His grip loosened, and I crumpled onto the floor, sucking in air like I had been drowning. The room spun in jagged circles.

“You’re not done,” Griffin said coldly. Then he turned toward the doctor. “Take her blood. As much as you can. Leave her enough so she doesn’t die before I’m finished with her.”

The doctor froze. “Sir… her vitals aren’t stable. After yesterday’s trauma, she’s already severely weakened. The blood supply—”

Griffin slammed him into the wall by the throat, his voice a snarl.

“When I give an order, you don’t negotiate. You follow it. You’re not running a charity here.”

After that, the doctor didn’t dare argue. Two guards pinned me down while the needle dug into my arm. I felt the pull—slow, steady, draining everything inside me.

A cold wave washed over me.

Then nothing.

---

A tidal wave of freezing water hit me like a blow. I jolted awake, coughing, shaking uncontrollably. Everything was blurry, my body heavy and foreign.

“On your feet,” Griffin snapped.

I tried, but my legs buckled. I hit the tile again. He yanked me upright by my hair, ripping a scream out of me.

“Griffin—stop—please,” I gasped, shivering so hard my teeth clattered. “I can’t—I’m freezing—”

“You think that matters to me?” he roared. “You really think I don’t know what stunt you pulled?”

I blinked through watery vision. “What the hell are you accusing me of now?”

“You ordered someone to snatch my daughter!” he shouted in my face, spit flying. “Sienna’s gone! Missing! And while you’re here pretending to die, your people are out there taking revenge for you.”

A wild laugh tore out of me—ugly, cracked, hysterical.

“You just said your daughter,” I whispered. “Funny how she counts when you want a victim. You had that child with another woman while married to me.”

He snarled. “Celeste is the mother of my children. You always knew she was part of my life. You just couldn’t stand being the backup.”

“You think I’d hurt a kid?” I snapped. “Did you forget what losing one feels like? Or did my daughter’s body in that trash bin not remind you what innocence is worth?”

He didn’t react. Not even a flinch.

“Save your theatrics,” he said. “I’ve got evidence.”

Two guards dragged in a trembling, half-starved man. He collapsed to his knees.

“She paid me,” he sobbed, pointing a shaking hand at me. “She told me to take the kid—kill him if I had to. I swear I didn’t know she belonged to you, boss. Please don’t kill me.”

I stared at him, stunned. “I’ve never seen this man before. Ever.”

“You just don’t stop lying,” Griffin snarled. He grabbed my arm so violently I felt something pop in my shoulder.

“You confess now, or you’ll regret breathing.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I whispered.

That didn’t matter.

Next thing I knew, we were on his private jet—the one used for disappearances. The one people boarded and never returned from. He didn’t speak for nearly an hour. Just sat there, seething, vibrating with fury.

Then, without warning, he stood up, unlatched the door, and shoved it open. Wind exploded into the cabin, deafening and violent.

“Say it,” he commanded. “Admit what you did.”

My heart rammed against my ribs. “Griffin, please! Close the door!”

His lips curved in a cruel smile. “You always were terrified of heights.”

“Griffin—Griffin, don’t—!”

He leaned close.

“Then give me something worth hearing.”

And with one vicious movement… he pushed.

The scream ripped out of me as the sky swallowed me whole.

---

I woke screeching, clawing at the air, convinced I was still falling. My throat burned. My vision snapped into focus.

White ceiling. Harsh light. Antiseptic. A beeping machine.

A hospital.

“You’re safe now, Mrs. Mercer,” the doctor murmured. His voice was somewhere far away.

But the faces in the room dragged me back into hell.

Griffin stood by the door, arms crossed like a judge waiting for a confession.

Celeste curled in a chair beside my bed, her eyes glistening with perfectly staged tears.

His mother hovered with a look of disgust sharp enough to cut glass.

“How do you feel?” Celeste asked in a trembling voice, pretending concern.

I ignored her. “What happened?” I demanded.

Before the doctor could speak, Griffin stormed forward.

“What happened?” he repeated mockingly. “Celeste saved your life, that’s what. I shoved you, yes, and she—this woman you hate—put a gun to her own head threatening to pull the trigger unless I caught you before you hit the floor. So I did. And you still fainted. She hasn’t slept in two days watching over you. And this is how you act?”

