Chapter 4

Liv POV

Michael sat slumped in a chair in the foyer, a ruin of the man he used to be.

His tie was undone, hanging loosely around a collar that had been gripped too tight. His hair, usually gelled to perfection, was messy.

He looked up when I walked in.

A desperate hope flickered in his eyes.

It was pathetic.

"Liv," he scrambled to stand up. "Thank God. Tell them. Tell them we can work this out."

He took a jerky step toward me.

Before he could close the distance, Jennings stepped in between us like a wall of granite.

"Stay back," Jennings growled.

"I just want to talk to my wife!" Michael shouted, his voice cracking.

"Ex-wife," I said coldly.

Michael flinched as if I'd struck him.

"Liv, please. The boy... Leo. He means nothing. He was a mistake."

"A four-year-old mistake you kept in an apartment paid for with my family's money?"

"I was protecting you!"

"You were hedging your bets," I said, cutting through his lies. "You kept him in case I couldn't give you a son."

Michael went silent. He knew I saw right through him.

"I lost everything today, Liv. My job. My money. My reputation. Don't take us away too."

He looked at my stomach, his gaze hungry.

"That baby is my redemption. I can be a good father. I swear."

This was it.

The moment to twist the knife.

I placed a hand on my stomach.

I kept my face completely stone, draining every ounce of emotion from my features.

"There is no baby, Michael."

He froze. "What?"

"The stress," I lied, my voice steady. "The fall in the dining room. The doctor just finished."

It was a monstrous lie.

But he was a monster, and monsters didn't deserve the truth.

"No," he whispered, the color draining from his face. "No, that's not possible."

"It's gone," I said, my voice hollow. "Your legacy is dead."

Michael fell to his knees.

He didn't cry for me.

He cried for the loss of his power. He cried for the loss of his connection to the throne.

"You killed it," he sobbed into his hands. "You killed my son."

"You did this," I said.

I looked at Jennings.

"Get him out of my sight."

Jennings grabbed Michael by the collar and hauled him up as if he weighed nothing.

Michael was limp. Defeated.

"Where are you taking me?" Michael mumbled.

"The airport," Jennings said.

Michael looked at me one last time.

His eyes were dead.

"I loved you," he said.

"You loved the reflection of yourself in my eyes," I replied.

I turned around and walked up the stairs.

I didn't look back.

I waited until I heard the heavy front door slam shut, sealing the silence.

Only then did I let out a breath.

My hand went to my stomach, protective and fierce.

You're safe, I thought. He will never use you.

Michael POV

The tarmac glistened, slick with rain and oil.

I had nothing. No phone. No wallet. Just the clothes on my back.

Jennings shoved me toward the small Cessna.

"Where am I going?" I asked. My voice sounded foreign to my own ears, scraped raw.

"Sanctuary Island," Jennings said.

I knew the place.

It was a rock in the middle of nowhere. A place for ghosts. People who were dead to the world but still breathing.

"Why didn't they just kill me?" I asked.

Jennings leaned in close.

His voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of a death sentence.

"The baby lives."

My head snapped up.

"What?"

"She lied to break you," Jennings said, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "The heir lives. But you will never see him. You will rot on that island knowing you have a son you can never touch."

He shoved a ticket into my pocket.

"Go. Before the Old Man changes his mind and puts a bullet in your head."

I stumbled up the stairs of the plane, my mind reeling.

He was alive.

My son was alive.

I sat in the leather seat as the engines roared to life.

I looked out the window at the city lights fading away into the darkness.

I had lost everything.

But I had a secret.

And on Sanctuary Island, secrets were the only currency that mattered.