"I wanted a divorce."
The words tasted foreign on my tongue, like something I was never meant to say aloud. They hung in the air, filling the massive office with a silence so heavy it pressed against my ribs.
Alessandro leaned back in his chair, the soft creak of leather the only response at first. Then—he laughed.
A deep, amused chuckle that made my skin crawl.
“You thought you could leave me, Raven?” He tilted his head, his dark eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “You’re mine. Whether you liked it or not.”
My fingers curled into fists at my sides. “I wasn’t your possession.”
He exhaled, as if I were a petulant child testing his patience. Then he rose, slow and deliberate, and rounded the desk. I refused to step back when he stopped in front of me, his presence suffocating.
“You’re forgetting something, wife.” His voice was a murmur, deceptively soft. “The life you had? I owned it. The clothes on your back, the food you ate, even the air you breathed under this roof—it was all because I allowed it.”
My nails dug into my palms. “You allowed it?” I repeated, my voice shaking with disbelief.
“Yes.” His hand came up, fingers brushing over my chin, tipping my face up to his. “And you would stay where I put you. Because if you tried to leave…”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. The threat was already clear.
I wrenched my head away, disgust rising in my throat. “I’d find a way out of this,” I whispered.
Alessandro only smirked. “Go ahead and try.”
***
Morgana cornered me that evening, her eyes cold, her expression unreadable.
“You were making a mistake, dear,” she said, sipping her wine as she watched me from the doorway of my bedroom.
I didn’t respond.
She stepped closer, placing her glass down on the vanity with a soft clink. “You left, and we took everything from you.”
I finally looked at her. “You couldn’t take what was already broken.”
Morgana smiled, slow and sharp. “Oh, but we could.” She leaned in, her breath warm against my cheek. “Including your life.”
A chill slithered down my spine.
“You were only breathing,” she continued, “because my son let you.”
The room suddenly felt too small. Too cold.
I clenched my jaw. “If that was a threat, you’d have to try harder.”
Morgana chuckled, picking up her wine again. “Oh, sweetheart.” She sipped. “It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.”
And Morgana was right.
Two days later, my world burned.
It started with a phone call from the hospital.
“We’re sorry, Dr. Evergreen, but due to recent concerns regarding your medical history, the board had decided to suspend your license pending further investigation.”
My heart stopped. “What?”
The voice on the other end was detached. Professional. “A patient’s family had come forward with claims of malpractice on your part. There were reports stating you botched a surgery that resulted in a fatality.”
I gripped the phone tighter. “That was impossible. I’d never—”
“We had documents supporting these claims.”
Documents? What documents?
“Who filed this?” My voice was hoarse.
A pause. Then—
“The report was leaked to the board anonymously.”
I already knew. I already knew.
Mirella.
The realization hit like a slap.
I rushed to my office, tearing through my desk, my drawers—my documents. My medical records, my license—gone.
A choked breath escaped me. She took them. She stole them.
Panic clawed at my chest. Without my license, I was nothing. No job. No reputation. No future.
And Alessandro knew it.
That night, he stood in my doorway, a glass of whiskey in one hand, looking completely at ease as I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor.
“You looked tired,” he mused. “Rough day?”
I didn’t answer.
He stepped inside, taking slow, lazy strides until he was standing right in front of me. “You wanted freedom,” he said, swirling his drink. “And now look at you. No career. No way out. No one to run to.”
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat.
He crouched down, placing his glass on my nightstand. “So I was offering you a deal.”
I finally lifted my gaze.
“Stay,” he murmured, brushing his fingers along my knee, “and I’d give you everything. Your license. Your career. Your life back.” His grip tightened, just enough to make me tense. “Leave, and you’d be nothing.”
I forced myself to speak. “You wouldn’t let me leave anyway.”
A slow smirk. “No. But I enjoyed watching you realize it.”
I shoved his hand away, standing so fast I nearly knocked over the glass. “Get out.”
He chuckled, standing with me. “I’d give you time to think about it.”
He left without another word.
I didn’t sleep that night. I didn’t move.
I just sat in the dark, my mind unraveling.
Then, just before dawn, I heard it.
A soft, almost imperceptible scratching.
I frowned, pushing off the bed. The sound was coming from my closet. My heart pounded as I stepped forward, dread curling in my stomach. I reached for the handle, fingers trembling.
I opened the door. And I screamed.
Blood. Fur. Lifeless eyes staring back at me.
My Pipi. My dog.
Shot by an arrow, its tiny body crumpled in an unnatural way.
A note, tucked under its tiny collar, smeared with blood.
"The next to die will have two legs."
