Quinn's POV
I was trapped in a hospital bed, still weak and hollow. My arms throbbed where the IV lines had been, where they'd drawn too much from me, and sitting upright sent the room tilting sideways in slow, nauseating waves. But none of that compared to the wound no physician could stitch closed. I was grieving the loss of my child.
In my confinement, the outside world found ways to reach me anyway. A woman from the Family—someone I'd once shared Sunday dinners with—sent a video without comment. Zane was laughing at some black-tie gala, his hand planted firmly on Nina's waist, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the silk of her dress. Another video arrived an hour later: Zane feeding Nina a forkful of cake at a private dinner party, leaning close to whisper something against her ear that made her throw her head back in a delighted giggle.
He looked happy. He looked free.
When the hospital finally discharged me, I walked out alone. No one came. Not Zane. Not one of his enforcers. Not even one of the lowest-ranking soldiers in the Montecchio crew, the kind who ran errands and parked cars. Just me, carrying a plastic hospital bag and the awful, crystallized truth that I no longer mattered to any of them.
I didn't want to go back to the estate. Just the thought of those iron gates, that long gravel drive, the cold marble foyer where I'd once believed I was home—it made my skin crawl. But all of my things had been sent back there. My documents. My identification. Everything I needed to disappear. So I had no choice.
Then, because God has a vicious sense of humor, I saw them right outside the maternity wing.
Nina looked radiant and proud, one hand resting on her belly like she was already posing for a family portrait. Zane stood beside her with his palm flat against the small of her back, presenting her to the world as if she were something precious he'd won.
A nurse passed by, her gaze catching on them. She smiled warmly. "Mr. Montecchio, your wife is positively glowing today!"
My stomach twisted into a knot so tight I thought I'd be sick right there on the polished floor. But I didn't correct her. I didn't have the strength. I didn't have anything left.
Instead, I turned. I started to walk away.
"Quinn."
Zane's voice cut through the corridor like a blade drawn across glass, and I froze for a single, involuntary second. My spine went rigid, every muscle locking. But I didn't turn around right away. Of course he saw me. Of course he had to call my name now, when I was trying to dissolve quietly into the background like I'd never existed.
I finally turned, meeting his eyes from across the gleaming floor of the maternity wing. "I didn't follow you. Just so you know—I was discharged. I didn't know you'd be here."
His eyes narrowed, but before he could speak, Nina curled herself around his arm.
"Babe, please let her come with us," she said sweetly, her voice dripping with a kindness so manufactured it made my teeth ache. "I feel bad for her. She gave me blood, remember? It's the least we can do."
I almost laughed. Almost.
Zane touched the tip of her nose with his finger, affectionate, indulgent. "You're too kind. Alright."
So I got in the car. Not because I wanted to, but because I had nowhere else to go just yet. My passport, my documents, everything I needed to leave—it was all still locked inside the estate.
In the backseat, I sat in silence. But there, on the leather seat beside me, was a pair of women's underwear stained with something unmistakable. The sight of it hit me like a slap, a sharp sting that lodged itself behind my ribs.
Nina twisted in her seat, tossing me a smirk over her shoulder. "Oh my God, I just realized—my panties are still back here. Can you believe that, babe? After everything we did in this backseat last week?"
She giggled shamelessly, as though we were old friends reminiscing over brunch, not two women chained to the same man.
Zane chuckled, completely unbothered. "You nearly tore the seat stitching."
"Mmm," Nina purred, stretching the sound like taffy. "You weren't complaining when I was grinding on your lap while you were parked outside the estate. Or that time I unzipped you during the long drive out to the docks and kept you nice and distracted."
Zane smirked, eyes fixed on the road as if none of this was out of place. "That's because you make traffic worth it."
"And remember the time you had to pull over because I wouldn't stop using my mouth?" She dropped her voice to a theatrical whisper. "God, you nearly lost your mind."
My stomach churned. I stared out the window at the city scrolling past, jaw locked so tight the muscles burned. My fingers clenched in my lap, nails carving half-moons into my palms until the skin threatened to break.
While they flirted as though I were furniture, I quietly fished my phone from my bag and opened the latest message from Tony. My cousin. My blood. My heart gave a small, traitorous flutter as I read the confirmation I'd been waiting days for.
Below the flight itinerary, he'd written a short message:
Here's another flight schedule, Quinn. Hope you catch this one. The flight is scheduled for tonight at 9 PM.
I smiled to myself. Just barely. Just enough.
I typed a quick reply:
Thank you so much, Tony. I'm sorry for missing the last one.
Almost instantly, the chat bubble appeared with his response:
What really happened that day? You can tell me.
My fingers hovered above the screen. I didn't want to lie to him. Tony had always looked out for me—had always been the one person in this world who treated my safety like it was his own personal responsibility. But if I told him the truth, he'd bring his entire crew down on the Montecchio estate before sunrise, and I didn't want blood spilled because of me. Not yet. Not like this.
So instead, I typed:
I'll explain soon. I just need to get out first.
Because leaving this place was the only thing I wanted anymore. The only thing that still felt possible.
In the front seat, Zane laughed softly, murmuring some half-hearted apology to Nina for forgetting something, even taking the blame with exaggerated charm. But all the while, I could feel his gaze in the rearview mirror, sliding toward me, watching, waiting for a reaction. A flinch. A tear. Anything.
I gave him nothing. Not even a flicker.
That same strange frustration I'd seen in him back at the hospital stirred again behind his eyes—that restless, almost panicked irritation that surfaced whenever I went quiet. He couldn't stand it. Silence from me was something he didn't know how to control.
"Quinn, you've been glued to your phone ever since we got in the car," he snapped, his voice suddenly hard. "Who are you talking to? Someone I don't know?"
"Just reading the news." I didn't even glance up. My eyes stayed fixed on the electronic plane ticket glowing on the screen.
He didn't believe me. I could feel it in the way the air in the car shifted, the way his grip tightened on the steering wheel until the leather creaked. And then, without a word, he reached back and snatched the phone from my hands.
My heart slammed against my ribs—not from fear, but from the sharp, white-hot sting of anger. The sheer audacity of it. I clenched my jaw, fighting to keep the heat from reaching my face, but my fists curled on instinct. So much for respect. So much for the ring I still wore on my finger.
"What's the passcode?"
"It's the date we met, Zane." My voice came out flat and edged, a knife wrapped in silk. "You know, that magical day where I made the worst decision of my life and fell for you? It should be easy to remember, since you were charming for a whole five minutes before turning into a full-time nightmare."
I didn't bother hiding the venom. Let it burn.
Zane exhaled through his nose, irritation already curdling into regret at the guessing game he'd started. He tapped at the screen once. Twice. A third time.
The phone buzzed and flashed red. Locked.
Beside him, Nina rolled her eyes and leaned over with a mockingly sweet voice. "Just let it go, babe. So what if she's on her phone? It's not like she has any friends left. Or dignity." She paused, letting the words land. "I mean, what else can she do now besides text someone who pities her enough to reply?"
She caught my eye in the rearview mirror and winked, her smirk sharp enough to cut glass.
