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.
