I had promised myself I would never call him. Ever. I had built a small, careful life with Gillian, even if it was poison wrapped in gold, even if it left me empty and bruised. But this wasn’t about promises. This was about Zenith.

“A-Aamon… it’s me… Odette.”

“Odette,” he said slowly, like he was tasting the word, letting it roll around his mouth before he swallowed it.

“P-please… Aamon. Please. It’s Zenith! My daughter. She’s been taken. They want a billion. Please, you have to help me.”

He chuckled, low and sharp. “You called me because you’re desperate. I can hear it in your voice, Odette. Not pleading, not negotiating… just desperate.” His tone was calm, cold. “I’m in New York. Expanding. I own more than you can imagine. A hundred corporations. Assets that could feed nations. Why would I help the woman who left me for gold? The woman who chose her own comfort over us?”

The memory hit me like a fist. Eight years ago, before the white roses, before the contract, before I sold myself into a marriage with Gillian, we had believed in something real. Something reckless. Something true. We had loved like fools, like people who thought forever was easy. I remembered the rain, iron in the air, his calloused hands pressed against mine like we could remake the world together.

I remembered the night my father’s men dragged him into the alley, beat him until his words were shattered stones, and he begged me not to marry Gillian. But my father had warned me if I refused, he wouldn’t stop at him. He would kill him. His mother. His sister.

I remembered the promise ring in my palm, warm from his body. He grabbed my feet, begged me to run with him. I had wanted to. I wanted it more than air. But I knew my father too well. I chose safety instead. I told him he was poor, that he could never give me the future I deserved. I told him he smelled of mud and debt. And I threw the ring into the dirt. He picked it up, tears on his face, and whispered one word that still haunts me: why. Then I walked away.

“Do you remember that night?” Aamon’s voice sliced through me, thin and controlled. “You left me in the rain, Odette. You chose comfort over us. You made a life that feeds you but eats at you from the inside. You made your bed, and now you lie in it.”

“I know,” I whispered. I wanted to tell him a thousand little things... that I had been wrong, that I had regretted it every single night, that I had tried to atone in small ways... but there were no words strong enough. There was only the sound of my daughter screaming in that video, the knowledge that Gillian didn’t care, that he would let her suffer to remind me of my place.

“Tell me everything,” Aamon said finally, sharper now, like the air itself had teeth. “Fast. Don’t leave out a single thing. Don’t lie.”

I poured it all out. The frozen account. The ransom deadline. Every little detail. Every trembling hand, every second that had stolen my breath. Every humiliating, desperate move I had made to save her. It spilled from me like blood, offered like a bribe, like a prayer I didn’t even believe would be answered.

There was this cold silence on the line that stretched so long I thought my voice would shatter.

“You expect me to cross continents because your husband’s a monster and your past choices came back to bite you? Why would I do that, Odette? What’s in it for me, saving a kid who’s just living in a gilded cage?”

I closed my eyes and saw him on the pier, in my memory—Aamon, hands rough on my face, the city behind us like it promised something real.

“My plea… that should be enough,” I whispered.

“It’s not enough,” he said flatly. “You broke me. You sold me out to be safe. If I save her, what do I get from the woman who chose her own coffin? How do you pay me?”

My mouth went dry.

He was the kind of dangerous you didn’t speak around. Just his name made men flip alliances. He had a reputation for taking what was his and carving it out of other people’s lives. He could move continents with a phone call, bend cops like paper clips, make nightmares feel like law.

“Me,” I said. “You can have me. I’ll pay with my body. Use me, hurt me, make me your slave or your maid. Make me do whatever you want. Just… just save Zenith.”

I heard him breathe, soft, like someone opening a book. For a second I thought he’d laugh, hang up. But he didn’t. He said, calm and cold, “Consider it done. After I save Zenith, you belong to me. Body, soul, everything you denied me before.”

Tears burned my cheeks. I hadn’t thought I was capable of bargaining like this, of giving myself up to save the life tied to my blood. But the clarity was brutal, undeniable. I had chosen safety once and paid for it with my heart. I could choose differently now.

“I agree. Do it. Please, Aamon. Please bring her back.”

“Good,” he said. “Don’t call me again unless you intend to honor this bargain.”

The line went dead.

---

They dragged me out eight hours later. One of Gillian’s men shoved me toward the car. “Boss said go home. Start cooking right away,” he said flatly.

Cook? Huh! As if I hadn’t been locked in a storage room while my daughter screamed in a video, every second of it stabbing my chest.

Then my phone buzzed. Aamon. He sent the location, the hospital, and the room number.

My legs moved before my brain even had a chance to catch up.

“Miss Odette! Where are you going?!"

I ran through the rain, through the cars, the city slapping itself against my face. Horns blared. My hair plastered to my skin. My clothes stuck to me, soaked with sweat and rain.

When I finally reached the hospital room, I pushed the door open.

There she was. Zenith. My little girl, curled small in the bed. Her hands wrapped in thick bandages. She looked like my daughter, the one who used to giggle at piano keys, and at the same time she looked like a stranger, someone carved out of pain.

