Annis POV
I stood in the center of the ballroom wearing a forty-thousand-dollar gown, watching my husband rest his hand on another woman's pregnant belly while our guests toasted to nine years of our marriage.
The crystal flute in my hand didn't shatter. I didn't scream. I didn't throw my drink in his face.
I just took a sip of the vintage champagne -a bottle that cost more than my father's life -and I swallowed the bile rising in my throat.
Dominick Reyes was not just a husband. He was a Capo in the Olsen crime family, a man who had killed seven men before his twenty-fifth birthday and doubled the family's territory in the last three years. He was a predator in a tailored suit, and I was the debt payment his family had accepted nine years ago.
Tonight was supposed to be about us.
Instead, he had brought Chastity.
She wore red. A vibrant, blood-red silk that clung to the swell of her stomach, a stark contrast to my pale, icy blue. She looked like life. I looked like a ghost.
Dominick's hand lingered on the small of her back as he guided her through the crowd of made men and their silent wives. Every eye in the room darted between me and the mistress, hungry for the fallout.
I kept my chin high. Omerta wasn't just a code for the men. It was a cage for the women. Silence was my armor.
Dominick steered her toward me. His eyes, dark as oil and twice as slick, met mine. There was no apology in them. Only the cold, hard weight of ownership.
"Annis," he said. His voice was a low rumble that used to make my toes curl. Now it just made my stomach turn. "You remember Chastity."
I looked at the woman who was carrying the child I couldn't give him. She smirked, a small, cruel thing.
"Happy anniversary, Mrs. Reyes," she said. Her hand rested protectively over her bump. "Dom thought it would be safer if I stayed at the main estate tonight. The city is so unpredictable."
I looked at Dominick.
"Is she staying in the guest wing?" I asked. My voice was steady. I had practiced this steadiness in the mirror for two weeks, ever since I found the receipt for the crib.
Dominick took a sip of his scotch.
"No," he said. He didn't even blink. "She needs comfort. She'll take the master suite. You can take the guest quarters down the hall."
The air left the room.
He wasn't just cheating on me. He was evicting me from my own marriage bed in front of the entire organization. He was stripping me of my rank, my dignity, and my place, all without drawing a weapon.
I nodded once.
"As you wish, Dominick."
I turned to walk away, my heels clicking a hollow rhythm on the marble floor. I needed to get to the bedroom before they did. I needed the bag I had hidden inside the ventilation duct two weeks ago.
I was halfway to the corridor when I heard them laughing.
I paused near a pillar, hidden by a massive floral arrangement of white lilies-funeral flowers.
"She's such a doormat," Jake, Dominick's second-in-command, chuckled. "I bet you ten grand she apologizes to you for existing by morning."
Dominick's voice drifted over, heavy with arrogance.
"Annis knows her place. She's a good investment. Quiet. Obedient. And her father's debt is paid as long as she wears my ring. She isn't going anywhere."
I touched the platinum rosary bracelet on my wrist. It was the only thing I had left of my mother. It was the only thing Dominick hadn't bought.
I went to the master bedroom. I didn't cry. I was done crying. I pulled the small duffel bag from the vent. Cash. A burner phone. A passport in a name that didn't carry the weight of blood money.
I turned to leave, but the door handle turned.
Dominick walked in, Chastity clinging to his arm like a parasite.
"What are you doing?" Dominick asked. His eyes dropped to the bag in my hand.
"I'm moving to the guest room, like you asked," I lied.
Chastity's eyes zeroed in on my wrist.
"Oh, Dom, look," she cooed, pointing at my mother's rosary. "That bracelet. It would match my dress perfectly. And since I'm carrying the heir... shouldn't I have the family jewels?"
"It's not family jewelry," I said, my grip on the bag tightening. "It was my mother's."
Dominick didn't care about sentiment. He cared about power. And right now, giving his mistress what she wanted was a display of power.
"Give it to her, Annis," he said.
"No."
The word hung in the air. I had never said no to him. Not when he married me. Not when he forced me to cut ties with my sister. Not when he came home smelling of other women's perfume.
Dominick stepped forward. The temperature in the room dropped. He grabbed my wrist. His grip was bruising.
"You are my wife because I allow it," he whispered, his face inches from mine. "Everything you have is mine. Even the blood in your veins. Give her the bracelet."
He unclasped it with rough fingers and handed it to Chastity.
She held it up to the light, smiling. Then, looking directly at me, she pulled the delicate platinum chain taut between her hands.
"Oops," she said.
She snapped it.
The beads scattered across the hardwood floor like hail.
She gasped, dropping the broken pieces and grabbing her finger. A tiny drop of blood welled up where the metal had scratched her.
