I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry.
When you are shattered into a million pieces, there is no sound. There is only a deafening, hollow ringing in your ears.
My mother was dead. My sister, the little girl I had protected from our abusive father, the sister whose dreams I had sacrificed my own happiness to fund, had sold me to the devil. And Roger... Roger had known all along. He had used a dead woman to keep me chained to him.
I lay there in the dark hospital room for hours, staring at the ceiling until my eyes burned. I had nothing left. No baby. No mother. No sister. No husband.
The door clicked open.
I didn't move, pretending to be asleep. The heavy scent of expensive vanilla and sickeningly sweet perfume flooded the sterile room.
"Look at her. She looks pathetic." It was Mia’s voice. My sister.
"Shh, don't wake her up yet," Cheska giggled. "I want to see her face when she sees what we brought."
I slowly opened my eyes.
Mia and Cheska were standing at the foot of my bed. Mia looked stunning in a designer coat I had bought her for her birthday last month. Cheska was leaning against her, holding a small, familiar mahogany box.
My heart stopped.
It was my memory box. The one I kept hidden in the back of my closet. The one Roger swore he had thrown away years ago.
"Give that back," I croaked, my voice raw and broken. I tried to push myself up, but my limbs were still weak from the panic attack.
Cheska smirked, popping the latch open. "Roger brought this to my suite earlier. He said since I’m having the heir, I should see if there’s anything in here worth keeping from your... failed attempt."
"Don't touch it!" I lunged forward, but the IV line yanked my arm back, sending a sharp spike of pain through my vein.
Cheska reached into the box and pulled out a tiny, hand-knitted blue baby blanket. It was the blanket I had made while I was pregnant. The one I had wrapped around my stomach every night, singing lullabies to the son I never got to hold.
"Hmm. The wool is a bit scratchy," Cheska mused, rubbing the fabric between her manicured fingers. "And the color is so depressing."
"Roger said you can use it as a rag for your purebred Pomeranian," Mia chimed in, a cruel smile playing on her lips. My own sister. Looking at me like I was garbage.
"Actually," Cheska said, her eyes glinting with pure malice, "I think it belongs in the trash. Just like the defective little thing it was made for."
She dropped the blanket onto the floor and deliberately stepped on it with her muddy designer boots, grinding the delicate blue yarn into the hospital linoleum.
Something inside me snapped. The last frayed thread holding my sanity together completely unraveled.
I didn't fight them. I didn't scream. I just stared at the muddy footprint on the only thing I had left of my child.
"Aw, is she going to cry again?" Mia sneered. "Let's go, Ches. The smell in here is making me nauseous."
They turned and walked out, their laughter echoing down the hallway.
I slowly pulled the IV needle out of my arm. Blood dripped down my wrist, but I didn't feel it. I climbed out of bed, my bare feet hitting the freezing floor. I picked up the ruined blue blanket, clutching it to my chest, and walked out of the room.
I didn't go to Cheska's suite. I didn't go looking for Roger.
I walked straight to the stairwell and climbed.
The heavy metal door to the hospital rooftop pushed open with a groan. The freezing Seattle rain hit me instantly, soaking through my thin hospital gown, plastering my hair to my face. The wind howled, but it was nothing compared to the storm of agony tearing through my chest.
I walked to the edge.
The city lights blurred below me, a dizzying drop into the dark, wet streets. The cars looked like tiny ants. One step. That was all it would take. One step, and the pain would finally stop. I would be with my baby. I would be with my mom.
Roger had won. He had broken me completely.
"I'm coming, my sweet boy," I whispered to the dark sky, clutching the blue blanket tightly against my heart. "Mommy is coming."
I climbed over the cold metal railing. My toes gripped the very edge of the concrete ledge. The wind pushed against my back, urging me forward.
I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath.
I let go of the railing.
Suddenly, a large, warm hand clamped around my wrist like a vice.
Before I could even gasp, a strong arm wrapped securely around my waist, yanking me backward with terrifying force. I slammed against a hard, broad chest, tumbling over the railing and crashing onto the wet rooftop concrete.
"Let me go!" I screamed, thrashing wildly against the stranger. "Let me die! Please, just let me die!"
"Dying is easy, Ysabel," a deep, velvet voice murmured right next to my ear. The sound of it sent a strange, involuntary shiver down my spine. It was a voice that commanded absolute authority.
The man shifted, pinning my flailing arms gently but firmly to my sides so I wouldn't hurt myself. I looked up through the pouring rain.
He had piercing, midnight-blue eyes, a sharp jawline, and an aura of dangerous power that made the freezing air feel suddenly suffocating. He was wearing a bespoke black suit, completely unbothered by the torrential downpour.
"Who... who are you?" I choked out, trembling violently.
The corners of his lips curved into a dark, predatory smile. He reached up, gently wiping a wet strand of hair from my cheek.
"I'm the man who took Roger's company," he said smoothly, his eyes flashing with a dangerous promise. "I'm his cousin, Julian Thorne. And if you step off this ledge, you let them win. But if you take my hand... I will help you destroy every single one of them."