A laugh burst from me—broken, disbelieving, painful.

“Oh, you’re unbelievable,” I whispered. “You want applause now? You nearly killed me and want me to thank you for not finishing the job?”

His mother snapped, “Ungrateful witch. You should’ve stayed on that ground. We’d all be better off.”

“Yeah?” I said, looking Griffin dead in the eye. “Maybe you’re right. Then you two wouldn’t have to hide what you did to my baby.”

Silence.

Thick. Poisonous.

Griffin clicked his tongue. “She’s delirious. Drugged up. Let’s go, Maddie.”

But Celeste stayed, grabbing my hand like we were intimate friends.

“This is all my fault,” she whispered, voice shaking. “I never meant for it to go this far.”

I yanked my hand away, revulsion crawling up my spine. “Don’t touch me.”

Griffin caught her gently, protective to the point of madness.

“Show some gratitude,” he said to me. “If Celeste didn’t have such a soft heart, I’d have broken every bone in your body for speaking to her that way.”

They left as if they were the victims.

“I want to go home,” I told the doctor, numb.

He nodded silently and arranged my discharge.

---

Back home, the first thing I saw was a thick envelope waiting for me. Divorce papers. Finally.

I grabbed my old resignation letter too. The only thing left was getting Griffin’s signature—but I couldn’t let him know what he was signing.

I was planning how to distract him when the door slammed open. Griffin walked in, tossing a black garment bag onto the couch.

“Put that on,” he ordered. “We have a meeting with the Russians in twenty minutes. Celeste’s coming with me. You’ll stay in the background so you don’t embarrass us.”

“Why not let your mistress handle it?” I said calmly.

“She’ll be at my side. You? You’re staff.”

I shoved the papers at him. “I need your signature. Hospital release paperwork.”

He flipped it open, barely glanced at the pages, and grabbed a pen.

“What is—”

“Baby!” Celeste called from somewhere in the house. “Come look at this dress!”

His entire expression softened like whipped cream. He smiled—actually smiled—and scribbled his signature across both pages without a second thought.

He didn’t read a word.

I should’ve fallen apart right then—sobbed, screamed, begged for something, anything—but instead, a strange relief washed over me.

Because if he was yelling at me, it meant he hadn’t found the envelope tucked deep inside my coat: the divorce petition and my resignation letter, each one already notarized, my final goodbye to this ruin of a life.

I stepped into the black dress he’d once insisted I wear for him—sleek, sharp, the neckline a deliberate dare. It slid over my battered ribs and fading bruises like silk pretending to be armor. By the time I caught my reflection, I didn’t even recognize the woman staring back. She looked polished. Controlled. Not like someone who’d spent the night making escape plans.

When I reached the foyer, I felt his eyes sweep over me. A flicker of something—surprise, possession, irritation—crossed his face. But the moment Celeste strutted in on stiletto heels, reeking of expensive perfume and self-satisfaction, I vanished from his attention as easily as a shadow at noon.

On the way to the soirée, I settled in the back seat of his black SUV. I didn’t say a word. Just watched the lights of the city ripple past my window—the same city I was hours away from abandoning for good.

Up front, Celeste behaved exactly how she always did when she wanted his eyes on her: loud, touchy, sugary-sweet in a way that made my skin crawl. She curled an arm through Griffin’s, leaning her head onto his shoulder like she owned him.

“This car,” she cooed, dragging her manicured fingers over his sleeve, “was where we had our very first kiss. God, do you remember how wild we were?”

Griffin stiffened, but only slightly. “Yeah, babe,” he answered under his breath. Then he glanced at me in the mirror—like he needed to gauge whether I’d heard.

I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. I was busy confirming my flight for tomorrow night. One-way. New name. New country. No more Mafia politics. No more betrayals. No more Griffin Mercer and his monstrous family.

As I leaned back, something crackled under me. I shifted—and froze.

A damp, lacy thong lay crumpled beside me on the leather seat.

My chest clenched violently.

Before I could even form words, Celeste twisted around, eyes sparkling like this was the best entertainment she’d had all week. “Oh nooo,” she gasped theatrically. “Oops. That’s mine! Griffin, babe, didn’t I tell you to keep that hidden?”

She laughed, a high, tinkling sound made of pure venom.

