Christian's POV

I lay in the middle of that toxic haze, my body convulsing so violently it felt like my spine might snap. My skin had turned a sickly, purplish-black, and every wound on me had begun to fester like rot. Thick, dark blood seeped from the corners of my mouth, slow and steady.

Jillian's face turned ghost-white, and genuine panic overtook her. She pushed Austin aside and started yelling at the crowd around her.

"I told you to bring prank-grade tear gas! The harmless kind! What the hell happened? How the hell did this turn into poison gas?!"

Frantic, Jillian shouted, "Shut it off! All of it, now! If anything happens to Christian, I swear, none of you are walking out of here alive!"

Even the wealthy kids, who had been laughing just seconds earlier, suddenly appeared less enthusiastic about participating. Their faces lost color, making it clear that this wasn't the joke they had expected to be part of.

Thankfully, the butler, who'd clearly seen combat, immediately took charge, shouting orders and tossing masks and gloves like a drill sergeant.

"We need to shut down the canisters and neutralize the gas residue immediately," he said. "Then we clean his wounds, get the poison off him, and rush him to the hospital."

Jillian nodded, shaking, and finally stepped toward me.

But Austin arrived first. He crouched beside me with that fake concern on his face.

"Careful, Christian," he said. "We're on the rooftop, you know? Wouldn't want you to lose your balance and fall."

Then he leaned in closer, just far enough that no one else could hear.

"You filthy rat," Austin hissed. "Go to hell."

And the next second, he shoved me hard in the back.

In an instant, I was over the rooftop ledge, the wind roaring in my ears, feeling weightless.

Instinct kicked in. Mid-fall, I twisted and caught the ledge with both hands, hanging off the twenty-eighth floor with legs swinging, blood dripping, wind trying to pull me away.

A scream ripped through the air.

"Christian!"

Jillian's voice.

She rushed to the edge, let out a shaky breath, then turned and faced Austin. "What the hell was that?! You almost killed him!"

Austin blinked fast, his eyes watering.

"I-I was just trying to help," he said, his voice shaking. "He was stumbling, and I thought he was gonna fall. I reached out, but he pushed me away…"

He didn't even try hard to sound convincing, just innocent enough to make her hesitate.

Jillian squinted at him, suspicious, but said nothing more. She dropped to her knees and grabbed my wrist, trying to keep me steady.

"Christian, don't panic. I've got you. We'll get you to a hospital, I swear."

But just as she started to pull, a cold, commanding voice cut through the rooftop noise.

"Don't pull him up."

Jillian froze. Her head snapped around.

"Dad? You're back in the country?"

Victor Schulz had returned, the big man himself, the one who ruled the Schulz family like a corporation, a kingdom, and a cult all at once.

Austin immediately scrambled over and clung to his arm like a scared little boy.

"Dad…"

Victor appeared unchanged, wearing a sharp suit, polished shoes, and a judgmental glare.

As usual, Austin was his favorite. Since Austin's mother passed away, Victor had been treating him like delicate porcelain.

Victor gave Austin a few comforting pats before turning that cold stare on Jillian.

"I've heard everything," he said, like he'd been gathering the facts for hours. "Since the day this nobody married into our family, he's done nothing but make life hell for Austin. Accusing him of murder? Really?"

Victor approached the ledge, eyeing me like a pest he wanted to crush.

"You're his sister, Jillian. And this is how you let your own brother suffer?"

Then he turned directly to me and curled his lip into a sneer.

"A worthless punk with no name, no background, no power—thinking he could bully my son? Christian, unless you apologize, admit everything, and get on your knees to kowtow a hundred times to Austin, don't even dream of being saved."

Jillian flinched. Her grip on my wrist wavered.

"But Dad… he was poisoned. He needs—"

"Needs what?" Victor cut in, voice sharp. "You think you can't be replaced? You think I haven't prepared other options? You're not my only child, Jillian. Don't forget that."

That landed like a punch.

Jillian's jaw clenched. We both knew he had other kids. Bastards spread across the country, maybe more than a few of them already groomed for power.

And Victor? He never cared about emotional ties.

