Chapter 5

Ayla Warner POV:

Rough hands seized me, pulling me backward, my arms twisted behind me. The world blurred as I was dragged through the lab, past the horrified faces of my team. They looked away, helpless, defeated.

I was thrown into a stark, windowless room in the basement of the research facility. The air was cold, damp, smelling of concrete and decay. Before I could process my surroundings, Craig stormed in, his face a thundercloud of fury.

"You like to play games, Ayla?" he snarled, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light. He held a length of thick rope. "Let's see how much fun you have when you're the target."

He bound my wrists tightly, then my ankles, securing me to a heavy metal pipe running along the wall. The rough rope chafed my skin, a cruel reminder of my helplessness.

"This is for Ashley," he said, his voice cold and hard. "You went too far this time. You humiliated her. You destroyed her things. This is your punishment. So you learn your place."

He stepped back, surveying his work. "And for God's sake, Ayla, stop being so dramatic. It's just a little game. You'll be fine."

He held up a brightly colored toy gun. A water pistol. My heart sank. This was his idea of a game. A sick, twisted display of power.

Ashley, looking perfectly recovered, skipped into the room behind him, a wide, malevolent smile on her face. She held an identical water pistol.

"Look, Craigy," she cooed, her voice saccharine sweet. "She looks like a stuck pig."

Craig chuckled, a chilling sound. "She does, doesn't she, darling? Now, do you want to show her how we play?" He handed her the water pistol.

Ashley took it, feigning innocence. "Oh, I don't know how to use this, Craigy. What if I hurt myself?"

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Craig murmured, stepping behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands covering hers on the toy gun. He pressed his body against hers, his lips brushing her ear. "I'll teach you."

He guided her aim. The cold barrel of the toy gun pointed directly at my chest.

A sudden, sharp burst. A cold spray of water hit my sternum. The impact wasn't hard, but my chest, still tender from the miscarriage, recoiled. A dull ache spread through me.

Ashley giggled, a high-pitched, childish sound. "I hit her, Craigy! I hit her!"

Craig squeezed her close. "Good girl, Ashley. You're such a natural." His eyes, over Ashley's shoulder, met mine. They held no remorse, only a cold satisfaction.

They continued their game. Shot after shot. My shoulders, my face, my stomach. Each cold splash felt like a fresh wound. The pain in my abdomen pulsed, a steady throb.

Then, a particularly hard spray hit me low, directly on my still-healing womb. A searing, white-hot pain ripped through me. I gasped, a strangled cry escaping my lips. My vision swam.

I felt a warm, sticky gush between my legs. Blood. My body was betraying me again.

I tried to scream, to tell them, to beg them to stop. But my mouth was taped shut. Only muffled, desperate sounds escaped.

Craig and Ashley didn't notice. They were too engrossed in their cruel game, laughing, celebrating each hit. Craig pressed a final, lingering kiss to Ashley's hair. "That's enough for today, my love. She's learned her lesson."

My head swam. The room tilted. Darkness crept in at the edges of my vision. I felt myself slipping, fading.

Just before I lost consciousness, a figure burst into the room. It was Craig, but he looked different. His face was contorted with panic. He was rushing towards me, his eyes wide with horror as he saw the blood.

Then, nothing.

I woke up, again, in a hospital bed. This time, the room was dimly lit, quiet. Craig sat in a chair beside me, his head in his hands. He looked utterly exhausted, his face gaunt, his shoulders slumped.

He stirred, sensing my awakening. His head snapped up. His eyes, red-rimmed and bloodshot, met mine. "Ayla," he croaked, his voice thick with emotion.

He launched himself from the chair, falling to his knees beside the bed. He grabbed my hand, pressing it to his lips, his body trembling. "Ayla, my love, I'm so sorry. So, so sorry. I didn't know... I didn't realize... I never meant for this to happen."

His words were choked with what sounded like genuine remorse. "Our baby... I can't believe... I killed our baby, Ayla. I did. It's all my fault." Tears streamed down his face, soaking my hand.

I yanked my hand away, my heart a hard, cold knot in my chest. "You did," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "You killed our baby, Craig. With your own hands. To protect her."

He flinched as if struck. "No! Ayla, it was an accident! I swear! I didn't know you were still... vulnerable. It was just a game! Ashley would never... she's not like that! It was just a horrible, horrible accident."

"An accident?" My laugh was weak, but full of venom. "You think losing our child because you shoved me, because you let that psycho shoot water at my bleeding womb, is an 'accident'?"

"We can have another one, Ayla!" he pleaded, his voice desperate. "I promise! As many as you want! Just forgive me, please!"

I just stared at him, a cold, hard silence stretching between us. There was nothing left to say. No more tears to cry. He was talking to a ghost. The woman who loved him was dead.

He continued to plead, to make excuses for Ashley, to promise a future that no longer existed. I simply turned my head away, looking out the window at the gray sky.

Days turned into a week. He came every day, bringing flowers, bringing food I refused to eat, whispering apologies I no longer heard. He tried to act like the loving husband he once was.

One morning, he came in beaming, holding a small box. "Ayla, my love! I've been thinking. We need to celebrate your recovery! I've arranged a special surprise for your discharge today! A romantic dinner, just us. And to show you how much I truly love you, I've arranged for your lab data to be completely restored! I've hired the best recovery specialists in the world!"

He knelt beside my bed, his eyes shining with what looked like genuine adoration. "Ayla, I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But I promise, I will make it all up to you. I'll be better. I'll pay more attention. I'll never let anything come between us again. You're my brilliant Ayla, my wife, my everything. I love you."

He opened the small box. Inside, nestled on velvet, was not the diamond ring he usually gave me, but a cheap, gaudy plastic ring, the kind found in a child's toy chest.

My eyes narrowed. A cold, hard laugh escaped my lips. "Ashley's little message, I presume?"

His face went pale. "What? No! Ayla, what are you talking about?" He stared at the ring, then back at me, his eyes wide with confusion.

"She swapped it, didn't she?" I stated, my voice flat. "It's her way of telling me she's won. And she just couldn't resist. Just like she couldn't resist destroying my lab, or stealing my sister's research."

"No! It's a mistake! Ayla, I swear, it's just a mix-up!" He fumbled with the box, his face a mask of panic.

"Craig," I said, my voice cutting through his frantic denials. "If you want me to believe you, if you want me to even consider forgiving you, then you will launch a full, independent investigation into Ashley. Into her plagiarism. Into her cyberbullying of Jaylee. And you will make her pay for what she's done. Make her accountable, Craig. Only then will I even consider talking to you again."

His face, which had been pleading, hopeful, now hardened. His jaw clenched. He stood up slowly, the box still in his hand. His gaze drifted away from me, fixed on some unseen point in the distance. He said nothing.

Just then, Ashley Riddle burst into the room, disheveled and frantic. Her eyes were wide with terror. "Craig! Craig, help me! I think someone drugged my coffee! I feel dizzy and sick! Help me!"

She stumbled towards him, falling into his arms. He immediately wrapped himself around her, his earlier panic for me completely forgotten. "Ashley! My God, what happened?"

"I don't know!" she whimpered, clinging to him. "Just take me away from here! Take me... take me to my professor! He'll know what to do!"

Craig's face turned ashen. He pulled away from her slightly, his eyes flashing with a raw, possessive anger. "Your professor? What are you talking about, Ashley? I'm taking you to my doctor. My hospital." His voice was low, dangerous. "Don't you ever suggest going to anyone else."