Chapter 5

The doctors tried to protest.

"Mr. Franklin, your wife is not medically stable for discharge," a young physician said, his voice firm. "She's lost a significant amount of blood, and she's emotionally traumatized. She needs to be under observation."

Kaden didn't even look at him. "I am her husband. I am responsible for her safety. She is coming with me." His tone was steel, leaving no room for argument.

As his guards pulled me toward the exit, I felt a gentle hand on my arm. It was the middle-aged nurse from before. Her eyes were full of a pity that was almost as painful as Kaden's cruelty.

"I'm so sorry, dear," she whispered.

In the haze of my pain, I remembered Kaden, years ago, rushing me to the emergency room for a simple fever. He had terrorized the entire staff until they saw me, his fear for my well-being a palpable force.

The man who had once been my fierce protector was now my calm, deliberate destroyer.

I wondered, in a moment of detached clarity, if it would have hurt less if I had never known his love at all. To have a memory of warmth makes the cold so much more unbearable.

I swallowed another pill from my secret stash. The final one.

The world went black. Then, the shrill, insistent beeping of a machine.

"She's crashing! Get the paddles!"

"Heart rate is dropping! We're losing her!"

Shouts. Panic. The smell of antiseptic.

Then, a long, final drone. Silence.

"Time of death, 11:42 PM."

The grieving family from the hallway was there when I... came back. They blamed me for the death of their patriarch, whose heart had given out from the shock.

They screamed at me, their faces ugly with grief. A woman spat on me. A man grabbed my hair and slammed my head against the cold tile floor, forcing me to kowtow to a ghost.

I was surrounded by a sea of pointing fingers and condemning eyes. I tried to speak, to tell them the truth, but my voice was a broken whisper, lost in the cacophony of their rage.

I looked for Kaden. He was my husband. My protector.

I saw him. Standing in the doorway, watching. He made no move to help me. His face was a blank canvas.

In that moment, the last embers of love for him finally died, leaving behind nothing but cold, dead ash.

I dragged my battered body home. The mansion was dark and silent.

He was in the living room, casually scrolling through his phone.

He looked up as I entered, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He rushed to my side, his hands hovering over my bruised face.

"My God, Joyce, what happened to you?" he asked, his voice dripping with false concern. "Those doctors... I'll have their licenses revoked."

He was blaming them. He, who had stood and watched.

"Let me see your injuries," he said, trying to touch my face.

I recoiled as if from a hot flame. "Don't touch me."

He froze, his hand suspended in mid-air. He looked genuinely surprised by my reaction.

He tried a different tactic. He conjured a bouquet of roses, seemingly from thin air, a trick his assistant must have arranged.

"For you," he said softly. "I'm sorry. I promise, I'll get rid of Cali. It's almost over."

The same old lie. The same broken promise.

I took the flowers without a word. My silence seemed to unnerve him.

Later that night, I saw a post from Cali on Instagram. A picture of her laughing, holding an identical bouquet of roses. The caption: "Some people get leftovers. I get the real thing. 😉"

A wave of nausea washed over me. The pain in my heart was so intense, it felt like my ribs were cracking.

The butler appeared at the door. "Sir, the car is ready."

Kaden was taking Cali to the annual Franklin Corp gala. An event I was, for years, the official hostess of.

"I have to take her," he explained, not meeting my eyes. "It's for appearances. To finalize the deal that will ruin her family."

I said nothing.

"Joyce," he said, his voice hesitant. "Will you... come with me?"