"I'll call you back," I rasped into the receiver.
"The offer stands," the deep voice replied. "Don't take too long."
I ended the call and shoved the device into my pocket. Vengeance could wait. I had to secure the last piece of my family. Luna.
I sprinted toward the estate's annex, my bare feet slapping against the cold marble floors.
Inside the side parlor, Gabby pinched her nose, waving a manicured hand in front of her face. "Andrew, make her get rid of it. My throat is closing up. Make it stop."
"Throw the beast outside," Andrew ordered a passing maid, barely glancing up from his phone.
"Don't touch her!" I lunged forward and snatched my seven-year-old tabby from the Persian rug. "She stays with me."
"You have exactly ten minutes to pack your remaining junk," Andrew stated. He adjusted his Rolex. "Then both of you are out."
I hurried into the annex bedroom to grab the plastic carrier. I set Luna on the mattress for just a second to unzip the mesh door.
When I turned around, the bed was empty.
"Luna?" I called out, panic rising in my throat.
Outside the open ground-floor window, Gabby crouched by the edge of the driveway. She tossed a thick slice of sausage onto the asphalt.
"Here, kitty," Gabby cooed. "Come get a treat."
Luna darted out the open side door, chasing the rolling meat.
A massive delivery van sped around the sharp curve of the driveway.
"No!" I vaulted through the doorway, my arms reaching out.
Tires screeched. A sickening thud echoed across the pavement.
I dropped to my knees. Luna lay motionless in the center of the road. A pool of crimson spread rapidly beneath her crushed body. She didn't even twitch.
"What did you do?" I screamed, my vocal cords tearing.
Gabby took a dramatic step back, pressing a hand to her chest. "Oh my god! It was an accident! I was just trying to feed her!"
Andrew marched out of the front doors. He immediately pulled Gabby against his side, shielding her from me.
"She killed my cat!" I sobbed. I scooped Luna's warm, broken form into my arms, staining my shirt with blood. "My parents left her to me! She was all I had left!"
"Stop making a scene, Nina," Andrew snapped, his brow furrowed in annoyance. "It's just a damn cat. Look at Gabby, you're terrifying her."
"She threw food into the street!" I yelled, pointing a bloody finger at his mistress.
"I didn't see the van!" Gabby whimpered, burying her face in Andrew's chest. "She's yelling at me, Andrew. Make her stop."
"Enough." Andrew glared at me with pure disgust. "Clean yourself up and get off my property."
I stared at the man I married. He stroked his mistress's hair, offering her the comfort I desperately needed. The realization hit me like a physical blow. He wasn't just cheating. He was entirely hers.
That night, I stayed in the annex to finish boxing up my studio equipment. My hands shook as I folded my leotards.
Around midnight, the sharp smell of burning wood jolted me from my packing.
Thick, black smoke rolled under the bedroom door. I coughed, tying a cotton shirt over my mouth, and pushed into the hallway. Flames crawled up the floral wallpaper, eating through the plaster and filling the corridor with a blinding orange glow.
"Andrew!" I yelled, stumbling toward the main house connector.
A loud crack split the air. The ceiling groaned above me. A burning oak beam plummeted from the rafters, slamming directly into my right calf.
Pain exploded through my nerves. I collapsed onto the scorching floorboards, screaming in agony.
"Help!" I shrieked, tearing at the heavy wood. It wouldn't budge. The heat blistered my skin.
Footsteps pounded up the main staircase. Andrew burst through the smoke, a wet towel pressed to his face.
"Andrew! Here! I'm trapped!" I waved my arms frantically.
He didn't look at me. He sprinted past the annex hall, kicking open the guest room door.
"Gabby!" he yelled.
He emerged seconds later, carrying her in his arms. She coughed into his shoulder, clinging to his neck.
"My leg!" I reached out, my fingers grazing his pant leg as he rushed by. "Please, Andrew! I'm burning!"
Andrew kicked my hand away. "Guards! Get the cars ready! Gabby needs a hospital now!"
"Don't leave me!" I begged.
He disappeared down the stairs without a backward glance.
The flames boxed me in. The heat seared my arms. I stopped screaming as the smoke filled my lungs, dragging me into absolute darkness.
A harsh fluorescent light pierced my eyelids.
I blinked against the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room. Bandages wrapped tightly around my forearms and right leg. An IV dripped fluids into my vein. A monitor beeped steadily next to my head.
Andrew stood at the foot of the bed, casually scrolling on his phone.
"You left me to burn," I whispered. My throat felt like sandpaper.
He pocketed his device, his expression completely flat. "Gabby left a scented candle burning in the guest room. It was a mistake."
"You stepped over me." I forced myself to sit up, wincing at the sharp pull in my calf. "I was trapped under a beam, and you kicked my hand away."
"Gabby is frail," he replied, his tone devoid of guilt. "She has a sensitive respiratory system. I had to save her first."
"I am your wife!" I shouted, my voice cracking.
"Not for much longer," he countered. "Besides, you're still alive, aren't you? The firefighters got you out. Stop playing the victim."
He turned his back and walked toward the door.
"Don't bother coming back to the estate," he added, pausing in the doorway. "My lawyers will send your settlement to whatever motel you end up in."
He shut the door behind him.
My chest hollowed out. The last shred of hope I held for the man I loved turned to ash.
Three days later, I limped through the backstage doors of the Grand Theater.
Today was the final audition for *Swan Crown*. Three years of grueling rehearsals led to this exact moment. It was my only ticket back to principal dancer, my only way to secure a future without Andrew's money.
I popped two ibuprofen, swallowed them dry, and began wrapping my bruised toes in the dressing room.
"Well, don't you look pathetic."
I looked up. Gabby leaned against the doorframe, wearing my custom-fitted pointe shoes. The pink silk ribbons crisscrossed up her ankles.
"Take those off," I demanded, standing up. My bad leg throbbed, but I refused to show weakness.
"They fit me better," she smirked, stepping fully into the room. "Just like your husband."
"Nina," a stern voice interrupted before I could slap her across the face.
Director Marcus stood behind Gabby, holding an iPad. "You're done."
"What?" I gripped the edge of the makeup vanity. "I'm ready to perform. My burns are superficial, and my leg is fine."
He shoved the screen in my face. A video played. It showed me being loaded into the ambulance on a stretcher, my leg bloody and crushed, followed by a zoomed-in shot of my medical chart listing heavy painkillers.
"Gabby's agent sent me this," Marcus stated, crossing his arms. "You're on narcotics. You can't execute a grand jeté with a compromised calf muscle. You're a liability to this production."
"I haven't taken narcotics in two days!" I argued, gesturing to the empty ibuprofen bottle. "Gabby is lying! She caused the fire!"
"My decision is final." Marcus pointed toward the stage. "Gabby is taking the lead. Pack your bags, Nina. You're off the roster entirely."
He walked away.
Gabby offered a mock pout. "Better luck next time, understudy."
She spun around and trotted out to the stage.
The heavy velvet curtains parted, kicking up a cloud of dust in the stage lights. Gabby stepped into the spotlight.
The orchestra music swelled. She leaped across the stage, executing the routine I spent six months choreographing. The crew erupted into applause.
My knees buckled. I sank onto the cold concrete floor of the wings, clutching my dance bag to my chest.
My husband. My family. My dream. She burned them all to the ground in less than a week.
I pulled out my phone. My hands trembled as I opened the call log.
I tapped the unknown number from three days ago.
It rang once.
"Are you ready to destroy him now?" the deep voice asked.
"Yes," I answered. "Tell me what to do."
