Chapter 3

"The bleeding has stopped. My private physicians managed to stabilize you."

The voice was a low, terrifying rumble that vibrated from the shadows of the room.

I slowly turned my aching head. I was in a state-of-the-art medical wing, but the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering London skyline told me I was inside a sprawling Mayfair penthouse.

Sitting in a velvet armchair beside my bed was a man forged from pure, unapologetic darkness. He shared Jackson’s sharp jawline and striking features, but where Jackson exuded a polished, approachable charm, this man radiated absolute, lethal danger.

It was Brendon. Jackson’s terrifying, billionaire older half-brother. The black sheep of the family who ruled the shadows of the city with an iron fist.

"You," I whispered, my throat raw. "You brought me here."

"You collapsed in my territory, Alynna," Brendon stated smoothly, crossing his long legs. "I couldn't exactly leave my sister-in-law to die in the gutter. Especially not after the fascinating show my pathetic brother put on tonight."

I squeezed my eyes shut, the horrifying memory of the scalpel and Taylor's laughter burning behind my eyelids. "They were going to take my kidney. Taylor is dying... she needed it."

Brendon let out a dark, mocking chuckle. It held absolutely no humor.

He reached onto the glass table beside him, picked up a thick medical dossier, and tossed it directly onto my lap.

"Read it," Brendon commanded.

With trembling fingers, I opened the file. It was Taylor’s official, unredacted medical history. I scanned the pages, my eyes darting over the test results, the blood panels, the organ function charts.

"She doesn't have kidney failure," I breathed, the words scraping out of my throat in sheer disbelief. "Her kidneys are completely healthy."

"Flawless, actually," Brendon corrected, his piercing eyes locking onto mine. "Taylor faked the entire illness. She bribed a private physician to forge the initial diagnosis."

"But why?" I choked out, my chest heaving violently. "Why would she put me on a butcher's table if she didn't even need the organ?"

"Because she is a jealous, vain creature," Brendon said coldly. "She didn't just want Jackson. She wanted to permanently mutilate you. She wanted you scarred, broken, and hollowed out, simply because she couldn't stand the thought of you walking away whole. It was never about survival, Alynna. It was about sheer, unadulterated cruelty."

The remaining air completely vanished from the quiet room. My best friend. The woman I had loved like a sister, had orchestrated my slaughter not out of desperation, but out of pure, malicious vanity. They had murdered my unborn child for absolutely nothing.

A cold, terrifying numbness began to spread through my veins, freezing the last remaining fragments of my shattered heart.

Brendon picked up a sleek remote control and pointed it at the massive flat-screen television mounted on the far wall. "And the performance of the year continues."

The screen flickered to life. The news channel was broadcasting live from the pouring rain outside the Harley Street clinic.

Standing at a podium, surrounded by a sea of flashing cameras and reporters, was Jackson.

He looked completely and utterly devastated. His hair was disheveled, his tie was undone, and tears—thick, heavy, agonizing tears—were streaming down his face.

"My wife is out there somewhere!" Jackson sobbed into the microphones, his voice cracking with a perfectly executed, hysterical grief. "Alynna was in a terrible accident at Sotheby’s. She was disoriented. She ran from the hospital before the doctors could treat her. Please! She is pregnant with our first child! I am offering a five-million-pound reward to anyone who brings my beloved wife home safely!"

My stomach violently turned. The sickening hypocrisy of his tears made bile rise in my throat. He was playing the tragic, desperate husband to the world, while just hours ago, he had coldly ordered a doctor to cut me open without anesthesia.

"He's a monster," I whispered, my nails digging into the silk sheets.

"He's a parasite," Brendon corrected, stepping closer to the bed. "While he stands in the rain crying for the cameras, his legal team is secretly filing emergency injunctions in the high courts."

I looked up at him, my brow furrowing. "Injunctions for what?"

"To declare you legally dead," Brendon revealed, his voice dropping to a lethal, chilling frequency. "The moment the courts grant the presumption of death due to your catastrophic blood loss, Jackson inherits everything in your name. Including the multi-million-dollar design company your deceased parents left you before you became an orphan."

The final puzzle piece violently snapped into place.

The mousy, submissive girl who had loved Jackson evaporated into the ether. The grief for my lost baby hardened into a weapon of pure, indestructible titanium. I didn't want to cry anymore. I didn't want to hide.

I wanted blood.

I looked at Brendon.

Brendon reached inside his tailored jacket and pulled out a crisp, gold-embossed document. He slid it across the mattress, right over Taylor's forged medical file. Beside it, he placed a heavy, solid gold fountain pen.

It was a real, legally binding marriage certificate.

"Sign that paper. Marry me. Let me give you the power to crush him into dust. Let's go crash his little press conference."

I didn't hesitate. I didn't blink.

I picked up the gold pen and signed my name on the dotted line, legally binding my soul to the devil himself.

I dropped the pen and slowly pushed the silk sheets off my legs. I stood up, ignoring the agonizing pain in my ribs. I looked directly into my new husband's eyes, my own reflecting a cold, murderous promise.

"Give me a scalpel," I whispered, my voice completely devoid of mercy. "I have a surgery to finish."