"She attacked me!" Chastity screamed, shrinking back against Dominick. "She tried to snatch it back and cut me!"
It was a lie so clumsy a child could see through it. But Dominick didn't want the truth. He wanted submission.
He shoved me. I stumbled back, hitting the wall hard.
"Apologize," he snarled.
I looked at him. I looked at the man I had spent nine years trying to please, trying to love, trying to survive.
"No," I said.
Dominick's face contorted with rage. He pointed to the door.
"Get out. Before I forget that I don't hit women."
I grabbed my bag. I didn't look at the beads on the floor. I walked out of the penthouse, down the service elevator, and out into the cool night air.
A black sedan was waiting at the curb. The window rolled down.
Haven Harper looked at me from the driver's seat. His eyes were kind. Safe.
"Get in, Annis," he said.
I opened the door. I didn't look back at the building that had been my prison. I just wanted to disappear.
Annis POV
We never made it to the safe house.
Instead, we had ended up at a cheap airport hotel on the outskirts of the city. I was trembling, sitting on the edge of the sagging mattress, clutching my bag like a lifeline. Haven was pacing the narrow space, his phone pressed tight to his ear as he tried to arrange a flight.
Then, the door didn't just open; it exploded inward.
I didn't even have time to scream. Two of Dominick's soldiers filled the small room, blocking out the hallway light. Haven moved to intercept them, his reflexes sharp, but he was hopelessly outnumbered.
One of them slammed the butt of a pistol into Haven's temple with a sickening crack.
He hit the carpet instantly, unconscious before he even landed.
"No!" I screamed, lunging for him.
Strong hands grabbed me from behind, halting my movement with bruising force. I smelled expensive cologne mixed with the sharp tang of gunpowder.
Dominick.
He spun me around, his fingers digging into my arms. His face was a mask of cold, unyielding fury.
"You think you can just walk away?" he hissed, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "You think you can just leave with him?"
He dragged me out of the room, stepping over Haven's unconscious body as if he were nothing more than trash on the sidewalk. He threw me into the back of his armored SUV with enough force to knock the wind out of me.
"Drive," he ordered the driver.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked, my voice trembling so hard the words barely formed.
"Home," he said, staring straight ahead. "But we aren't going to the house. We're going to the clinic."
"Why?"
"Chastity is hemorrhaging," he said. His voice was devoid of emotion, completely detached and clinical. "The stress of your little stunt caused complications. She's losing blood."
I stared at his profile, horrified. "What does that have to do with me?"
"She has a rare blood type, Annis. B-negative." He finally looked at me then, his eyes empty. "Just like you."
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, erratic rhythm. It wasn't just fear. It was the arrhythmia I had lived with since childhood. A condition Dominick knew about. A condition that made giving blood dangerous, potentially fatal.
"I can't," I whispered, pressing a hand to my chest. "You know I can't. My heart... Dr. Evans said my iron levels are too low. It could trigger a cardiac event."
Dominick looked at me. He didn't see a wife. He didn't even see a human being. He saw a spare part.
"She is carrying my son," he said coldly. "You will give her whatever she needs."
We arrived at the private family clinic minutes later. It smelled of antiseptic and old money. They dragged me into a prep room. Chastity was in the next room, wailing about pain, though her voice sounded strong enough to me.
The family doctor, Dr. Evans, looked pale when Dominick shoved me into the chair.
"Mr. Reyes," he stammered, looking between us. "Mrs. Reyes's chart... her heart condition. A transfusion of this magnitude is risky. She could go into shock."
"Do it," Dominick commanded.
I grabbed Dominick's arm, my fingers desperate.
"If I do this," I said, my voice shaking. "If I save your mistress and your bastard... you let me go."
Dominick looked down at me. He smirked, a cruel twist of his lips.
"You're in no position to bargain, Annis. But fine. Give the blood, and we'll discuss your vacation."
He was lying. I knew he was lying. But I had no choice.
The nurse inserted the needle. I watched my dark red blood flow through the tube, leaving me to sustain the woman who had destroyed my life.
I felt the cold creep in immediately. My chest felt heavy, like a stone was sitting on my sternum, crushing the air out of my lungs.
"Slow down the draw," Dr. Evans warned, his eyes on the monitors. "Her pulse is dropping."
"Keep going," Dominick said from the doorway. He was watching the monitor in Chastity's room, not me.
The room started to spin. Grey spots danced in my vision, obscuring the harsh fluorescent lights. My heart fluttered-a bird trapped in a cage, beating its wings against the bars in a panic.
"Dominick," I whispered, my head feeling impossibly heavy. "I... I don't feel good."
He didn't turn around.
