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."
