Nina’s POV

“Fabian, you really are ruthless!”

All my emotions twisted into a single knot of bitter disappointment, choking me.

The heaviness felt like a stone sinking deeper with each second, pulling all my hope down with it. I kept my head low, shoulders sagging, and dragged my feet as if I were sleepwalking through a nightmare I couldn’t wake from.

And then, right there at the end of the alley, stood Sadie Jennings.

She had Fabian’s coat draped around her shoulders. Her posture exuded triumph, and when our eyes met, hers were sharp and piercing, filled with venom she didn’t bother to hide.

“So that’s it?” Sadie said, her voice sharp enough to slice glass. “You’re just walking away? The daughter of a murderer? Shouldn’t you be down on your knees in front of my brother, begging for forgiveness?”

I let out a dry, hollow laugh and pulled my lips into a cold smile that didn’t even try to reach my eyes.

“A murderer?” I shot back. “If my dad hadn’t shown up when he did, your brother would’ve been a rapist.”

My eyes locked onto hers.

“And you knew. You knew exactly what kind of monster he was, and you still stood by him—”

Before I could finish, Fabian’s hand came out of nowhere, clamping over my mouth.

“Nina,” he said in that maddeningly calm tone, “Sadie’s right. Someone in your family needs to atone. If it’s not going to be you, then it’s going to be your mother.”

I froze, stunned.

My gaze snapped up to his face, hoping to find even a flicker of the man I used to know. But there was nothing there, only a stranger with my husband’s face.

How had we gotten here?

This was the same man who once told me he’d burn the world to protect me. Now he was threatening to drag my mom into this hell just to please another woman.

It hadn’t always been like this.

When I was in college and earning a living by teaching dance classes part-time, I met him for the first time.

He was ambushed alone in an alley by a group of enemies. Anyone else would have been killed.

But not Fabian Wolfe. He earned his title that night, Bayport’s ‘God of Slaughter.’

He fought them off barehanded, blood soaking through his shirt, skin split open in a dozen places.

But when Fabian finally staggered out of that alley, battered but still standing, he didn’t look for help. He leaned against a lamppost, lit a cigarette, and looked up.

Right across the street, light poured from the second-floor window of the studio. I was there, dancing, caught in the music, completely unaware I had an audience.

Fabian told me later that it was when I stepped into his world. He said I looked like something out of a dream. That’s when I became his only love, the kind that never really fades.

When he started pursuing me, I did everything I could to keep my distance. I wasn’t stupid. I knew who he was.

“I only go for well-mannered guys,” I told him. “You’re too… rough.”

So Fabian hired a top-tier etiquette coach—like a luxury flight attendant—to teach him proper speech and manners.

“I don’t want a life full of violence,” I said next. “I want peace.”

And just like that, Fabian shut down every illegal operation he managed. He closed everything and dedicated himself to philanthropy. He stepped away from the empire he had built to be the man I said I needed.

People in Bayport thought he was obsessed with me. They said anytime someone even mentioned my name, it triggered him like a landmine. That the old Fabian—the dangerous one—was always just beneath the surface, waiting to explode.

And now, here we were, with the same man calling my dad a murderer. That same man who forced me to my knees for a woman’s brother, who once tried to destroy me.

Before I could even gather my thoughts, the car rolled straight into the funeral home as if it belonged there. The second it stopped, his bodyguards yanked the door open and dragged me out.

Inside the hall, the Prescotts were already waiting. As soon as they saw me, they swarmed like vultures.

Fabian didn’t move. The only thing he did was furrow his brow, as if he was mildly annoyed by the scene unfolding before him.

In the meantime, Sadie arched an eyebrow and looked at him.

“Nina’s father killed my brother. Isn’t it fair that my family gets to vent? You’re okay with that, aren’t you, Fabian?”

He said nothing. He didn’t move either.

That was all the permission they needed.

They hit me, slapped my face, punched my stomach, yanked at my clothes, and ripped at my hair.

And then, God help me, one of them touched me in a way that made me want to claw my skin off.

I screamed, hoarse and desperate.

“Fabian! I’m still your wife! You hear me? No matter how much you want to forget it, I’m still your wife!”

Fabian finally flinched, his brows furrowing slightly. Before he could speak, Sadie stepped in with a theatrical sigh and clapped her hands as if she were a hostess ending a party.

“That’s enough. Everyone, stop. Fabian brought her here today to apologize to my brother. If not for her sake, then at least for his.”

At her command, they backed off. The chaos of violence receded, leaving me standing there, battered and broken, trembling from head to toe.

