Chapter 3

Harlow POV

Dawn broke over the estate in a bruised palette of charcoal and violent purple.

I was still kneeling.

My body had transcended pain, settling into a strange, floating numbness that felt dangerously like dissociation.

When the servants finally came to collect me, my legs refused to cooperate.

They had to half-carry me, their eyes fixed on the floorboards, terrified to witness the aftermath of the Don's cruelty.

They deposited me in my room like a broken doll, but I didn't crawl into the sanctuary of my bed.

I couldn't.

I had to leave.

With trembling hands, I washed the gravel embedded in my knees, the water in the basin turning murky.

I changed into a high-necked dress, the fabric stiff enough to hide the fresh bandages wrapped around my torso.

I packed a single bag.

I was limping toward the main staircase, hope fluttering in my throat, when Kaden blocked my path.

He looked immaculate-freshly showered, smelling of sandalwood and arrogance.

Brittaney was draped over the banister behind him, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Going somewhere?" Kaden asked, his voice devoid of warmth.

"I'm leaving," I said, my voice raspy from disuse.

"We have a schedule, Harlow."

He checked his watch, stepping over my declaration as if it were nothing more than debris.

"Brittaney needs a new wardrobe for the season. You have an eye for... decent things."

"You're taking her shopping."

I stared at him, disbelief warring with exhaustion.

"You want me to take your mistress shopping?"

"I want you to do your job," he said smoothly. "Make her look presentable. She lacks your... polish."

"I refuse."

I turned to walk away, my movements jerky and uncoordinated.

"Get in the car, Harlow," Kaden said.

It wasn't a request; it was a command.

Two bodyguards stepped in front of me, walls of muscle in black suits.

I was trapped.

Again.

The limousine ride was a silent torture chamber.

Brittaney sat across from me, kicking my shins 'accidentally' with her heels, her smile sharp enough to cut glass.

At the boutique, she was a monster wrapped in silk.

She tried on everything.

She bought nothing.

She made me fetch sizes, holding dresses up against her body and asking if they made her look 'too skinny,' fishing for compliments I refused to give.

"Carry these," she commanded, shoving a mountain of shopping bags into my arms.

My back was on fire.

The stitches were pulling, tearing at the tender flesh beneath.

"I can't," I whispered, the bags slipping from my numb fingers.

"Pick them up!" she hissed, her facade dropping. "Or I tell Kaden you stole something."

I gritted my teeth until my jaw ached.

I bent down.

I picked up the bags.

I walked behind her like a pack mule, sweat drenching my dress, shivering from a fever that was climbing higher by the minute.

When we finally returned to the mansion, I collapsed onto the foyer bench, my vision swimming.

Brittaney dumped the clothes onto the floor in a heap.

"Oh, Kaden!" she called out, her voice pitching up into a whine.

He appeared from his office, his presence instantly sucking the air from the room.

"Harlow got the clothes dirty," she pouted, pointing a manicured finger. "Look at the dust on the bags."

Kaden looked at the bags. Then at me.

"Wash them," he said.

"What?" I whispered, the room tilting.

"Hand wash them. Silk ruins in the machine."

"Kaden, I'm sick," I pleaded, holding up my trembling hands. "Please."

For a second, the ice in his eyes cracked.

He saw the unnatural flush on my cheeks. The way I was shaking like a leaf.

"Oh, don't be mean to her, Kaden," Brittaney said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "I'll do it. I don't mind doing hard work. Unlike some people."

She reached for a blouse.

"Leave it," Kaden snapped at her, making her flinch.

Then he turned his glare back on me.

"You are useless, Harlow."

"Wash the clothes. Or get out of my sight."

I took the clothes.

I walked to the laundry room, every step a battle against gravity.

I filled the basin with cold water.

My hands were raw.

My back was bleeding again; I could feel the warm wetness sliding down my skin.

I scrubbed the silk until the water swirled pink, the blood seeping through my bandages mingling with the suds.

I heard them in the hallway.

Kaden's voice, low and tender-a tone he used to use for me.

"You're too good for this place, Britt," he whispered.

I scrubbed harder, trying to drown out the sound of my heart breaking.

The room began to spin.

The floor tilted violently.

Black spots danced in my vision, consuming the light.

I fell.

The darkness was a relief.

I woke to the rhythmic beep of machines.

White walls. The stinging smell of antiseptic.

A hospital.

A nurse was adjusting an IV in my arm, her hands shaking slightly.

"Mr. Barnes brought you in," she whispered, looking terrified. "He was shouting at everyone to save you."

Hope, that treacherous little bird, fluttered in my chest.

He cared.

He had brought me here.

The door banged open, shattering the moment.

Kaden stormed in.

He didn't look relieved.

He looked murderous.

He crossed the room in two predatory strides.

Before I could speak, before I could ask what happened, I felt the cold, hard steel of a gun barrel press against my forehead.

"You bitch," he roared, his eyes wild.

"You put needles in her dress?"