Annis POV

I woke to the cloying scent of lilies.

I loathed them. To me, they reeked of funerals.

Forcing my heavy lids open, I realized I was lying in a private recovery suite. My arm was thickly bandaged, and my chest ached with a dull, persistent throb that radiated through my ribs.

Dominick was sitting in the wingback chair next to the bed, idly scrolling through his phone. He looked immaculate-freshly showered, hair perfectly coiffed, and dressed in a crisp new charcoal suit.

"You're awake," he said, not bothering to look up.

I tried to push myself up, but the room lurched violently. I fell back against the pillows, gasping.

"The deal," I croaked, my throat feeling like sandpaper. "You said... if I gave the blood..."

Dominick finally lifted his gaze. He stood up, sauntered to the bedside table, and fastidiously adjusted a petal on the vase of white lilies.

"I said we'd discuss a vacation, Annis. I never said I'd grant you a divorce," he replied smoothly. "You're my wife. You belong at the penthouse."

He set the vase back down with a deliberate click.

"Besides," he added, checking his Patek Philippe watch, "you need to recover. You look terrible."

He walked to the door, his hand resting on the handle.

"I have a charity gala tonight. Chastity is feeling much better, thanks to you. She'll be accompanying me."

He opened the door.

"Get some rest. The driver will collect you in the morning."

And then he was gone.

I lay there in the silence, staring at the sterile white ceiling. He had drained me to save her, and now he was parading her around town while I rotted in a hospital bed.

I reached for the bedside table. My phone was gone. Dominick must have confiscated it.

Desperate, I found the room phone and dialed a number I had memorized years ago.

Haven picked up on the first ring.

"Annis?" His voice was laced with panic. "I'm in the lobby. Security won't let me up. They claimed you were in critical condition."

"I'm alive," I whispered. "But I need to get out of here."

"I'm coming up," he said, his voice hardening.

"No," I said quickly. "Wait. I need to go back to the penthouse one last time."

"Why?"

"My passport," I said, my mind racing. "And the files. If I leave now, he'll hunt me down. I need the leverage. I need the documents from the safe."

"Annis, that's suicide."

"I have to, Haven. Just wait for my signal."

The next morning, my discharge was processed with suspicious speed. I felt hollowed out, fragile as spun glass.

Dominick was waiting at the hospital entrance. But he wasn't alone.

Chastity was sitting in the front passenger seat of the limo. She was radiant, her skin flushed with health. She waved at me cheerfully through the window.

Dominick stood by the open back door, impatience etched on his face.

"Get in," he ordered.

I looked at the front seat, then back at him.

"She gets carsick in the back," Dominick said, dismissing my stare with a wave of his hand.

I climbed into the back seat. My luggage was piled on the leather bench next to me, leaving me cramped in the corner like an afterthought.

As we drove through the city, Chastity rested her hand on Dominick's thigh. He immediately covered her hand with his.

"Oh, Dom, look," she chirped, holding up her phone. "The press loved my dress last night. They're calling us the 'Power Couple of the Year.'"

Dominick smiled at her-a genuine, warm smile. One I hadn't seen directed at me in years.

Quietly, I pulled out the burner phone I had hidden in my bra-the one thing Dominick hadn't found because he never touched me anymore.

I opened Instagram.

There it was. A photo of Dominick and Chastity on the red carpet. His arm was wrapped possessively around her waist. The caption read: Building a legacy.

I stared at the screen, my vision blurring.

Five years ago, I had miscarried our child at four months. I had called Dominick from the hospital, bleeding and terrified. He didn't answer. He was in a meeting. When he finally came home, he told me to stop crying, that we could always "make another one."

He never posted a photo of us. He never called us a legacy.

I looked at the back of his head.

With trembling fingers, I typed a comment on the post under a fake account.

May you get exactly what you deserve.

I locked the phone and slid it back into hiding.

We pulled up to the penthouse.

"Home sweet home," Chastity sang out.

I looked up at the towering building piercing the sky. It wasn't a home. It was a crematorium. And I was about to light the match.

Annis POV

Dominick had ordered a ginger tonic for me.

The chef placed it on the kitchen island-a sweating glass of ice and false consideration.

