My husband, Killian Thorne, the Don of the Thorne family, watched as his one true love, Lena Finch, cried out in agony over a paper cut.

To punish me for it, he locked me in the family's sub-zero vault to "reflect on my actions."

While I was trapped, Killian whisked Lena away to Miami, where they basked in the sun and sipped champagne on a private yacht.

A week later, when he returned and unsealed the vault, the sight of my frost-caked corpse made him shatter.

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1

The moment my husband, Killian Thorne, strode into the foyer, his first words were, "Has she learned her lesson yet?"

The housekeeper, Mrs. Petrova, shook her head. "Not yet, Mr. Thorne. It's been eight days now. Don't you think it's time to let Mrs. Thorne out?"

Killian’s fingers stilled on his tie. He snorted, the sound dripping with contempt. "What's the rush? A few more days in there won't kill her. Let her stew. It's the only way she'll learn not to cross me. By the way, is that soup I ordered for Lena ready?"

"It's ready."

"Bring it up."

Mrs. Petrova sighed to herself but didn't dare utter another word.

Just then, Lena Finch drifted down the stairs, barefoot and wrapped in his silk bathrobe, her voice a fragile whisper. "Killian."

Killian noticed her damp hair clinging to her shoulders and immediately scowled. "Why didn't you dry your hair? Are you trying to catch a cold?"

He sent Mrs. Petrova for a towel at once. When she returned with it, Killian took it from her and began to personally dry Lena's long hair. The patience in his movements, the tenderness in his gaze—it was a kindness I had never dared to hope for.

"Killian, please let Aurora go. Don't be angry with her anymore, okay?"

At the mention of my name, the tenderness in Killian's face evaporated, replaced by a grim impatience. "Lena, don't plead for her. If she hadn't laid a hand on you, you wouldn't have gotten hurt. She nearly killed you. She has this coming. It's the only way to ensure she never tries it again. Every time I picture what she did, I want to snap her worthless neck."

His words sent a phantom chill skittering down my spine. I was already dead, yet the memory of his fury still rattled my very soul.

Lena's expression fell. "But I don't want my presence to ruin your relationship with Aurora. You're husband and wife, after all. Just being by your side is enough for me."

Killian leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Lena's forehead. "If she hadn't used such despicable means to force us apart all those years ago, you never would have left."

"Don't worry. Once I settle my current business, I'll file to terminate the marriage. Then I'll give you the grandest wedding this city has ever seen. You will be the one and only matriarch of the Thorne family."

Lena lowered her head, a shy smile gracing her lips. Killian seemed moved by the sight and was about to lean in closer when Mrs. Petrova hurried over.

"Mr. Thorne, I was just passing the basement. I smelled a strange metallic tang coming from inside. Should you go and check? I'm worried something has happened to Mrs. Thorne..."

I stared at Killian, searching his face for a flicker of concern. There was none. He just snorted with contempt.

"This is just another one of her ploys. Ignore it. The vault has emergency ventilation and backup food. She won't die. Mrs. Petrova, if you say one more word on her behalf, you can pack your bags and leave."

A bitter smile twisted my lips.

Had he forgotten? I had nothing on me when he shoved me in there. Food? I could barely draw a breath.

The memory alone sent a sharp pang of agony through me. Why, even in death, did this torment feel so real?

Lena's gentle voice broke the silence. "Killian, maybe you should still check on her."

Killian stroked her hair. "Don't worry. I know exactly what I'm doing. Let her stay in there and reflect. She won't dare to touch you again."

But for me, there would be no next time. I was already dead.

My spirit fractured, weeping in silence.

It happened on our wedding anniversary. I’d spent the afternoon painting a portrait of us. I set it on an easel, waiting for Killian to come home so I could surprise him. But the hours bled into one another, and he never came.

Just as I was about to call him, Lena appeared in the doorway of my studio. She snatched a letter opener from the desk, slashed the canvas to ribbons, and then leveled the point at my forehead, her chin held high.

"You think marrying him makes him yours? Don't be a fool. He's mine."