“I swear I told you to put my underwear away after last night.”

Griffin didn’t blush. Didn’t apologize. Didn’t even pretend to be ashamed.

He simply reached back, plucked the still-warm scrap of fabric from the seat, lifted it to his face—

And smelled it.

“Hm,” he murmured smugly. “Peaches.”

Then he tucked it into his pocket like a prize.

My stomach lurched. Not from disgust—though there was plenty of that—but from the realization of how small he truly was. How small I had made myself to love him. They giggled together like hormone-drunk teenagers while I sat behind them, suffocating in their rot.

And yet, I smiled. Soft. Almost serene.

Because by tomorrow, they’d wake up without me—and without the silence I’d gifted them for far too long. And that silence? It was the last mercy they would ever receive.

---

When we finally arrived at the venue, Celeste latched onto Griffin’s arm as if she were welded there, while I trailed behind them like some underpaid assistant. Every time a guest mistakenly greeted her as “Mrs. Mercer,” Griffin’s lips twitched—but he never corrected them. Not even once.

I was counting down the minutes until I could sneak out and disappear when it happened.

Rapid pops. Screams. The sharp, metallic crack of gunfire.

People dove to the ground. Chairs toppled. The air filled with chaos.

And Griffin’s immediate instinct?

He threw himself over Celeste, shielding her with his entire body, as if she were a priceless artifact instead of the woman ruining our marriage.

I stood in shock for a single heartbeat—and then pain tore through my left side. White-hot, unforgiving. I hit the floor, breath ripped from my lungs.

“C-Griffin…” I choked, reaching toward him, blood quickly soaking through the black silk. “Please…help…”

He looked back. For an instant, something warm flickered across his expression—panic, disbelief, maybe even regret.

He rushed toward me, pressing his palm to the wound. “Stay with me, Abigail. Fuck, just—just stay awake.”

But then—

“Griffin!” Celeste shrieked. “The baby! I can’t move!”

And just like that, he chose.

He dropped me. Literally let me hit the ground.

Didn’t look twice.

He scooped Celeste into his arms like some tragic hero in a melodrama.

“You’re tough,” he shouted to me over his shoulder. “You’ll survive this. She won’t.”

Then they were gone. Gone, while I lay there bleeding out on a marble floor.

Alone. Again.

Celeste cast a triumphant little smirk back at me as Griffin carried her out. A reminder that she’d taken everything—and he’d let her.

Gunfire echoed somewhere beyond the walls, but no one came for me. Not Griffin. Not even his guards.

By the time I staggered outside, half-conscious and leaving a trail of blood behind me, the entire operation had cleared out—left me like abandoned cargo.

The hospital stitched me up yet again. The nurse didn’t even blink. She’d seen me too many times.

When I finally returned to the estate, I thought—stupidly—that there might be concern. Panic. Maybe a single phone call asking where the hell I’d gone.

Instead, I walked into the dining hall to find them all at the long table. Griffin. Celeste. Sienna. His mother. Damian. Laughing. Drinking. Cutting into thick slabs of steak.

As if I hadn’t bled for them hours earlier.

Griffin’s face stilled when he noticed me. Guilt flashed, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. He approached.

“She was in bad shape,” he said lowly. “I had to rush Celeste to the ER. It was critical.”

“Really?” I replied, voice like ice. “Guess my blood didn’t count.”

I didn’t wait for his excuses. I turned and climbed the stairs to what used to be our shared bedroom—that cage he called a home. I pulled out the small wooden box hidden beneath the bed: our wedding ring, faded notes, cheap photographs, vows scribbled on napkins from that ridiculous Vegas chapel.

I carried it all out to the steel burning barrel in the backyard.

Struck a match.

Dropped it in.

I watched the flames devour the pieces of my past: the sweet parts, the bitter ones, the delusions disguised as love.

Griffin burst outside when he smelled the smoke. “Have you completely lost it?!” he shouted.

He grabbed the extinguisher, but the fire had already reduced nearly everything to ash. All he managed to save was a half-charred wedding photo—his arm around my waist, me smiling like I hadn’t yet learned what monsters could hide behind tailored suits.

“You’re out of your damn mind,” he snapped. “Do you hear yourself?”

I met his fury with absolute calm.

“I’m done, Griffin,” I said. “I want a divorce.”