Dominick was in the living room, pouring Chastity a glass of sparkling water, his back to me.

"Drink up, Annis," he called out. "You'll need your strength."

I left the glass sweating on the marble.

I slipped into the guest room. Time was bleeding away.

I needed the documents from the hidden safe behind the hallway painting, and I needed my passport.

I threw open the closet door.

And froze.

My clothes-my silk blouses, my winter coats, the few dresses I actually loved-were shredded.

They hung in tatters, dripping with dark red wine. The smell was suffocating, as if a vineyard had been slaughtered in the dark.

"Well, that's unfortunate."

I turned.

Chastity leaned against the doorframe, a bottle of acetone nail polish remover in one hand and a lit candle in the other.

"You did this," I said.

She shrugged. "I needed the closet space. And honestly? Your taste is so... depressing."

She sauntered into the room, kicking a sodden piece of silk with her heel.

"You know," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. "Dom told me about your grandmother. How she died alone because he was 'stuck in traffic.'"

I went rigid. My grandmother had raised me. When she was on her deathbed three years ago, I had begged Dominick to drive me to the hospice. He said he was delayed. I missed her last breath by ten minutes.

"He wasn't in traffic, Annis," Chastity smiled, cruel and bright.

"He was with me. We were at that little bistro on 4th. He turned off his phone because I didn't want him distracted."

A roar filled my ears-not sound, but pure, white-hot rage.

"You lie," I whispered.

"Ask him," she laughed.

I didn't think. I moved. I lunged.

Chastity shrieked. She stumbled back, the acetone bottle slipping from her grip.

It shattered on the floor, splashing clear accelerant over the wine-soaked silks and the carpet.

The candle in her other hand wobbled.

She threw it at me.

It missed, but it found the puddle.

Whoosh.

The room didn't just catch fire; it inhaled.

Flames roared up the curtains, gorging on the alcohol and chemicals.

Chastity screamed, backing into the hallway.

"Dominick!"

I fell to my knees, coughing as black smoke choked the small room instantly.

My chest tightened. My heart stuttered.

Dominick appeared in the doorway. His eyes went wide.

He looked at the inferno. He looked at me, on my knees, fighting for air.

He looked at Chastity, safe in the hallway, fake tears streaming down her face.

"She tried to burn me!" Chastity screamed. "She's crazy, Dom! Save the baby!"

Dominick didn't hesitate.

He didn't step into the room to help me. He didn't reach for me.

He grabbed Chastity, wrapped his arm around her, and turned his back.

"Let's go," he said to her.

He left me.

He left me to burn.

I watched his back disappear around the corner.

The heat was blistering. The smoke was a physical weight, crushing my lungs.

I crawled. I stayed low, beneath the billowing heat.

I made it to the servants' exit in the kitchen, shoved the door open, and collapsed into the cool stairwell.

I didn't stop. I couldn't.

I ran down twenty flights. My legs felt like lead. My heart screamed against my ribs.

I burst into the alley and hailed a cab.

"The airport," I wheezed.

I had the passport. I had the documents tucked into my waistband.

At the terminal, I bought an envelope.

I shoved my wedding ring inside.

I added the medical records from the clinic-the ones I had swiped from the nurse's station while Dominick was holding Chastity's hand.

I addressed it to Don Carl Olsen.

Then I walked to the trash can.

I took out my phone and snapped the SIM card in half.

I dropped it into the garbage.

I boarded the plane to London.

As the wheels left the tarmac, I looked down at the glittering city lights.

Annis Myers had died in that fire.

The woman sitting in seat 4A was someone else entirely.

And she was coming for blood.

[Annis POV]

The flight to London was eight hours of static silence.

I didn't sleep. I stared out the window at the black Atlantic, watching my reflection in the cold glass. I looked different. Harder. The fear that had defined my life for nine years was gone, burned away in the guest room of the penthouse.

[Dominick POV]

Back in the city, Dominick stood staring at the charred remains of the guest room.

The fire department had extinguished the blaze quickly. The damage was contained to the one wing.

"Where is she?" Dominick asked the fire chief.

"We didn't find a body, Mr. Reyes. She must have gotten out."

Dominick felt a surge of irritation. "Of course she got out." Annis was dramatic, but she wasn't suicidal. She was probably hiding in a hotel, waiting for him to come find her and apologize.

