“I’m done pretending. I want a divorce.”
The words slipped out stiffly, alien even to my own ears. They drifted into the stillness of Rafael’s massive office, hanging between us like storm clouds.
He didn’t respond immediately—only leaned back, the creak of the leather chair echoing in the silence.
Then he laughed.
A low, slow, amused sound that made my skin crawl.
“You think you can walk away from me, Amelia?” he asked, eyes darkening with menace. “You belong to me. Whether you accept it or not.”
My hands clenched at my sides. “I’m not a thing to be owned.”
He let out a breath, as though I was being difficult without reason. Then he stood and moved around the desk slowly, deliberately, his towering figure closing the space between us.
“You seem to forget, my dear wife,” he murmured, voice velvet-smooth and threatening. “Everything you had—your lifestyle, your comforts, your home—was mine to give. You only had it because I permitted it.”
My nails bit into my palms. “Permitted?” I repeated in disbelief.
“Yes,” he said flatly, brushing his fingers under my chin, lifting it with unsettling gentleness. “And if you try to leave...”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. The implication was loud and clear.
I turned away from his touch, sick rising in my throat. “I’ll find a way to escape this,” I said, my voice hoarse.
His grin widened. “I’d love to watch you try.”
---
Later that evening, Morgana found me in my room, leaning against the doorframe like a warden guarding a cell.
“You’re making a huge mistake, darling,” she said coolly, sipping her wine.
I didn’t answer.
She entered anyway, setting the glass gently on my vanity. “You tried to leave us, and we made sure everything was taken from you.”
My eyes met hers. “You can’t break what’s already shattered.”
Morgana smiled—slow, calculated. “But we did. We even took your life with us.”
A cold shiver raced down my back.
“You continued breathing only because my son allowed it,” she added, tone dripping with venom.
The air felt thinner. My hands balled into fists. “If that’s supposed to scare me, you’ll have to try harder.”
She chuckled softly and took another sip. “Oh, sweetheart. That wasn’t a warning. It was a certainty.”
And she wasn’t wrong.
---
Two days later, the floor crumbled beneath my feet.
The call came just after breakfast.
“We regret to inform you, Dr. Stoneheart, that due to new developments regarding your professional history, your medical license is being suspended pending an inquiry.”
Everything inside me froze. “Excuse me?”
The voice on the line was cold. Formal. “A complaint has been lodged by the family of a patient. Allegations of negligence. Fatal consequences. The hospital board has decided to proceed with immediate suspension.”
I gripped the phone tighter. “That’s not possible. I never—”
“There are signed reports. Supporting documents. It’s no longer a question of if, Dr. Stoneheart, but when the case escalates.”
I felt like the floor had vanished under me. “Who filed this?” I rasped.
A brief pause. “The evidence came from an anonymous source.”
I didn’t need to ask. I already knew.
Bianca.
The realization hit like ice water. I ran to my study, yanking open drawers, rifling through cabinets—my certifications, case notes, even my license... all gone.
A strangled sound escaped my throat. She’d taken everything.
My chest felt like it was caving in. No license meant no job. No future. No credibility.
Rafael was waiting.
That night, he appeared in my doorway, whiskey in hand, calm and composed. I was still seated on the edge of the bed, staring into nothing.
“You look drained,” he said casually. “Rough day?”
I didn’t reply.
He strolled in, slow and smug, stopping just before me. “This is the freedom you wanted, isn’t it? Look at you now—no career, no allies, nowhere to go.”
I swallowed down the panic, trying to stay composed.
He knelt beside me and set his drink on the nightstand. “So here’s my offer.”
I finally met his eyes.
“Stay,” he whispered, brushing his fingers over my leg, “and I’ll fix everything. You’ll get your job, your title, your life back.” His grip tightened. “But if you leave... you’ll be nothing.”
I forced the words out. “You were never going to let me leave anyway.”
A slow grin tugged at his lips. “Exactly. But watching you come to that realization—it’s my favorite part.”
I shoved his hand away and stood, nearly knocking the glass over. “Get out.”
He rose with me, still amused. “Think it over.”
Then he left. Just like that.
---
I didn’t sleep that night. I didn’t even lie down. I just sat in the dark, brain spinning, thoughts spiraling.
Then—just before morning—
A faint sound.
A soft, subtle scratching.
I stiffened.
I rose slowly, heart pounding. The noise was coming from my closet. Dread pooled in my stomach. I reached for the door, fingers trembling.
I opened it.
A scream ripped from my throat.
Blood. Fur. Vacant, glassy eyes.
My dog—Coco.
Dead. An arrow piercing her tiny body. Limbs twisted unnaturally.
A note was tucked beneath her bloodstained collar.
"The next to die will walk on two legs."
