Chapter 3

Ainsley POV

He was bleeding, but he didn't care.

A distinct line of crimson ran down his cheek, dripping onto the pristine collar of his white shirt, staining the fabric like a sin.

His hands were frantic, roaming over Casey's arms, checking her for imaginary wounds with obsessive desperation.

"You could have killed her!" Damian shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of his hysteria.

"She is an innocent woman, Ainsley! She is a civilian!"

I walked right past them.

I didn't look at the blood. I didn't look at the crocodile tears Casey was forcing out of her eyes to garner sympathy.

I walked straight into his study.

This was his sanctuary. The room I had paid a designer fifty thousand dollars to curate.

Mahogany shelves. Imported leather chairs. And everywhere, signs of the boy I had married, hiding inside the man he pretended to be.

Anime figurines lined the top shelves, shamefully tucked behind heavy medical textbooks. Pillows printed with cartoon characters were stuffed in the corner, out of sight.

He was nothing but a child playing dress-up in a man's world.

I grabbed one of the pillows. It was soft, printed with some wide-eyed character he obsessed over.

I ripped it open.

Stuffing flew into the air like synthetic snow, settling on the expensive rug.

Damian ran into the room. Casey was right behind him, clutching his arm like a lifeline.

"Stop it!" he screamed. "What are you doing?"

I grabbed a heavy trophy from his desk. "Surgeon of the Year." An award my father had bought for the hospital gala to boost Damian's ego.

I threw it at the wall.

It dented the plaster with a violent crash and fell to the floor with a hollow thud.

"I am evicting you, Damian," I said, turning to face him.

"I am taking back every single thing I ever gave you."

Damian stepped forward, his chest heaving.

"You can't do that," he spat. "We are married. Half of this is mine. I will sue you. I will take you for everything you have."

I laughed. It was a dry, brittle sound.

"You think the law applies to us?" I asked softly. "You think a piece of paper protects you from the Pierce family?"

Before he could answer, Casey's phone rang.

A jarring, cheerful tune cut through the suffocating tension.

She looked at the screen, and her face crumpled.

"It's the school," she sobbed. "Jaxson is sick. He has a fever."

Damian's anger vanished instantly.

He transformed. He wasn't the cheating husband anymore. He was the concerned father.

"We have to go," he said, his voice dropping to a soothing register.

He put a protective arm around her waist. "I'll drive you. We'll take him to the hospital. I'll check him out myself."

He turned his back on me.

He turned his back on the wife he had sworn to honor. He turned his back on the woman who held the keys to his entire existence.

He walked Casey out of the room without a backward glance.

I heard the front door slam.

The sound echoed through the empty house like a gunshot.

I stood there for a long time.

I looked at the torn pillow. I looked at the dented wall.

I thought about the way he had looked at her. The way he had panicked over her son.

Jaxson.

One of the five boys. The boys he claimed weren't his.

But he acted like they were. He protected them like they were.

A cold, nauseating knot formed in my stomach.

What if they were?

What if the infertility was a lie? What if he had been stealing my money to raise a secret family while I cried over negative pregnancy tests?

My hand trembled as I reached into my pocket.

I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I knew by heart.

Graham picked up on the first ring.

"Where are you?" he asked.

His voice was a low rumble-dangerous, steady, lethal.

"I'm at home," I said. "I need a favor."

Graham paused. In the background, I could hear the rhythmic thud of a heavy bag being struck.

"Name it, Principessa."

"I need eyes on Damian," I said, my voice hardening. "And the girl. Casey Valdez."

"I want to know everything. Where she came from. Who the father of those boys is. Every text. Every bank transfer. Every lie."

The hitting sound stopped.

The silence on the line was heavy.

"Did he hurt you?" Graham asked, his voice dropping an octave.

"If he touched you, Ainsley, I will peel his skin off."

"Not yet," I said.

I looked at the blood on the floor where Damian had stood.

"I don't want him dead, Graham. Not yet."

"I want him ruined. I want him to have nothing. I want him to wish he was dead."

"Understood," Graham said. "I'll put the soldiers on it. Give me twenty-four hours."

I hung up.

I walked to the window and watched the rain start to fall against the glass, blurring the world outside.

But inside, everything was crystal clear.

The marriage was over.

The Vendetta had begun.