relieved.

He looked murderous.

He crossed the room in two predatory strides.

Before I could speak, before I could ask what happened, I felt the cold, hard steel of a gun barrel press against my forehead.

"You bitch," he roared, his eyes wild.

"You put needles in her dress?"

Harlow POV

The muzzle of the gun pressed against my forehead, the steel biting cold against my feverish skin.

Kaden's finger hovered over the trigger, trembling with restrained violence.

His eyes were wild, the pupils dilated, swimming with a rage that bordered on absolute madness.

"I didn't put needles in anything," I whispered, my voice cracking as I stared up at him, pleading for sanity.

"Don't you dare lie to me!" he roared, the sound ricocheting off the sterile white walls like a physical blow.

"She put the dress on! She was bleeding!"

"I didn't do it, Kaden. I washed the clothes myself. I would have felt them."

But he didn't want logic.

He wanted a villain.

"Get her up," he barked to the guards stationed at the door.

"Mr. Barnes, please-she's critically ill," the nurse stammered, stepping forward with trembling hands. "She has sepsis from infected wounds on her back. Moving her could kill-"

"Get out!" Kaden bellowed, turning his fury on her.

The nurse didn't wait to be told twice; she fled the room.

The guards moved in like vultures.

They didn't bother to be gentle. With a savage jerk, they ripped the IV from my arm.

Blood sprayed in a hot arc across the pristine white sheets.

I screamed as they hauled me out of the bed, my body screaming in protest.

My legs gave way instantly, useless beneath me, but they didn't let me fall.

They dragged me through the hospital corridors, my bare feet scuffing the linoleum, out the back exit, and threw me into the rear of a waiting black SUV.

Kaden took the wheel.

He drove like a demon possessed, a heavy, suffocating silence filling the car.

Back at the estate, they didn't take me to the main house.

They took me to the cellar.

The air down there was thick with dampness and rot, hitting my lungs and forcing a jagged cough from my chest.

They chained my wrists to the wooden crossbeam-a fixture I knew was used for interrogating rival cartel members.

My feet barely brushed the dirty floor.

The strain on my shoulders was immediate agony, a fire spreading through my joints.

Kaden stood in the shadows, the flare of a lighter illuminating his hard face as he lit a cigarette.

"Confess," he said, smoke curling from his lips.

"I have nothing to confess."

He nodded once to a figure lurking in the corner.

The Enforcer.

A giant of a man with dead, shark-like eyes.

In his massive hands, he held a pair of pliers and a long, thin sewing needle.

"Harlow," the Enforcer said, his voice flat, devoid of humanity. "Just say you did it."

"No."

He stepped forward.

He took my hand in a grip of iron.

With agonizing slowness, he slid the needle under my fingernail.

The scream that tore from my throat didn't sound human.

It was a primal, jagged sound of pure, white-hot torture.

"Confess," Kaden commanded from the dark.

"I didn't... do it!" I sobbed, gasping for air, my vision blurring.

Another needle.

Another scream.

My world went black.

I floated in a sea of pain, untethered from time.

I don't know how long it lasted.

Hours?

Days?

I woke up in my own bed.

Soft sheets. The scent of lavender.

Lily, my private maid, was sitting by the bedside, weeping softly as she carefully bandaged my mangled fingers.

"Lily?" I croaked, my throat like sandpaper.

"Oh, Miss Harlow," she cried, jumping up. "You're awake."

She leaned in close, her voice a terrified whisper. "She's lying. I saw Brittaney putting the needles in the dress herself. I saw her do it!"

"Tell him," I rasped, desperate. "Tell Kaden."

She stood up, her face pale but set with determination.

"I will."

She went to the door.

Just then, a scream echoed from the courtyard below.

A man's scream.

Lily froze.

She cracked the door open, peered out, and then slammed it shut, her face draining of all color.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's the Enforcer," she whispered, trembling violently. "The Don is whipping him."

"Why?"

"Because he touched you," she said, looking at me with wide, fearful eyes.

Hope fluttered in my chest, fragile and weak.

"He knows I'm innocent?"

"No," Lily said, her expression shifting to pity.

"He's shouting that you are the Don's wife. That you are Family Property."

"He's saying no other man has the right to mark his possessions."

The hope died instantly.

He wasn't protecting me.

He was protecting his ego.

I was just a vase that someone else had dared to chip.

I lay there for a week.

Lily fed me broth.

My fingers throbbed with every heartbeat. My back ached from the old wounds.

But the silence was the worst part.

Kaden never came.

Not once.

On the seventh day, the door swung open.

Kaden walked in.

He was dressed in an impeccable tuxedo, looking like a prince from a dark fairytale.

"Get up," he said.

I looked down at my bandaged hands.

"We have a gala tonight. The Senator is expecting us."

"I can't hold a glass, Kaden."

"Wear gloves," he said, tossing a velvet box onto the bed with careless disregard.

"And stop sulking."

"Brittaney is willing to forgive you."

"Forgive me?" I laughed, a dry, cracked sound. "For what she did to herself?"

"Drop it, Harlow."

He walked to the mirror, adjusting his tie with practiced ease.

"We are a united front tonight."

"You will smile."

"You will stand by my side."

"And you will look like the Queen of this city."

"Or what?" I asked softly.

He met my eyes in the reflection, his gaze cold enough to freeze hell.

"Or I will let the Enforcer finish what he started."

Harlow POV

Brittaney's nails dug into the tender flesh of my upper arm, sharp crescents biting through the long satin sleeve of my gown.

"Move it, Duchess," she hissed.

