Chapter 5

Hazel' s eyelids fluttered open. The world was a white, sterile blur. The first thing she saw was Dominic, sitting in a chair by her bed, his face a mess of exhaustion and worry.

"Hazel," he breathed, his voice thick with relief. "You' re awake."

She tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washed over her. Her mind felt foggy, struggling to piece together what had happened. The argument. The rage in his eyes. The crushing weight of his words.

She noticed he was holding something in his hands. It was a small, ornate box made of sandalwood.

"What is that?" she asked, her voice raspy.

Dominic looked down at the box, then back at her. He seemed hesitant, almost ashamed. "Julia... she has a request."

He explained what had happened. Julia' s suicide attempt. The loss of their baby. And her bizarre wish for a piece of commemorative art.

Hazel stared at him, unable to comprehend the sheer audacity of it. A painting? For the child of her fiancé and her stepsister? The child conceived while he was still promising Hazel the world?

Then her eyes focused on the sandalwood box. She recognized it.

He had given it to her on her 21st birthday. Inside was a silver-handled scalpel, its blade exquisitely sharp. It was a professional tool for an artist who sometimes worked with unconventional materials, scraping and cutting into her canvases.

"For my number one artist," the card had read. "May you always create beautiful things."

She remembered that day. He had held her hand, tracing the lines on her palm. "These hands," he' d whispered. "They' re magic. I' ll never let anything harm them."

The memory was so sweet it tasted like poison.

"What does she want me to paint?" Hazel asked, dread coiling in her gut.

Dominic opened the box. The silver scalpel gleamed under the soft bedroom light. He couldn' t meet her eyes.

"She wants you to use your blood."

The words dropped into the silent room like stones. Blood. Her blood. To paint a memorial for their affair.

The room tilted. Hazel felt a wave of nausea. Disbelief warred with a cold, rising horror. This wasn' t just an insult. It was a defilement. It was a ritual of humiliation, designed by Julia and executed by the man who claimed to love her.

Why did it still hurt? After being reborn, after knowing the full extent of his betrayal, why did this new cruelty feel like a fresh wound? She thought she had armored her heart, but the pain was still there, a phantom limb aching for a life that was a lie.

"Dominic," he said, his voice low and pleading. "I know it' s a terrible thing to ask. But she' s... broken. She sees this as a way for you to atone. A way for us all to move past this." He looked at her, his eyes begging for her understanding. "Once this is done, it' s over. I swear. We can finally be free of it all."

Atonement. The word was a mockery.

"Atone for what?" Hazel' s voice was a ragged whisper. "For wanting my fiancé to be faithful? For not wanting his mistress in my life?"

"She lost a child, Hazel!" Dominic' s voice rose, his guilt making him defensive. "A child that would have been my son or daughter!"

"And I lost my life!" The words tore from her throat before she could stop them. They were wild and raw. "I lost my life because of you two!"

Dominic flinched, confused by her outburst. "What are you talking about? You' re right here."

"You are blind," she said, her voice filled with a sudden, chilling certainty. "You are willfully, deliberately blind." She looked at the scalpel, then at his face. A new, terrifying calm settled over her.

She would do it. She would give them their pound of flesh. But it would be on her terms.

"Alright," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I' ll do it."

Dominic looked relieved. "Thank you, Hazel. I knew you would..."

"But," she cut him off, her eyes locking onto his. "You have to make the cut."

He stared at her, uncomprehending. "What?"

"You heard me," she said, holding out her left wrist, the skin pale and delicate over a map of blue veins. "If I am to atone, then you are the one who will exact the punishment. You will take that scalpel, the one you gave me, and you will draw the blood yourself."

Her voice was soft, but her demand was absolute. "I want you to feel it. I want you to watch it happen. And I want you to remember this moment for the rest of your miserable life."

Dominic recoiled as if she had struck him. He looked at the scalpel, then at her wrist, his face turning pale. He remembered holding that same hand, promising to protect it.

"Hazel, no... I can' t."

"Can' t you?" she taunted, her lip curling into a sneer. "Where is the man who accused me of being heartless? Where is the man who demanded I spend my life on my knees? Don' t you have the courage to follow through?"

His face flushed with anger and shame. He snatched the scalpel from the box, his knuckles white.

He approached the bed, his hand trembling as he raised the blade. He hesitated, his eyes fixed on her wrist. He remembered kissing that very spot a hundred times.

Hazel didn' t flinch. She just watched him, her eyes cold and empty.

"Wait," she said suddenly, her voice sharp.

A flicker of hope crossed Dominic' s face. He thought she was backing down. "Hazel?"

"I need my canvas," she said, her voice flat and business-like. "And my brushes. If I' m going to do this, I' m going to do it properly. I don' t want to faint from blood loss before the masterpiece is complete."