I collapsed beside her. My tears soaked into her hair. “Zenith,” I whispered, over and over. “Mama’s here. Mama’s here, baby.” Everything inside me, all the pieces that had hardened into stone, melted against her skin.

The door creaked and a doctor came in.

“Your daughter’s hands… severe damage. We did everything we could. Surgery, therapy… there’s hope. She could regain function.”

“C-can she still play piano? Piano… she loved piano.”

“Maybe someday. But not soon.”

I nodded and pressed my hand over my mouth, crying silently. All the piano recitals we’d circled on the calendar, all the little dreams… burned in my mind. Bright little futures, now twisted into something cruel and uncertain.

The door opened again, not gently this time. A man walked in, tall, smiling like he knew exactly how dangerous he was, two hulking men shadowing him.

“Odette,” he said like we were meeting for coffee, old friends. “I’m Johnny. Johnny Wattson. Aamon sent me.”

The doctor practically bolted out the room.

Johnny leaned on the bed rail. “Aamon took care of the kidnappers. Want to see their bodies?”

My stomach turned. “No,” I whispered. “I don’t want to see anything.”

He chuckled, like I’d given him a private joke. “Too bad. Quite the art, really. Aamon had them killed, dismembered. They won’t bother you again.” He tilted his head, watching me like a cat watching a bird. “Want to know who hired them?”

Zenith stirred, a soft whimper escaping her lips. I hugged her tighter, pressed her face to my chest, refused to meet Johnny's eyes. “I don’t want to know. I just want her safe.”

Johnny's smile sharpened. “As you wish. Aamon’s coming to Europe. One week. Sign your divorce papers. After that… he’ll collect you himself.”

My throat shook. “Thank you,” I whispered, because gratitude was all I had left.

Johnny's eyes glimmered with amusement as he leaned closer. “Don’t thank me, little dove. Aamon won’t take thanks. He’ll take you. Body, soul. That’s the only payment he wants.”

He straightened, winked like this was some kind of game, and left, his men trailing behind like shadows.

...

The room felt smaller when they were gone. Darker. Zenith shifted in my arms, crying now. I held her tighter, rocked her, whispered to her, and the night pressed in around us, walls closing in.

I didn’t notice the hours passing and must have fallen asleep because my phone buzzed in the dark. Zenith’s tiny, bandaged hands rested on my chest. For a second I thought I was still dreaming. Then the screen flashed. Gillian.

My thumb shook as I answered. His voice ripped through the line like fire. “Where the hell are you?! Why aren’t you home? You think you can run off and embarrass me? Disappear like this?”

I stared at Zenith’s fragile face, her lashes brushing her cheeks, her little body too small under the white sheets. I didn’t say a word. I ended the call and powered the phone off. The silence was heavy, but it felt like a tiny act of rebellion. For once, I chose quiet over his rage.

By sunrise, my body ached from the narrow hospital bed, my clothes stiff with dried rain and sweat. I smelled of fear and sterile walls. Zenith stirred, and I smoothed her hair, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. “Mama’s right here. I’ll get us clean clothes, okay? Then I’ll make sure I look pretty again for you.”

I stepped into the hallway, and the world spun around me. Medics rushed past, wheels squealing, pushing a gurney. On it lay Gibeah—pale, clutching her stomach, her cries sharp and desperate. Jenniva clung to her side, her voice shrill as she screamed at the doctors. Gillian stormed behind them, face twisted with panic, barking orders like a storm.

His eyes found me.

He tore away from the gurney and grabbed my arm so hard I thought he’d snap it.

“Odette!” His hand swung before I could even breathe. The slap burned across my cheek, hot and blinding.

“How dare you,” he growled, digging his fingers into my flesh. “You ordered someone to poison Gibeah last night! You really thought you could kill my daughter and get away with it? You pathetic little bitch.”

My face burned. My chest burned worse. I swallowed the scream clawing up my throat. No words came out because it wouldn’t matter. Gillian had already chosen his truth. He would never believe me.

Gibeah groaned, weak and frightened. “Daddy… Daddy!”

Gillian tore himself away from me, running after the gurney, chasing the girl he worshipped. His parting words sliced through me. “We’ll talk after this.”

Jenniva brushed past, her perfume thick and sickly sweet, choking the air. Her lips curved into the faintest, smug smile. Calm. That was all I needed to know. She had orchestrated this. Poisoned Gibeah and pinned it on me.

I bit down hard and swallowed the sob rising in my chest. I kept walking, stiff, refusing to crumble in front of her. I bought clean clothes from a shop down the street, my hands shaking as I folded them into a bag. Then I came back, focused only on getting to Zenith.

At the elevator, I pressed the button, willing it to open. The doors slid apart with a soft chime. Relief rushed through me—until someone stepped in my way.

Jenniva.

She leaned against the doorway, her perfume thick and sickly sweet, like poison. “How’s your little Zenith? Dead yet?” She tilted her head, voice mocking. “I had those thugs smash her tiny fingers. So my daughter could take the spotlight at the piano contest. And when they were done, I told them to dump your little girl’s body on the street like trash.”

“How dare you!”