Then Austin, right on cue, wiped at his eyes and whispered just loud enough for Jillian to hear.

"Jill, it's not like I don't want you to save him. But what if we let him off easy, and he turns around and hurts me again? Didn't you promise you'd always protect me?"

That sealed it.

Jillian's grip loosened, and she let go of my hand.

"Christian…you heard them. It's just an apology, so get down, say you were wrong, and it's over. Don't make this harder than it has to be," she said, her voice hoarse.

"If you admit to Austin that you were wrong, I'll pull you up and I'll believe you didn't cheat. I'll believe Bella was really mine. I'll forgive everything. We'll move forward together. We'll have more kids. Okay?"

Christian's POV

The toxins coursing through my body, combined with the strain of hanging from the rooftop, were draining what little strength I had left. But more than the looming threat of death, it was those two sentences from Jillian that cut the deepest.

At that moment, I realized the truth I'd been too blind to accept.

No matter what, I would always rank second in her heart, behind Austin, her ambitions, and her family name.

That hit harder than any blade ever could.

Completely wrecked, I forced out a raspy breath, my throat torn raw from the gas.

"Jillian, your trust is as rotten as you are. I don't want it. My only damn regret is not getting justice for my daughter. Even if I die right here, I'll go down haunting you and your murderer stepbrother to rot in hell and stay there."

Austin's eyes flicked, like he'd just had an idea.

"Jill, he still has a bit of strength left. That's all it is; he's just putting on a front. Let's wait until he's completely weak—that's when he'll give in. Besides, the longer we delay this, the more the toxins will affect him. We both know it's only a matter of time before it breaks him."

Jillian let out a sigh, almost like this whole mess was annoying her. She threw a glance my way like this was all my fault.

Then she turned to the butler and said, "His hands will probably get injured. Tell the med team to prep for bone-setting procedure."

And that's when it hit me what she meant by that.

Some of the wealthy kids picked up on her hint and moved forward, pulling out fruit knives with joyful little smirks, as if they were about to open a birthday gift.

One blade came down clean.

My index finger was gone.

Blood sprayed across the rooftop, thick and hot. I bit down on a scream so hard my teeth ached. My grip was slipping, and I could feel the edge getting closer.

Austin approached, bent down, picked up my severed finger, and then nonchalantly flicked it over the ledge with the tip of his shoe. Then, pretending to be shocked, he covered his mouth.

"Oops. Sorry, Christian," he said with a laugh. "Total accident. I heard there's a stray shelter down there. Poor mutts haven't eaten in days. Your finger's probably their dinner by now."

Jillian faltered for just a split second, her expression flickering. But one glance at her father, and she quickly regained her composure.

That cold mask snapped right back into place.

She walked up and tried to sound soft as she reassured me, "Christian, it's okay. I'll get you the best prosthetic money can buy. You just need to stop being so stubborn. All you have to do is apologize to Austin, and this ends right now."

Austin just chortled.

"Come on, Christian. It's just an apology. Why make Jillian suffer over your pride? You're running out of time, man. If you keep this up, you'll be feeding the hounds next."

Before I could say a word, another blade came down.

My middle finger was gone.

Blood pumped out in heavy pulses. Austin didn't hesitate. With another soft kick, it trailed the first finger into the darkness below.

My vision was blurring. My face had turned pale, and one of my hands, slick with sweat and blood, slipped entirely off the ledge.

I was close. One heartbeat away from falling.

Mercilessly, the crowd around us began to whisper. Some were laughing now, placing bets on how long I would last. A few of them had even pulled out their phones, already filming, eager to catch my last breath on camera.

Then, just as everything seemed lost, came the heavy roar of helicopter blades slicing through the night.

More than a dozen choppers appeared above, their spotlights flooding the rooftop in blinding white.

A woman in full camouflage gear stood on a rope ladder. With one swift move, she swept me into her arms and landed on the rooftop with practiced precision.

She landed on the rooftop hard and fast, her boots hitting the concrete with purpose.

Everything stopped.

Even the spoiled brats knew this wasn't a rescue they could laugh off.

She lifted her head and coldly stared at Austin. "You're the one who belongs to a cage."