Chapter 7

Ava POV:

Chris' s grip on Kimberli tightened, his eyes flaring with a possessive anger. "No, Kimberli. Don't be ridiculous. You're staying. This is your home now." He shot me a venomous look, as if my very presence was an offense. His loyalty, his entire being, was irrevocably tied to her. My heart, already a barren wasteland, felt a final, chilling emptiness.

I pushed myself up from the floor, my body aching, my head still throbbing. My side burned where Kimberli had kicked me. But the physical pain was a distant hum compared to the searing fire of betrayal in my soul. They thought they had broken me. They thought I had nothing left. They were wrong. I had my resolve.

"I'm leaving," I said, my voice steady, surprisingly calm. "And you won't stop me." I started towards the front door, my gaze fixed on the exit, the promise of freedom.

But Chris was quicker. He was suddenly in front of me, blocking my path, his eyes blazing with a cold fury. "Where do you think you're going, Ava? You're not going anywhere." He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh.

"Let go of me!" I snarled, twisting against his grasp. "You have no right to keep me here! Our marriage is annulled, remember? I'm not your wife, I'm a stranger. You have no claim over me!"

His grip tightened, pulling me closer until our faces were inches apart. His breath, smelling of coffee and mint, was hot against my cheek. "You think it's that easy? You think you can just walk away after everything? After what you did to Kimberli? After what you did to your father?" His voice was a low snarl. "You're a liability, Ava. A loose end. And I don't leave loose ends."

He dragged me backward, pulling me out of the mansion, past Kimberli's triumphant smirk, and shoved me into his waiting car. The door slammed shut, the click of the lock echoing the finality of my imprisonment.

We drove in silence, the city lights a blur outside the window. I tried the door handle, but it was locked. My phone was gone. I was utterly at his mercy. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of dread. Where was he taking me?

We pulled up to the hospital, the same hospital where my father had died, where I had been confined. My blood ran cold. This was not a rescue. This was another act of torture.

Chris pulled me out of the car, his grip unyielding, and dragged me through the emergency room entrance. Nurses and doctors glanced at us, then quickly looked away, their faces etched with a strange mix of pity and fear. He was Chris Bell, the powerful CEO. They wouldn't dare challenge him.

He led me to a secluded ward, then to a sterile room. Two burly guards stood by the door. As soon as we entered, they locked it behind us. Chris pushed me onto a gurney, strapping my wrists and ankles down with thick leather restraints. The cold metal bit into my skin.

"What are you doing?" I cried, struggling against the bonds, a fresh wave of panic washing over me. "Chris, stop this! Please!"

He ignored my pleas, his face impassive. "You need to understand, Ava, there are consequences for your actions." He nodded to a nurse, who approached with a large syringe. "You attacked Kimberli. You're hysterical. You endangered her life." His voice was chillingly calm. "This is for her sake. And for yours."

"I didn't endanger her! She attacked me! She used my father's locket to torment me!" I screamed, my voice cracking. "She kicked me! She always kicks me!"

"Lies," he said, shaking his head slowly, a look of profound disappointment on his face. "All lies. You've always been so prone to dramatization, Ava. So fragile." He looked at the nurse. "Proceed."

The nurse, her face pale and trembling, approached my arm. The needle gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights. "This will just help you calm down, Mrs. Bell," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"No! Please! Don't!" My heart pounded. I tried to pull my arm away, but the restraints held me fast. The needle pierced my skin, a sharp, burning sensation. I cried out, a mix of pain and terror.

"This is just the first step," Chris said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "You've been through a lot. You' re stressed. You need to recover. And Kimberli needs a healthy, viable embryo. We'll be needing a lot of your blood, Ava. For the next few months."

My eyes widened in horror. "My blood? What are you talking about?" The words felt thick and sluggish on my tongue. The sedative was already beginning to take effect.

"We need your genes, Ava," he said, his voice fading in and out. "For testing. For a new program. A very important project." He smiled, a chillingly empty expression. "You'll be a contributor. A silent partner, as always."

The nurse drew vial after vial of blood. Each one felt like a piece of my life draining away. My vision blurred. I felt lightheaded, weak. My body convulsed, a silent scream trapped in my throat.

"Is this enough?" the nurse asked, her voice trembling, looking at the sheer volume of blood she had collected.

"Not yet," Chris said, his voice firm. "Another five vials. She has plenty."

Another five vials. My head swam. My limbs felt heavy, detached. I was fading, drifting into darkness. As consciousness slipped away, I heard Chris's voice, distant and distorted. "And make sure the house is thoroughly cleaned. All Ava's things. Burn them. Every last trace. I want a fresh start for Kimberli. And the original prenuptial agreement. Find it. Shred it. There's only one Mrs. Bell now."

My father's things. My memories. My very identity. All of it, erased. I fought against the darkness, a desperate, futile struggle. But it consumed me completely.

I woke again, hours later, the room still dim. My body was an empty shell, weak and shivering. My mouth was dry, my head still throbbing. I heard muffled voices from outside the room.

"She's still weak," a voice said. "Is this really necessary?"

Kimberli's voice, sharp and clear, cut through. "It is. Chris wants to make a point. And besides, her blood type is perfect. We wouldn't want to waste it, would we?" Her words were laced with a cruel satisfaction. "She'll make a wonderful, unwitting donor."

"Donor?" My mind, though hazy, latched onto the word. "Donor for what?" I whispered, my voice barely a croak.

Kimberli appeared at the doorway, her smile wide and predatory. "For our baby, Ava. Chris and I. We're having a baby. And you, my dear, are helping us build our perfect family. Isn't that just poetic justice?" She held up a small, clear bag. Inside, nestled among other items, was a tiny, gold locket. My locket. "And look," she purred, "your father's locket. A little keepsake from his unfortunate demise. Such a shame you won't be around to see our child grow. But don't worry. We'll tell them all about their very special donor." She laughed, a cold, heartless sound.

My heart seized. My blood, my genes, for their baby. My father's locket, a trophy. The baby I had lost, their embryo. The realization was a tidal wave of horror, drowning me in abject despair. This was a nightmare from which there was no escape. Kimberli leaned in, her eyes glinting with malice. "And you know what the best part is, Ava? Chris is so excited. He adores me. And he hates you. He always has."

My body convulsed, wracked with a silent scream. The room spun. The image of Kimberli's triumphant face merged with the ghostly image of my father, his eyes sad, his voice distant. The world dissolved into a blinding white light, then darkness.