I had had enough. I shoved her hand away. In a flash, she spun around, slashed her own palm with a blade she'd had concealed, and collapsed to the floor, blood streaming from the wound.

And that, of course, was the precise moment Killian walked in. His gaze fell on me, his face twisting in fury. "Aurora Valerius! You know Lena has a rare blood disorder! Are you trying to kill her? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Lena tugged at Killian’s trouser leg, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. "Killian, please… don't blame Aurora… It was an accident… I'm so sorry. I think… I think I’m dying. Promise me you'll take care of yourself. And be good to her…"

Killian's face was a terrifying mask of rage. He swept Lena into his arms and rushed out to a waiting car, never once glancing back. I stood there, watching them disappear, and felt something deep inside me go still and cold.

That night, Killian dragged me from my bed. Convinced I had tried to murder Lena, he was determined to make me pay. He hauled me toward the underground vault, my struggles useless against his strength.

"Please, don't do this! I'll die in there!"

"You're scared? What about Lena? Did you think about her when you attacked her?"

I was sobbing too hard to speak clearly. "I didn't hurt her! She cut herself! I didn't do it. You have to believe me!"

"So now you're claiming she framed you?" he snarled.

I clung to the heavy steel doorframe, my hands a desperate anchor against the crushing certainty of what was to come.

"I'm pregnant. You can't do this to me!"

I had planned to tell him after giving him the painting. A surprise.

Killian didn't believe me. I fumbled in my pocket, pulling out the pregnancy test report and thrusting it at him.

"See? I'm really pregnant."

He snatched the paper, crumpled it into a tight ball, and threw it in my face. "Do you take me for a fool, Aurora? I've never touched you. Now tell me, whose bastard is it?"

"It was that night... the one you came home drunk..."

His expression turned venomous. "Don't you lie to me. Whose child is it?"

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I shook my head. "It's yours. Killian, I would never lie about this."

Two months ago, he'd come home drunk from a family gala, holding me so tightly he bruised my arms. In the desperate, whiskey-soaked haze of that night, we had slept together.

The next morning, he denied everything, insisting he would never have touched me in that state. I thought he was just embarrassed, so I didn't push it.

Now, his hand shot out and seized my throat. He shoved me hard into the vault, and I heard the sickening crunch of bone against metal.

He tossed a pen and a single sheet of paper at my feet. My price for freedom, he sneered, was a thousand-word apology to Lena.

No matter how I begged, he was merciless. Annoyed by my cries, he slammed the door shut. I heard the heavy thud of the wheel turning, the definitive click of the lock engaging.

Before he left, he warned everyone in the manor that if anyone dared let me out without his permission, they would face his wrath.

There was barely room to breathe. I was curled in an unnatural position, the cold walls pressing in on me from all sides.

Fear was a physical entity, consuming me. My thoughts became a desperate, silent prayer.

Killian, please, let me out. I'm so scared. Please.

"Think long and hard about what it means to betray me, Aurora."

With that, he turned and abandoned me in the basement.

The cold inside the vault was a physical entity. I was still in my thin silk pajamas, my body wracked with violent, uncontrollable shivers. A sharp, tearing pain lanced through my abdomen, and I felt a sudden, warm gush of liquid. Blood began to seep out from beneath me, staining the floor crimson.

The baby. I was losing the baby.

I beat my fists raw against the unyielding steel, my nails splintering as I clawed at the walls, but the bleeding wouldn't stop. The pain only intensified, a merciless tide pulling me under.

"Please, someone save our baby! Let me out! Please..."

But my voice was swallowed by the thick steel door. The words never reached the outside. All I could do was scream into the suffocating darkness.

I never imagined Killian could be so cruel. No matter how I struggled, I couldn't move him. In the end, I died alone in the dark, trapped in a prison of pain and despair.

In my final moments, as my vision tunneled to black, I clung to a single, flickering hope. He'll come. He has to. He'll open the door. He'll save me.

He never did. He was already on a yacht in Miami with Lena, watching the sea and drinking champagne.

After I died, my soul drifted out of the vault. Even now, the smallest memory of those last moments sends waves of agony through me, as if it were all happening again.