Chapter 2

Erica packed a bag the next morning. Her hands trembled as she threw clothes into a suitcase. She had to get out. She had to get Jayda out of that hospital and take her somewhere safe, far away from Diamond Hampton and the man her husband had become.

She called a lawyer, a friend from college. The conversation was brief and brutal.

"You signed a prenuptial agreement, Erica," the lawyer said, his voice laced with pity. "Everything is in Alex' s name. The apartment, the cars, the bank accounts. You walk away, you walk away with nothing."

"I don' t care about the money," Erica said, her voice tight. "I care about my sister. I need to get her away from them."

"Be careful, Erica. These are powerful people."

She hung up the phone just as Alex walked in. He saw the suitcase on the bed. He didn' t look surprised. He looked tired.

He was holding a small, velvet box. "Don' t go," he said. He opened the box. Inside was a diamond necklace, a piece so extravagant it looked obscene. "Diamond feels terrible about what happened. She wanted you to have this."

Erica stared at the necklace, then at him. "You think this fixes it? You think a piece of jewelry makes up for them almost killing my sister?"

"It' s a gesture," he said, his voice low. "She wants to make things right."

"I' m leaving, Alex. I' m filing for divorce."

He set the box down and walked toward her. He moved with a lazy grace that did nothing to hide the power coiled in his muscles. "You' re not going anywhere."

"You can' t keep me here."

"Can' t I?" he asked softly. "You have no money. No job. Where will you go? How will you pay for Jayda' s medical care? It' s very expensive, Erica. And the bills will keep coming."

He was right. She was trapped. Her life as a professional cellist had been put on hold for him, for his career. She was completely dependent on him, and he knew it.

"What do you want from me?" she whispered, the fight draining out of her.

"I want you to stay. I want you to be my wife." He reached out to touch her face, and she flinched away. His hand dropped. The hurt in his eyes was real, but it felt like just another tool of manipulation.

"Don' t touch me."

"Erica, please. Just... give it time. We can get through this."

"Get through what? You letting your boss' s thugs beat my sister and then threatening her life?"

"Diamond is fragile," he argued, his voice taking on that familiar, defensive tone. "She suffers. That bullet... it changed everything for her."

Erica laughed, a harsh, broken sound. "And what about my suffering? What about Jayda' s? Does that not matter at all?"

He looked away, unable to meet her eyes. The silence was his answer.

The next day, the call came. It was Diamond' s assistant.

"Ms. Hampton isn' t feeling well," the clipped voice said. "She finds your music very soothing. She requests that you come to the estate and play for her."

It wasn' t a request. It was a command.

"I can' t," Erica said. "My sister..."

"Alex is aware of the situation. He has already agreed on your behalf."

When Erica looked at Alex, he just nodded. "Go. It will make her feel better."

She went. She had no choice.

Diamond was lounging on a chaise in her vast, sterile living room, a picture of tragic beauty. Alex stood by her side, his hand resting possessively on her shoulder. The sight of it made Erica' s stomach clench.

"Erica, darling," Diamond purred, her voice like silk and poison. "Thank you for coming. I' ve been in such pain."

Erica didn' t answer. She unpacked her cello, her movements stiff and robotic. Her hands felt like foreign objects.

"Play something for me," Diamond commanded.

Erica began to play. The music was hollow, devoid of the passion she once poured into every note. It was just sound.

"More feeling, darling," Diamond said after a few minutes, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "Play it like you mean it. Play until your fingers bleed."

Erica' s eyes shot to Alex. He stood there, his face impassive, a statue carved from guilt and betrayal. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Do it.

So she played. She played harder, faster, the strings biting into the soft pads of her fingers. She ignored the sting, the growing ache in her hands and wrists. An hour passed. Then two.

The music became frantic, discordant. Her fingers were raw, the skin splitting open. Tiny beads of blood appeared on the strings, smearing the wood of her beloved cello.

"Stop," Diamond said finally, her voice laced with amusement.

Erica' s hands fell to her sides, trembling and bloody. She couldn' t feel her fingertips.

Diamond got up and walked over, inspecting Erica' s hands with a clinical curiosity. "Oh, dear. Look at that. You' ve ruined them." She glanced at Alex. "She really does love you, to do that for me."

Alex' s jaw was tight, but he said nothing. He watched as Diamond took a cloth and wiped the blood from the cello, her movements slow and deliberate.

"I think," Diamond said, looking at Erica with cold, triumphant eyes, "that this instrument is far too precious for you now." She ran a manicured nail over the strings, which had been specially ordered and were known for their harshness. They were designed for volume, not comfort. "Alex, be a dear and take care of this for me."

Alex took the cello from its stand. He walked to the fireplace without a word, and with a single, violent motion, he smashed the instrument against the marble hearth. The wood splintered, the neck snapping with a sound like a breaking bone.

Erica watched the death of her music, the death of her passion, and felt nothing but a vast, cold emptiness.

Alex came back to her side. "She' s feeling better now," he said, his voice a low murmur. "See? It was worth it."

He took her bleeding hands in his, his touch gentle now, a grotesque parody of a caring husband. "I' ll take you home. I' ll clean these up for you."

Erica looked at her ruined hands, at the wreckage of her cello in the fireplace. She looked at Alex' s face, at the man who had just stood by and watched her world be destroyed for the comfort of another woman.

"Why?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"To pay the debt," he said, as if it were the only answer that ever mattered. "We have to pay the debt."