Alina Phillips POV
The private suite reeked of antiseptic and old money.
It was a facility owned by the Family, designed to stitch up bullet holes and keep secrets buried.
My leg was encased in a cast.
My hip was mottled with deep purple bruises.
But the real damage was invisible.
A nurse bustled in, clutching a tablet like a shield.
"Mr. Francis sent clothes," she said, resolutely avoiding my eyes. "He expects you to be ready in an hour."
"Ready for what?" I asked, my voice rasping.
"The Anniversary Gala," she said.
I laughed. It was a dry, brittle sound.
He ran me over, and now he wanted me to attend his party.
It was a power move.
He wanted to show the world that his little ward was back and everything was fine.
He intended to parade his broken toy.
I put on the dress.
It was black.
Fitting.
Jaxon and Krystal picked me up in a limousine that stretched longer than a hearse.
Krystal wore red.
Not just red-a violent, arterial shade. She looked like she had just bathed in blood and reveled in the warmth.
"I'm so glad you could make it, sweetie," she said, patting my hand. Her nails were sharp enough to draw blood.
"Jaxon told me everything about your... condition. We're going to take such good care of you."
I pulled my hand away.
"I'm sure you will," I said.
Jaxon kept his gaze fixed on the passing city. He wouldn't look at me.
The Gala was held in the sprawling gardens of the Estate.
The same gardens where my father used to teach me how to identify birds.
Now it was infested with politicians, judges, and mobsters.
They sipped champagne and toasted to the happy couple.
A giant screen was set up near the fountain.
It started playing a montage.
Jaxon and Krystal in Paris.
Jaxon and Krystal in Milan.
Jaxon and Krystal on their wedding day, three years ago.
While I was locked in a white room in Switzerland, thinking he was working to keep me safe, he was cutting cake with her.
I felt like I couldn't breathe.
I grabbed a glass of water and retreated toward the edge of the garden, near the kennels.
I needed silence.
I needed to not see his smile on that screen.
I heard a low, guttural growl.
I turned.
A Doberman stood there.
It wasn't one of the old guard dogs. I knew those dogs. I raised them.
This one was new.
It wore a diamond-studded collar.
Krystal's dog.
The gate to the kennel was unlatched.
"Easy," I whispered, holding out a trembling hand.
The dog's ears flattened.
It lunged.
I screamed and threw my arm up instinctively.
Teeth sank into my forearm.
\ The pain was sharp and immediate, tearing through muscle and sinew.
I fell back, the dog's weight crushing me into the earth.
"Jaxon!" I screamed.
He was there in seconds.
He ran from the crowd, Krystal right behind him.
He saw the dog on top of me.
He saw the blood.
He pulled his gun.
"No!" Krystal shrieked. "Don't hurt him! He's protecting me!"
Jaxon hesitated.
He had a clear shot at the dog.
But Krystal grabbed his arm.
"He smells her fear," she cried. "She provoked him!"
Jaxon lowered the gun.
He didn't shoot the dog.
He grabbed Krystal and pulled her behind him, shielding her body with his.
He shielded her from the dog that was currently mauling me.
"Get the handler!" Jaxon roared at a guard.
He waited for the handler.
He let the dog chew on my arm for ten more agonizing seconds because he wouldn't risk a ricochet hitting his wife.
The handler finally dragged the beast off me.
My arm was a ruin.
Blood soaked the black dress.
I looked up at Jaxon from the grass.
He was checking Krystal for scratches.
She hadn't even been touched.
He looked at me, his eyes full of panic, but his hands were still gripping her waist.
That was the moment the last piece of my heart shattered.
He didn't just choose her.
He chose her safety over my life.