The words tore out of me before I even realized, my palm already slamming against Jenniva’s painted cheek.

Slap!

“Oh my! She— she slapped me!”

She shrieked, stumbling back like I had snapped her in half, clutching her face, wailing like some porcelain doll someone had dropped. Her act was flawless, practiced to the bone.

Gasps spread through the crowd. Whispers cut like knives.

“Did you see that?”

“Poor Jenniva.”

“Odette’s lost it.”

“Isn’t that Mr. Gillian’s wife? Why is she hitting Miss Jenniva?”

I could feel every eye on me, burning into my skin, but I didn’t care anymore.

“You think I don’t see you?” I shouted, voice hoarse, trembling with years of swallowed pain. “You snuck into my life, whispered poison into Gillian’s ears, made him turn his back on me. You ruined my family and now… you tried to hurt Zenith!” My throat burned as the words tore out. “You think your tears hide your venom, but I know exactly who you are. A scheming, manipulative snake!”

Jenniva shook her head, sobbing harder, like some wronged saint. The crowd softened to her, but I knew better.

Then Gillian’s voice thundered behind me. “Odette!”

I turned just in time to see his hand rise. The slap hit me fast, brutal, knocking me down.

He loomed over me. “After hurting my daughter, you dare lay your filthy hands on my first love? If it weren’t for that cursed arranged marriage, Jenniva would have been my wife!”

The crowd gasped again, whispers twisting the knife deeper.

“She’s unstable.”

“No wonder Mr. Gillian never loved her.”

“I heard Zenith isn’t even his. She cheated.”

Jenniva’s soft sobs made her look fragile, innocent, precious. And I was the monster. Always the monster.

Tears blurred my vision, but I forced the words out. “Then divorce me! I’m done with this farce. I don’t want to be your wife anymore!”

Gillian laughed, cold and sharp. “What a desperate psycho you are. First, you fake a kidnapping just to get my attention. And now you throw another pathetic scene? You should win an award for acting, Odette.”

He pulled papers from his jacket and tossed them at me like trash. They scattered at my feet. “Here. Isn’t this what you want?”

I bent down, hands trembling, to pick them up. But before I could, he leaned down too, snatching them back with a cruel smirk.

“Did you really think I’d make it that easy?” His voice dripped venom. “You’ll serve me for another week before I sign this. Until then, you’re mine.”

He waved the papers like a leash I couldn’t escape, then turned, wrapping his arm around Jenniva’s shoulders, leading her away like she was his treasure and I was just dirt beneath his shoes.

The crowd’s eyes stayed on me, disgusted, condemning. My hands shook as I forced myself to stand, legs weak, heart crushed under their judgment.

...

I walked down the hall, dragging my body, until I reached Zenith’s room. I closed the door, pressed my forehead to the wood, shaking and crying so hard my chest ached.

Through my sobs, I whispered a promise that tasted like blood. “Well then, Gillian… by a week, I’m no longer tied to you.”

After three days in the hospital, I finally brought Zenith home. She was still pale, still weak, but at least she was alive. If it were up to me, I’d never set foot in that house again. But I had no choice. I needed my mother’s heirloom, some of Zenith’s things, and a few of my own.

I pushed the door open, and my breath caught. Jenniva. She was standing in the middle of the living room like she owned the place, Gibeah sprawled on the couch, laughing like he had every right to be there.

Zenith’s tiny voice trembled next to me. “Mama… why is Gibeah here?”

Before I could answer, Gibeah looked up, smug, a little grin spreading across her face. “Because this is my house now. I’m the real daughter. You’re just… nothing.”

Zenith flinched, her hand clutching mine. Heat rose in my chest, and I wanted to rip that arrogance right out of her. But Jenniva’s lips curled, voice smooth as poison. “Gibeah, go to your room.”

She grinned, satisfied, and marched up the stairs like a little princess.

The maids passed by, eyes flicking away from me. Whispers cut through the air like knives. “Mr. Gillian ordered everything moved… Madam Odette’s things are in the maid’s quarters now.”

I swallowed hard, forcing the tears back. Jenniva pressed a hand to her chest, pretending embarrassment. “Oh, Odette… Gillian said I should stay here with Gibeah. He’s tired of hiding our relationship. I didn’t know they’d move your things. Please don’t misunderstand me.”

Her voice was honey, but her eyes were laughing.

I bit down on my rage for Zenith’s sake. I took her hand and walked to the maid’s quarters.

Inside the tiny room, Zenith finally broke, tears soaking my sleeve.

“Mama, why is Papa treating us like we don’t exist?”

I held her tight, rocking her against my chest. “Don’t cry, baby. One day soon, we’ll leave this place. And you’ll never have to bow your head to anyone again.”

...

That night, the villa was alive with lights and music spilling from the dining hall. A dinner for Gillian’s business partners. I was forced to sit far down the table, like a guest who wasn’t welcome in her own home.

Jenniva sat at Gillian’s side, her hand brushing his arm like she already owned him. She smiled sweetly, gently, and the men at the table stared, admiring her like she was some kind of goddess.

One of them glanced at me. “And… who is she?”