Sadie took her time walking up to me, her eyes carefully inspecting every bruise and torn piece of fabric, as if she were admiring her handiwork.

Then she turned, pointed at her brother’s coffin, and said in a cold voice, “Nina, I want you to admit that you’re the daughter of a murderer and apologize to my brother.”

Nina’s POV

I held my torn clothes tightly, arms wrapped around myself as if they were all I had.

My voice was sharp, like broken glass. “In your dreams. I’ll never admit my dad’s a murderer.”

The words had barely left my lips when I sensed Fabian’s presence looming over me. His shadow stretched across the floor as he stepped into view, long legs moving with deliberate ease.

“Do what she said, Nina,” Fabian said coolly. “Or I’ll bring your mother here instead.”

My nails dug so deep into my palms that I could feel the skin tearing. I looked up at my husband, my eyes burning with the kind of rage that only comes from betrayal.

“Fabian, are you really gonna push me this far? You wanna destroy me that badly?”

He gazed down at me from above, and the words he uttered sent a chill down my spine.

“It’s just a few words, Nina. Don’t be so dramatic. Sadie wants to hear it, so say it for her.”

Then Fabian paused, just long enough for the dread to build in my stomach, before adding with unsettling calm, “If you keep being difficult, I’ll use some special methods to straighten you out. And you know I’ve got a thousand—hell, ten thousand—ways to do that.”

Of course, he did. This was Fabian Wolfe. Around here, they called him the ‘God of Slaughter.’

Even if I said no, he’d find a way. He always did.

He could tear me apart piece by piece, mind, body, and soul.

If it were only up to me, I might have managed to hold on or endure it. But if Fabian directed that cruelty towards my mom or pulled my dad further into his hellhole?

I couldn’t let that happen.

I closed my eyes, my chest heaving from the weight of everything. The helplessness crushed me like a boulder on my back. After what felt like forever, I slowly unclenched my fists, nails now stained with my own blood, and surrendered.

“Fine,” I whispered. “I’ll say it.”

I dropped to my knees, each movement heavy like I was carrying the world.

I crawled forward and stopped in front of Callum Prescott’s casket. Every word felt like barbed wire sliding down my throat, but I forced them out anyway.

“I am the daughter of a murderer. I apologize to Mr. Callum Prescott. I’m sorry.”

But that wasn’t enough. Of course it wasn’t.

Sadie’s voice rang out behind me, all sugar and spite. “Hey, Jennings, don’t you think a real apology comes with a proper bow? And maybe say it a little louder.”

Her tone made my skin crawl. My whole body shook, burning with humiliation. I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached.

And then, I lifted my head and slammed it hard against the floor.

“I am the daughter of a murderer! I apologize to Mr. Callum Prescott! I’m sorry!”

Blood spilled quickly, hot and fast, down my face. The sting barely registered amid the fury and heartbreak.

I looked up and stared straight at Sadie. “Is that enough for you?”

My voice cracked. My desperation spilled out, raw and unfiltered. The room went silent for a moment. Even the Prescotts looked uneasy. A few nervously tugged at Sadie’s sleeve, as if they’d finally crossed a line.

But Sadie just lifted her chin, lips curling in satisfaction.

“Barely acceptable.”

I pushed myself up from the floor, my legs trembling.

Fabian approached, attempting to steady me as if he still had the right. I swatted his hand away with the last of my strength.

“Don’t touch me, Fabian! You make me sick.”

His face immediately clouded with anger. He seized my wrist tightly, eyes narrowing with menace.

“What did you just say? Say it again. I dare you.”

I stared right back at him, refusing to flinch. My voice was ice.

“I said, you make me sick.”

After I finished, Fabian looked as if something had stabbed him. Immediately, his grip loosened, and he let me go.

I walked away, head held high, ignoring who saw me, refusing to let them see my pain for a moment.

But what I didn’t anticipate was that someone had documented everything in that mourning hall.

By the next morning, the video was everywhere.

Clickbait headlines flooded in. Slimy media outlets spun the story a hundred different ways. Some claimed my dad had staged the whole ‘self-defense’ thing to cover up a murder. Others hinted there was something shady going on between him and the so-called ‘victim.’

Because they asked, why else would the daughter confess like that?

The public turned on us overnight.

My mom was crushed. I found her passed out cold on the living room floor, her phone still in her hand. Their comments, rumors, and judgment seeped into every corner of our lives. We couldn’t escape it. It was on the streets, on the news, in our neighbors’ eyes.

When she finally came to, she clutched my hand, her voice shaking.

