Liv Hayes POV:
The salt air of Kennebunkport didn't taste like freedom. It tasted like cold, unyielding reality.
My mother's estate sat on a cliff overlooking the Atlantic, a grey fortress against a leaden sky. It was the perfect sanctuary for a woman who felt like she was made of ash.
I sat on the terrace, a blanket wrapped tightly around my legs. The burns on my stomach were healing, turning from angry red to a dull, itching pink.
Physical pain was manageable. It had boundaries. It had a prescription.
The other pain—the emptiness in my womb—was infinite.
"He called again," Elizabeth said.
My mother stood by the French doors, swirling a glass of iced tea. She didn't look at me. She was staring at the fireplace inside, where a framed photo of Michael and me on our wedding day used to sit.
Now, it was just a pile of glass and twisted silver in the wastebasket.
"Did you answer?" I asked. My voice was raspy—rough with disuse. I hadn't spoken much in three days.
"I answered," she said. Her voice was clipped, dangerous. "I told him the Hayes trust is frozen. The shipping routes are closed to his logistics fleet as of midnight."
I watched a seagull fight the gale. "And?"
"He screamed," she said with a grim satisfaction. "He claimed he needed the liquidity for a 'medical emergency.' He swore he did everything for the family."
"He did everything for Selena," I corrected.
Elizabeth walked over to the wastebasket. She picked up a piece of the torn photo—Michael's smiling face—and walked to the fireplace. She tossed it onto the logs and struck a match.
"I watched him, Liv," she said softly, watching the paper curl and blacken. "At the wedding. I thought he was overwhelmed by the sight of you. Now I know better."
"Know what?"
"He wasn't looking at you," she said, turning to face me. "He was looking past you. At the empty chair in the front row where she would have sat if she hadn't been in Italy."
I closed my eyes. Even my mother saw it now.
"I overheard the staff whispering," Elizabeth continued, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "His driver talks. Apparently, Michael kept a detailed log. He spent three years tracking Selena's movements in Florence while he was courting you. Every time you went to a dress fitting, he was on the phone with his private investigator."
The wind whipped my hair across my face, stinging my cheeks.
"I was the cover," I whispered.
"You were the bankroll," Elizabeth spat. "And the incubator."
She came over and gripped my shoulder. Her nails dug in.
"Make him pay, Liv. Don't just walk away. Burn him down."
I looked at the ocean. It was vast and indifferent.
"I'm not going to burn him," I said, pulling the blanket tighter. "Fire is too quick. I'm going to let him freeze."
My phone buzzed in my lap. A notification from a financial news app.
*Bratva-Cosa Nostra Alliance in Turmoil: Hayes Family Pulls Funding.*
I swiped the notification away.
I wasn't a victim anymore. I was the architect of his destruction. And the first brick had just been pulled.
