Chapter 3

Every light in the living room died in the same instant—the chandelier, the wall sconces, the motion-sensor nightlights in the hallway. Even the hum of the air conditioning and refrigerator cut off abruptly.

"Ah—"

The scream left my lips the same moment I understood.

It was Colby.

He'd used his phone's smart home system to kill the apartment's main power supply with a single tap.

The only thing still functioning was a Bluetooth speaker, its ring of pale blue light glowing in the darkness.

Colby's voice emerged from that circle of blue.

"Serena, since you insist on being ungrateful, you can sit in the dark and reflect on what you've done."

"When you've come to your senses and apologized, I'll turn the lights back on."

"Don't expect me to go soft. You brought all of this on yourself."

His voice was ice-cold, controlled. As though he'd completely forgotten that ever since his rival faction locked me in a warehouse for twenty-four hours three years ago, I'd developed nyctophobia.

That day, he'd held me in his arms and promised that as long as he was with me, the lights in our home would never go dark.

But now…

Colby had apparently forgotten that promise entirely. Forgotten the wife he'd locked in the dark.

I curled up on the floor, biting down hard on my lower lip, fighting the physiological terror.

Blood was still leaving my body. The abdominal pain surged like a tide, each wave more brutal than the last, and with every crest, my consciousness blinked out for seconds at a time.

I can't give up. I can't give up.

The bathroom had scissors. Towels. If no one was coming to save me, I would have to deliver this baby myself.

I forced myself to stay calm, feeling my way toward the bathroom in the dark.

I crawled until my elbows and knees were raw and bleeding, and just as my fingertips brushed the bathroom doorframe, the bedroom television screen blazed to life.

A video call had been force-cast onto the seventy-five-inch LCD.

The sudden light illuminated the entire living room—and the long trail of dark red I'd left behind me.

On screen, Rowena reclined against her hospital bed, complexion rosy, makeup flawless enough for a magazine cover.

Colby sat on the edge of the bed, his arm around her, my hospital bag beside him.

"Colby, is Serena mad at me?"

Rowena's voice was coy and aggrieved, each word pitched with just the right amount of a quiver.

"I didn't mean to take her things—it just came on so suddenly… Maybe you should go back and check on her. I can manage alone."

Colby pressed a tender kiss to the back of her hand.

"Forget about her. She just can't stand seeing me be good to you. The moment she notices I'm over here, she starts pulling stunts."

"She smashed the security camera at home. She's probably in some corner breaking things and throwing a fit right now."

He turned to face the camera, his gaze turning razor-sharp.

"Serena, look at how considerate Rowena is. How thoughtful."

"Now look at yourself—smashing things, lying, acting like a complete shrew."

"I'm warning you one last time."

His voice dropped low, the kind of quiet menace that needed no volume—like a warning issued to a traitor who'd tried to flee the organization.

"If you dare make one more scene that upsets Rowena—"

"Tomorrow I'll cut off every penny funding your brother's hospital stay. And you can watch him die."

My heart felt like an invisible fist had clenched around it.

Ethan.

My eighteen-year-old brother. After the car accident three months ago, he'd been lying in the ICU, kept alive by machines maintaining his most basic vital signs. He was my only remaining family in this world.

And Colby knew it. He wielded Ethan like a noose suspended above my head, ready to tighten at any moment.

On screen, the loving couple nestled together.

And I lay in my own blood, watching this broadcast from the darkness.

A violent wave of nausea churned in my stomach.

"Colby Blackwell."

I screamed it with every last shred of strength.

"You make me sick."

On screen, Rowena immediately shrank into Colby's arms, her voice trembling.

"Colby, Serena is so scary… my stomach hurts so much…"

Colby's face went iron-gray.

"Serena, you're asking for death."

"Since you love acting insane so much, you can stay in there and rot."

The video cut to black with a single click.

Then came a hollow rumble from inside the walls—the sound of water flowing through the pipes vanished all at once.

He hadn't just cut the power. He'd remotely shut off the main water valve.

I dragged myself to the sink and twisted the faucet. A few residual drops fell—plink, plink—and then nothing.

No water. No electricity. No communication.

He'd driven me into a dead end, then turned around to be with another woman while she gave birth.

My back against the cold bathroom tile, I gasped for air. The blood beneath me had soaked through my entire nightgown, and the metallic smell filled the cramped bathroom, so thick it tasted sweet.

The baby was getting quieter.

The little feet that had been desperately kicking moments ago now only produced faint, intermittent squirms.

"No… no…"

I pressed both palms against my swollen belly, and the tears finally broke free.

"Don't be afraid."

"Mama will fight to the death to save you."

Gritting my teeth, I fumbled through the storage cabinet beneath the sink.

My fingertips touched something cold and metallic—a pair of rusted scissors.

This was my last tool.