"Chastity's stats are stabilizing," a nurse called out from the other room.
"Good," Dominick said.
My head lolled back against the chair. The beeping of my heart monitor grew erratic. Fast. Then slow. Then painfully slow.
"Mr. Reyes!" the doctor shouted, panic rising in his voice. "She's crashing!"
I saw Dominick turn then. I saw a flicker of annoyance on his face, as if my dying was merely an inconvenience to his evening.
"Stop the draw!" the doctor yelled.
The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me was Dominick walking out of the room to go hold Chastity's hand.
I closed my eyes. And for the first time in a long time, I hoped I wouldn't wake up.
Annis POV
I woke to the cloying scent of lilies.
I loathed them. To me, they reeked of funerals.
Forcing my heavy lids open, I realized I was lying in a private recovery suite. My arm was thickly bandaged, and my chest ached with a dull, persistent throb that radiated through my ribs.
Dominick was sitting in the wingback chair next to the bed, idly scrolling through his phone. He looked immaculate-freshly showered, hair perfectly coiffed, and dressed in a crisp new charcoal suit.
"You're awake," he said, not bothering to look up.
I tried to push myself up, but the room lurched violently. I fell back against the pillows, gasping.
"The deal," I croaked, my throat feeling like sandpaper. "You said... if I gave the blood..."
Dominick finally lifted his gaze. He stood up, sauntered to the bedside table, and fastidiously adjusted a petal on the vase of white lilies.
"I said we'd discuss a vacation, Annis. I never said I'd grant you a divorce," he replied smoothly. "You're my wife. You belong at the penthouse."
He set the vase back down with a deliberate click.
"Besides," he added, checking his Patek Philippe watch, "you need to recover. You look terrible."
He walked to the door, his hand resting on the handle.
"I have a charity gala tonight. Chastity is feeling much better, thanks to you. She'll be accompanying me."
He opened the door.
"Get some rest. The driver will collect you in the morning."
And then he was gone.
I lay there in the silence, staring at the sterile white ceiling. He had drained me to save her, and now he was parading her around town while I rotted in a hospital bed.
I reached for the bedside table. My phone was gone. Dominick must have confiscated it.
Desperate, I found the room phone and dialed a number I had memorized years ago.
Haven picked up on the first ring.
"Annis?" His voice was laced with panic. "I'm in the lobby. Security won't let me up. They claimed you were in critical condition."
"I'm alive," I whispered. "But I need to get out of here."
"I'm coming up," he said, his voice hardening.
"No," I said quickly. "Wait. I need to go back to the penthouse one last time."
"Why?"
"My passport," I said, my mind racing. "And the files. If I leave now, he'll hunt me down. I need the leverage. I need the documents from the safe."
"Annis, that's suicide."
"I have to, Haven. Just wait for my signal."
The next morning, my discharge was processed with suspicious speed. I felt hollowed out, fragile as spun glass.
Dominick was waiting at the hospital entrance. But he wasn't alone.
Chastity was sitting in the front passenger seat of the limo. She was radiant, her skin flushed with health. She waved at me cheerfully through the window.
Dominick stood by the open back door, impatience etched on his face.
"Get in," he ordered.
I looked at the front seat, then back at him.
"She gets carsick in the back," Dominick said, dismissing my stare with a wave of his hand.
I climbed into the back seat. My luggage was piled on the leather bench next to me, leaving me cramped in the corner like an afterthought.
As we drove through the city, Chastity rested her hand on Dominick's thigh. He immediately covered her hand with his.
"Oh, Dom, look," she chirped, holding up her phone. "The press loved my dress last night. They're calling us the 'Power Couple of the Year.'"
Dominick smiled at her-a genuine, warm smile. One I hadn't seen directed at me in years.
Quietly, I pulled out the burner phone I had hidden in my bra-the one thing Dominick hadn't found because he never touched me anymore.
I opened Instagram.
There it was. A photo of Dominick and Chastity on the red carpet. His arm was wrapped possessively around her waist. The caption read: Building a legacy.
I stared at the screen, my vision blurring.
Five years ago, I had miscarried our child at four months. I had called Dominick from the hospital, bleeding and terrified. He didn't answer. He was in a meeting. When he finally came home, he told me to stop crying, that we could always "make another one."
He never posted a photo of us. He never called us a legacy.
I looked at the back of his head.
With trembling fingers, I typed a comment on the post under a fake account.
May you get exactly what you deserve.
I locked the phone and slid it back into hiding.
We pulled up to the penthouse.
"Home sweet home," Chastity sang out.
I looked up at the towering building piercing the sky. It wasn't a home. It was a crematorium. And I was about to light the match.
