Chapter 3

Liv POV:

The private clinic didn't just smell of antiseptic; it smelled of cold, sterilized rage.

Dr. Aris was checking the fetal heartbeat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

It was a rhythmic anchor, the only thing tethering me to reality as my world fractured.

My mother stood by the window, her back rigid, posture perfect even in a crisis.

"The baby is fine," Dr. Aris said, his voice tight. "But your stress levels are dangerous, Olivia. You need rest."

"I don't need rest," I said, forcing myself into a sitting position despite the ache in my ribs. "I need a lawyer."

"Lawyers are for civilians," my mother said, slowly turning around.

Her eyes were dry. Hayes women didn't weep; they plotted.

"We are Hayes. We don't litigate. We liquidate."

She walked over to the bed and sat down, the movement fluid and predatory. She touched the bandage on my cheek with a gloved hand.

"He allowed a frantic animal to mar my daughter," she said softly, her voice devoid of mercy. "For that alone, he should die."

"Father won't kill him," I said, my voice rasping. "Michael knows too much about the shipping routes."

"Your father is currently dismantling Michael's life, brick by brick."

She handed me a tablet.

It was a live feed of the family meeting in the library. Michael was there.

He wasn't sitting. He was standing in the center of the room, stripped of his usual arrogance, looking less like a CEO and more like a prisoner awaiting execution.

My father was speaking, his voice low and thunderous.

"You violated the sanctity of our blood," Old Hayes said. "You brought shame to this house."

"I made you millions!" Michael shouted, sweat gleaming on his forehead. "I modernized this family!"

"You were a tool," my father said, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. "Tools can be replaced."

"I froze his accounts ten minutes ago," my mother said to me, pointing a manicured nail at the screen. "He has no access to the offshore funds. No credit cards. No car service."

"It's not enough," I said.

I felt a coldness blooming in my chest, replacing the fear. It was a dark, heavy flower, and its roots were made of hate.

I didn't just want him broke. I wanted him broken.

"He wanted this baby for the legacy," I said, staring at the man on the screen who had once held me. "He told me this morning. He sees our child as a crown."

My mother nodded. "Men like him only care about what they can own."

"Then I want to take away the only thing he thinks he still has."

"What do you mean?"

"Teach me," I said, meeting her gaze. "Teach me how to use the Whisper Network."

My mother smiled. It wasn't a nice smile; it was the baring of fangs.

"The Whisper Network destroys reputations before the body even hits the ground."

"I want everyone to know," I said. "I want the Russians, the Irish, the Triads to know that Michael Thorne is a traitor to his blood. I want him to be a pariah before sunset."

"Done."

"And Serena?" I asked.

My mother's face went blank, a mask of terrifying neutrality.

"Serena touched a Hayes. Serena is being handled."

I knew what that meant. I found, to my surprise, that I didn't care.

"I want to see him," I said. "One last time."

"You're not well enough."

"I need to do this. I need to sever the limb myself."

My mother looked at me with new respect, seeing a reflection of herself for the first time.

"Very well. But you go in there as a matriarch, not a wife."

"The wife is dead," I said.

I slid off the exam table.

I didn't bother changing out of the hospital gown. Let him see the bruises. Let him see the fragility.

It made me look vulnerable, which would make my strike hit harder. Like a blade hidden in silk.

I walked down the hallway, flanked by two guards.

I was going to burn his world down.