I stumbled, barely catching myself on the limousine's doorframe.

My body was a wreck, a fragile architecture held together by high-dose painkillers and sheer, stubborn willpower.

Inside the car, the air was suffocating, thick with the scent of leather and Brittaney's cloying perfume.

She draped herself over Kaden like a cheap fur coat, giggling incessantly and whispering wetly into his ear.

I sat on the opposite seat, staring out the darkened window, invisible.

A ghost haunting my own life.

We arrived at the Private Club, the beating heart of the city's underworld.

The music was already thumping, a heavy, rhythmic bass that vibrated painfully against my bruised ribs.

The atmosphere shifted the moment we entered. Heads turned.

The Don. The Mistress. And the Wife.

The whispers started immediately, a sibilant hiss underneath the music.

"Look at her dress," someone murmured nearby. "It's last season's."

"I heard she's sleeping in the guest wing."

"Brittaney is the real mistress of the house now."

I kept my chin up, staring straight ahead.

The Ice Queen mask was cracked, hairline fractures running through the porcelain, but it hadn't shattered yet.

Kaden led us to the VIP section, holding court like a king on his throne.

Politicians, mobsters, corrupt judges-they all came to kiss the ring.

I stood slightly behind him, a shadow, my gloved hands clasped tight to hide the bandages beneath.

Brittaney was preening, drinking champagne too fast, her laughter shrill and too loud for the room.

Then, the music stopped.

A sudden, jarring silence fell over the crowd.

I looked up.

From the mezzanine balcony, a shower of white paper began to fall.

Like snow.

Hundreds of photographs, drifting lazily down onto the dance floor.

A man standing next to me caught one as it fluttered past.

He looked at it.

Then, slowly, he looked at me.

His eyes widened in shock.

I snatched the photo from his hand.

It was a nude.

Grainy, taken in a bedroom I recognized instantly.

It was the Master Bedroom of the Barnes estate.

But the woman...

The woman was on her knees, wearing a leather collar.

Her face was turned away, obscuring her identity, but the hair was blonde. Platinum blonde.

Like mine.

And like Brittaney's.

My heart hammered violently against my injured ribs.

Brittaney went pale, the champagne glass trembling in her hand. She grabbed Kaden's arm.

"Kaden," she squeaked, terror choking her voice.

Kaden snatched a photo out of the air.

He stared at it.

His face went blank. Deadly calm.

He pulled his gun and fired a single shot into the ceiling.

The room went deathly silent.

"Who did this?" he asked, his voice low but carrying to every dark corner of the room.

No one moved.

He looked at the photo again.

He recognized the body.

He knew every inch of Brittaney.

He knew it was her.

Then, slowly, he looked at me.

He looked at the crowd, watching, waiting for the Don to react to his house being exposed.

I saw the calculation in his eyes. If he admitted it was his mistress, he looked weak. A man who let his side-piece get compromised.

But if it was his wife...

If it was his wife, she was just a whore. And he was the victim.

"Explain this, Harlow," he said, thrusting the photo into my face.

I recoiled as if he had struck me.

"That's not me," I whispered, my voice trembling. "You know that's not me."

Kaden smiled.

It was a shark's smile-cold, predatory, void of humanity.

"The Mistress of the House seems to have forgotten her dignity," he announced to the room, his voice ringing with mock disappointment.

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

He was confirming it.

He was branding me.

"Whore," someone whispered.

"Disgusting," another spat.

Kaden grabbed my arm, his grip bruising.

"We're leaving."

He dragged me through the crowd, forcing me to walk the gauntlet.

I could feel their eyes. Their judgment peeling the skin from my bones.

The shame burned hotter than the lashes on my back.

He threw me into the car.

Brittaney scrambled in after us, sobbing hysterically.

"Oh god, Kaden, my career! If anyone finds out it's me..."

"Shut up," he snapped.

He looked at me.

I sat there, frozen, tears streaming silently down my face.

"Why?" I asked, my voice barely a croak.

"Why did you do that?"

He lit a cigarette, his hand perfectly steady.

"Better you than her, Harlow."

The words hit me like a physical blow to the chest.

Better me.

I stared at him, trying to comprehend the depth of the betrayal.

"You destroyed my reputation. My dignity. To save a stripper's vanity?"

"She is fragile," he said coldly, exhaling smoke. "You are strong. You can take it."

I laughed.

It was a broken, jagged sound, scraping my throat.

I laughed until I couldn't breathe, until the edges of my vision blurred.

"You think I'm strong?" I choked out.

"I'm not strong, Kaden. I'm just broken."

He looked away, staring out the window at the passing city lights.

"I would sacrifice anyone for her," he said softly. "Even you."

The car braked hard.

We were home.

I opened the door.

I didn't wait for him.

I walked into the house, my footsteps echoing in the foyer.

I didn't go to my room.

I went straight to the guest bathroom.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

The Ice Queen was gone.

There was only a woman with dead eyes staring back.

I peeled off the gloves.

My fingernails were black and blue.

I unzipped the dress and let it pool on the floor.

My back was a map of scars.

I realized then that hope was the enemy.

Hope was the thing that kept me staying.

Hope that he would see me.

Hope that he would care.

But he had just told me the truth.

I was a sacrifice.

And the altar was ready.

I sat on the cold tile floor and waited for the silence to kill me.

But it didn't.

Instead, a new feeling began to grow in the hollow space where my heart used to be.

Cold.

Hard.

Indifference.

I didn't hate him anymore.

Hate requires passion.

I felt nothing.

And for the first time in five years, I was free.