Amara's POV

At that moment, Grayson completely lost control and burst into the lounge like a madman.

Shortly, gunshots echoed through the hall. His bodyguards stormed in right after, dragging out Mr. Bishop, bloody, broken, and barely breathing.

Grayson went berserk. He kicked the man again and again, wild with rage, his blows landing on Mr. Bishop’s lower body until the man no longer moved.

It wasn’t until Alyssa’s sobs broke through the chaos that he finally stopped. He picked her up, his eyes still burning, and brushed past me without a word.

But as they passed, Alyssa suddenly lifted her head from his chest, her expression twisting into a vicious smile.

“Amara, did you really think you mattered? Grayson’s always loved me! And I bet you don’t even know. After I beat that little bastard out of your womb, Grayson had your uterus transplanted into me.”

“Shut up!” Grayson’s face went pale as he turned to me, panic flashing in his eyes.

But Alyssa only sneered triumphantly. “You’re nothing now but a useless woman, an empty shell who’ll never bear a child again.”

The room went silent. So silent that it hurt.

I stood frozen, my mind blank, a sharp ringing filling my ears.

No wonder my body had felt strange after the surgery. So that was what it was. The man I loved for six years had taken away my ability to ever be a mother for the woman who had killed our child.

My heart twisted violently. Pain spread through my chest, so sharp it felt like my ribs might crack. I bent over, every breath cutting through me like knives.

Seeing me like that, Grayson’s eyes flickered with guilt. He took a step toward me, but before he could reach out, Alyssa whimpered and went limp in his arms.

“Grayson, my stomach… it hurts… the baby, is something wrong with the baby?”

At that, his hesitation vanished. All the remorse in his eyes disappeared in an instant as he turned and ran out with her in his arms.

I watched him leave without looking back, and the last bit of warmth in my heart went cold.

Leaning against the wall, I stared blankly at the floor for a long time before pulling out my phone.

“I’ve made my decision,” I said quietly when the line connected. “I’ll go through with the engagement with the Harlows in Milwaukee.”

That night, Grayson returned home. He knelt in the middle of the hall and, right in front of me, ordered his bodyguards to whip him ninety-nine lashes.

Blood pooled into the gaps of the tiles, and the metallic scent was thick enough to make me nauseous.

Yet, I turned away, picked up the divorce papers from the table, and handed them to him.

"Sign it. We only registered the marriage, but the ceremony never happened. No one else really knows. It’ll be simple.”

It was like I’d struck him with lightning as the color drained from his face, and he shook his head violently, reaching for my hand. “No, Amara. I’m not signing. I love you. I only love you!”

But I stepped back, and he fell forward onto the floor.

Then his gaze caught the fruit knife on the table. Without a word, he grabbed it and stabbed himself in the stomach.

Grayson had built his empire in the shadows. He’d always been ruthless, even with himself.

He stopped the servants from calling a doctor, stopped the guards from coming near. Instead, he just looked at me, bleeding out, and smiled weakly. “Does this make it up to you? If not, I’ll stab myself again.”

I stared at the blood spilling from his wound, then finally lowered my eyes.

“Divorce,” I said quietly. “Or the baby in Alyssa’s belly. You can only keep one.”

The smile on his face froze.

After that day, he disappeared for three days. When he came back, he looked like he’d been hollowed out.

He then threw an abortion certificate on the table and hoarsely said, “Alyssa had already lost the baby. Are you happy now?”

But I didn’t even glance at it.

He let out a heavy sigh, exhaustion written all over his face, then crouched down to hold my hand. “Sweetheart, I’ve already sent Alyssa away. Let’s just go back to how things used to be, okay?”

He had killed my child. He had taken away my ability to ever have another. And now, with one simple sentence, “I sent her away," he thought that would erase everything I’d lost.

Amara's POV

Grayson always assumed that if he bowed his head, I would forgive him without question. He didn’t know we could never go back to what we were.

When I said nothing, he tried again. “My friends put together a little get-together tonight to help us loosen up. Come with me.”

I started to refuse, but he grabbed me and hauled me into the car before I could finish the sentence.

Soon, the car stopped at a rundown private club on the edge of town. When the private room door opened, dozens of filthy vagrants poured out and surged toward me like a tide. As soon as they saw me, their eyes went ugly and predatory. My chest tightened.

I turned instinctively, but Grayson’s bodyguards had already sealed off the exit. Within seconds, a swarm of guards pressed in from the corridors. I had nowhere to run; they pinned me to the floor.

From across the room, a pair of red heels clicked closer.

Alyssa, the woman he’d said he’d “sent away,” walked up and planted herself in front of me, alive and steady.

She grabbed my hair and started slapping me, one hard blow after another. “Bitch! You killed my baby. You think you deserve anything? You fell for a fake miscarriage report and got fooled. Stupid!”

Grayson cleared his throat, looking shifty. “Amara, I already know that Alyssa was the one who pulled me out of Grayridge. I won’t hold your lies against you, but you shouldn’t have hurt Alyssa and my child. Today, she needs to get her revenge.”

I looked at him and laughed, a raw, incredulous sound. To carry a severely injured man out of Grayridge, I’d taken crippling damage; three-quarters of my meniscus was gone from the injury. And now he calls the woman who betrayed him and turned informant his savior?

He pushed a divorce agreement into my hands and ordered the staff to force me to sign. Three days earlier, he wouldn’t give me that paper; now he shoved it in my face like it was nothing.

“Alyssa is my new bride,” he announced afterward, as if handing me a verdict. “She’ll be my wife from now on. But Alyssa’s magnanimous. If you agree to stay with those homeless men for a day and a night, she’ll even let you remain my mistress.”

His voice had the false tenderness of a man who believed he’d done something reasonable. When he saw my stare had gone dead, he crouched down and tried to soften it. “Amara, I still love you. But this time you were wrong. Learn from this. Apologize to Alyssa. She’s more reasonable and generous than you. She’ll forgive you.”

I ground my teeth until they ached. “Apologize to Alyssa? In your dreams!”

He scowled like a child who’d been denied a toy. “I really spoiled you. Lock her in.”

The homeless men surged forward. I held my hands tight, but I couldn’t stop a group of animals. My nails scraped the floor, and they left two bright, ugly streaks of blood.

I glared at them and spat, my voice raw with despair, “Grayson, I regret it. I should’ve let you die on Grayridge.”

Third Person's POV

The second the door shut, Grayson’s chest tightened as if something corrected itself inside him, for a second. Then, convinced his guards had Amara under control, he wrapped his arm around Alyssa and left without another glance.

The wedding day set the whole city buzzing.

Grayson personally called his bodyguards and instructed, “Bring Amara out. I left the dress I chose for her in the master bedroom. It's her favorite. She’s been through an awful night. Have the servants prepare Consommé for her right away.”

On the other end, the guard stammered like a man whose world had just crashed as he informed, “Mr. Locke, Mr. Locke, Miss Wells… she jumped out of the building. She’s dead.”