“If your father sees this, what must he be feeling?”

I couldn’t respond to her. I didn’t even know how to defend myself or set things right.

And then came the call.

My dad had seen it. Eventually, it affected him deeply as he attempted to take his own life in prison.

We hurried to the hospital in a panic, but when we arrived, the ambulance was still parked outside the ER.

My dad hadn’t even made it through the doors.

Blood was heavily oozing from the wound on his neck.

I stood frozen, my heart pounding inside my chest, while my body refused to move.

Nina’s POV

Frantic, I asked, “Why isn’t the patient being taken inside?”

The paramedic looked up at me, clearly uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot.

“I heard President Wolfe’s cat got hit by a car. It’s being treated in the ER right now. He gave strict orders until the cat pulls through; no critical cases are allowed in.”

I blinked at him, stunned. My stomach turned.

“This is a hospital, not a damn vet clinic! How can you let this happen?!”

No one answered.

Even the correctional officer beside us exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand over his face like he couldn’t believe it either.

“You’re family, right?” he said with a tired voice. “Maybe try transferring to another hospital?”

The paramedic pressing on my dad’s wound didn’t even look up.

His tone was grim as he replied, “The next closest ER is ten minutes away. He won’t make it through the ride.”

My breath caught. I turned around to open the door.

“I’ll go. I’ll beg Fabian. I’ll ask him myself to let my dad through.”

But just as I was about to jump out, my dad grabbed my hand. His grip was so firm that the heart monitor began to beep irregularly.

I rushed back to his side, leaning over the stretcher, my voice shaking.

“Dad, don’t move. Please, just hang on. I swear I’ll fix this. I’ll save you. Just hang on, okay?”

His eyes fluttered open slowly and with difficulty. With trembling fingers, he reached up and brushed my cheek.

The oxygen mask fogged with each breath as he tried to speak.

My dad’s lips moved behind the plastic, and the doctor leaned in quickly, pulling the mask off.

“He’s not going to last long. If he has anything to say, let him say it now.”

I blinked forcefully. A ringing noise echoed in my ears.

The doctor and the guards got out of the ambulance, giving us privacy. Inside that small, cramped ambulance, it was just the three of us.

My mom leaned forward, pale as paper, and took his hand in hers like she couldn’t bear to let go.

She blinked through tears and whispered, “Rick, what is it? I’m here. I’m listening.”

My dad’s voice was barely a breath, thin and broken, but each word cut right through me.

“Don’t cry and don’t beg him. I’ve already accepted this. Willingly.”

His eyes found mine.

“Nina, don’t keep appealing. Just live. You and your mom, stay safe. That’s all that matters now.”

His breathing slowed.

“Honey, make that call. Take Nina. Leave Bayport.”

My mom nodded, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. “Okay... yes. I understand.”

There was this tiny flicker of peace in his expression. A soft release in his brow, a breath let go.

“Then I can rest... I can rest now...”

The monitor let out a long, piercing beep.

Flatline.

His hand slipped from mine.

I grabbed it again on instinct, squeezing tightly as if I could somehow keep him here with me, as if I could rewind the moment and stop time if I just held on tight enough.

But he was gone.

The silence that followed was overwhelming. My mom’s shoulders trembled beside me, her quiet sobs too heavy for the room.

I don’t remember how long we stayed like that, just the two of us huddled around the stretcher, holding his cold, lifeless hand.

Eventually, my mom wiped her face with the sleeve of her coat.

Her voice trembled as she said, “Nina, let’s take your father home.”

Out of pity, the ambulance driver agreed to reroute us to the funeral home.

When we arrived, the guards were already there. They handed us two sets of paperwork. I signed every page silently. My mom and I stayed until they cremated him.

Later, when we returned home, holding that small urn in our arms, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

“Nina, this is your grandfather’s commander’s number. Make the call.”

I glared at the number, unable to contain my fury.

Dad’s final words kept echoing through my head. He had to have been forced into saying that. He had to.

Was I really supposed just to run?

But then I looked at my mom’s face, streaked with tears, her eyes hollow and red, her hands trembling slightly where they clutched the urn.

No matter how furious or hurt I was, I couldn’t drag her through more of this. Not when all she had left was me.

I picked up the phone and dialed the number.

A stern, authoritative voice answered almost immediately. After a brief, quiet exchange, he said someone would arrive to get us the next morning.

I hung up and sat beside my mom in silence. We kept watch beside my dad’s ashes, the two of us huddled close in the living room, just holding on to the last thing we had.

That night, neither of us slept.