Chapter 2

The next few days were spent in a private medical wing that made the last hospital look like a back-alley clinic. My father, Horacio Horton, had flown in his own team of doctors. They clucked over my chart, their faces grim. My body was a roadmap of Julius's cruelty.

I didn't speak much. I just lay there, recovering, planning. The physical pain was a dull, constant hum beneath the surface of a cold, clear rage.

My phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number. It was a video. The thumbnail was a close-up of Kenzie Drake' s face, her head resting on a pillow I recognized. My pillow. She was in my bed. Again.

I pressed play. The video was shaky, clearly filmed by her. It panned from her smiling face to Julius, sleeping beside her. He looked exhausted, but peaceful.

"He's all mine now," a text message popped up below the video.

Another message followed.

"He says he's never felt this way about anyone before. He says making love to you was always a chore. Like fucking a corpse."

Another.

"He hates your post-baby body, by the way. All those stretch marks. He says I'm perfect. Tight and new."

I remembered Julius tracing those same stretch marks with his finger after Ava was born. He had called them beautiful. He had said they were proof of the life we had created.

Lies. All of it.

The pain that lanced through me was sharp, but it wasn't grief. It was the final, agonizing death of a memory. I didn't delete the video or the messages. I saved them. Evidence.

Julius didn't visit. He didn't call. I read in the financial news that he had thrown a lavish "recovery" party for Kenzie, celebrating her successful transplant. He bought her a black diamond necklace that cost more than my first apartment.

He was celebrating the murder of our child.

I made my plans. I would leave. I would take Ava and disappear into the safety of the Horton empire, and from there, I would unleash hell.

The day I was scheduled to be discharged, he finally appeared. He stood in the doorway of my sterile white room, looking impeccable in a Tom Ford suit. He looked down at me, not with concern, but with the cool appraisal of a man inspecting damaged goods.

"You look terrible, Florence."

I didn't answer.

"Are you thinking about what you've done?" he asked, his voice dripping with condescension.

"I'm thinking," I said, my voice quiet.

"Good. You put Kenzie through hell. Pushing her, stressing her out. Her doctors said the stress almost made the transplant fail."

He stepped closer. "You owe her. You owe me. You'll do the right thing and donate again when she needs a booster. It's the least you can do to atone for your behavior."

I almost laughed. The sheer, breathtaking arrogance of it. He stood there, the murderer of my child, the man who had left me for dead, and demanded that I mutilate my body again as an apology.

In that moment, any lingering shadow of the woman I used to be vanished. The woman who had loved him, who had built a life with him, was gone forever. All that was left was a cold, hard diamond of hate.

I looked up at him and smiled faintly. "Of course, Julius."

He blinked, surprised by my easy agreement. "What?"

"You're right," I said, my voice soft. "I'll do it."

He stared at me, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He had expected a fight. He had come armed for a battle and found me surrendering.

"I owe you my life, after all," I continued, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. I remembered the night we met, a gallery fire, a panicked crowd. He had pulled me out of the smoke, a stranger, a hero. He had saved me. I had fallen in love with that man.

"And you protected me," I added, thinking of an early business rival who had tried to smear my name. Julius had stood by me, a fierce, protective wall.

He had saved me. He had protected me.

And then he had destroyed me. He had taken my love, my body, my work, my daughter's safety, and our unborn child. He had taken everything.

"So, yes," I said, meeting his gaze. "One more surgery. For Kenzie. Let's call it even." I let the words hang in the air. "After this, Julius, we're square. You and I, we're all paid up."

A flicker of unease crossed his face. He didn't understand the finality in my voice. He thought he was still in control.

"Good," he said, recovering his composure. "I'm glad you're finally seeing reason."

My phone buzzed. It was a message from my father's head of security. "Car is waiting."

Julius's phone rang. His face softened instantly. "Kenzie. Yes, honey, I'm just finishing up... I'll be right there."

He turned and left without another word. He didn't look back.

I watched him go.

An hour later, the nurses came for me. They wheeled me back to the operating room. The lights were just as bright, the smell of antiseptic just as sharp.

I lay on the table and closed my eyes. This wasn't an atonement. It wasn't a surrender.

It was a final payment on a debt. The last piece of myself I would ever give him. After this, I owed him nothing.

And he would owe me everything.