He turned to Chastity, who was sitting in the living room wrapped in a blanket, sipping tea.

"She started it, Dom," Chastity sobbed. "She went crazy. She said if she couldn't have you, no one could."

Dominick frowned. That didn't sound like Annis. Annis was quiet. Annis was controlled. But he had seen the rage in her eyes lately. Maybe she had finally snapped.

He pulled out his phone and dialed her number.

The number you have reached is not in service.

He stared at the screen. She had cut him off.

"Petty," he muttered.

He called Liu, his assistant.

"Go to her old apartment," he ordered. "The one her father used to own. Fill it with luxuries. Flowers. Jewelry. The new Hermès bag she was looking at."

He paused, his jaw tightening.

"And get a locksmith. Change the locks. I want a key."

He hung up, feeling satisfied. He would give her a few days to cool off. Then he would go to the apartment, give her the gifts, and bring her home. She had nowhere else to go. Her family was dead or indebted to him. She was his.

Three days passed.

Dominick stood on the balcony of the penthouse, looking out at the city. The guest wing was being renovated. Chastity was complaining about the smell of smoke.

He hadn't heard from Annis.

Liu called.

"Boss," Liu said, his voice hesitant. "I went to the apartment. The gifts are there. But... nobody has touched them. Dust is already settling on the petals."

Dominick gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white.

"Is she there?"

"No, sir. The place is empty."

Dominick hung up. A cold knot formed in his stomach. Not fear-he didn't feel fear-but a loss of control.

"Where are you?" he texted her dead number.

He went back inside. Chastity was waiting for him, wearing a silver dress.

"Ready for the Don's birthday?" she asked, smiling.

Dominick looked at her. For the first time, her smile looked sharp. Predatory.

He missed Annis's quiet grace. He missed the way she knew how to tie his tie perfectly. He missed the way a tumbler of scotch would appear at his elbow without him asking.

"Let's go," he said curtly.

They arrived at the Olsen Estate. It was a fortress of wealth and power. Don Carl Olsen, the patriarch, sat at the head of the long table, looking like a king on his throne.

"Where is Annis?" the Don asked immediately. He liked Annis. She was respectful. She understood the old ways.

"She's... unwell," Dominick lied. "A flu. She sends her regards."

The Don narrowed his eyes but nodded.

Dinner was served. Dominick couldn't eat. He kept checking his phone under the table. Nothing.

Then, the doors opened.

A courier walked in. He was carrying a sleek, black box and a thick envelope.

"Delivery for Don Carl Olsen," the courier announced. "And one for Mr. Dominick Reyes."

The room went silent.

The courier placed the box in front of the Don and the envelope in front of Dominick.

Dominick stared at the handwriting on the envelope. It was elegant. Precise.

Annis.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

"Open it," the Don commanded.

Dominick tore open the envelope.

Inside, there was a single sheet of paper.

Divorce Decree. Signed. Notarized.

And a ring. The heavy, diamond-encrusted family crest ring he had forced onto her finger nine years ago.

Dominick felt the blood drain from his face.

Don Carl opened the black box.

Inside was the platinum rosary bracelet. Repaired. Polished.

And a medical file.

The Don put on his reading glasses. He read the file. The silence in the room grew heavy, suffocating.

The Don stood up. His face was dark with rage.

He picked up the medical file and threw it across the table. It hit Dominick in the chest. Papers scattered everywhere.

"You forced a transfusion?" the Don roared. "On a woman with a heart condition? To save a whore?"

Chastity gasped.

Dominick stood up. "Grandfather, I-"

The Don slapped him. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the great hall.

"You have no honor," the Don spat. "You treated a daughter of this family like cattle."

Dominick looked down at the papers on the floor. He saw the log of Annis's vitals during the procedure. Cardiac distress. Critical failure imminent.

He looked at the divorce papers in his hand.

She wasn't throwing a tantrum. She wasn't hiding in an apartment.

She was gone.

Dominick crumpled the papers in his fist. The paper cut into his palm, but he didn't feel the pain. He only felt the sudden, terrifying realization that the cage was empty, and the bird had flown.

"Find her," he whispered to Liu. "Find her now."