Chapter 4

Brooke Myers POV

The rain had intensified, lashing against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Penthouse with a violence that matched the storm inside my chest.

I punched the code into the keypad. The light flashed green. He hadn't changed it yet. Arrogance, pure and simple. He thought I was too broken to ever come back.

The apartment was silent, submerged in a heavy, suffocating stillness. It smelled of the climate-controlled chill and the lingering, cloying scent of Caleb's cologne-sandalwood and betrayal.

I walked into the living room.

It felt like a museum dedicated to a life that had been extinguished. The photos on the mantle, freezing us in a happiness that was now a lie. The cashmere throw we had bought in Aspen, draped over the sofa. A half-empty bottle of wine sitting on the counter, as if waiting for a toast that would never come.

But I didn't have time to mourn.

I moved quickly, heading straight for the server room at the back of the office. My hands didn't shake as I pulled the hard drives from the rack, stuffing them into my waterproof bag. These drives contained the metadata, the undeniable proof of ownership for the Apex System. They were my leverage, and my lifeline.

I moved to the bedroom to pack a bag. Just the essentials. I needed to be a ghost.

I threw open the closet doors.

My clothes had been shoved aggressively to one side. In their place, Krystal's cheap, flashy dresses hung in my space, claiming territory that wasn't hers.

I grabbed a suitcase and started throwing things in-jeans, sweaters, anything I could reach.

Then I saw it.

On the top shelf, hidden behind a stack of winter woolens. A shoe box labeled "Legacy."

I pulled it down, the cardboard cool against my fingertips.

Inside, nestling in tissue paper, was a burner phone.

I knew Caleb had secrets. In this life, everyone had secrets. But a burner phone in a box labeled "Legacy"? That was specific. That was calculated.

I turned it on. I knew the passcode immediately. It was his birthday. Narcissist.

The messages loaded, a stream of blue bubbles.

They were all from a number saved simply as "K."

I scrolled back. Three months. Six months. A year.

K: When are you going to dump the nerd?

Caleb: Soon, baby. I just need the code to be finished.

K: She's getting suspicious.

Caleb: Let her be suspicious. She's too in love to see straight.

K: What about the brat?

Caleb: The incubator? Don't worry. Once the deal is signed, I'll cut her loose. The kid can go to boarding school in Switzerland. You'll be the mother.

The incubator.

The word hung in the stale air, heavy and suffocating. It wrapped around my throat.

He hadn't just cheated. He had harvested me. He had used my body to grow his heir and my brain to build his empire, planning to discard the husk the moment he had extracted what he needed.

I felt the bile rise, hot and acidic. I ran to the bathroom, collapsing over the toilet, and vomited until there was nothing left but dry heaves.

I sat back on the cold tile floor, clutching the phone like a lifeline, or a weapon.

The tears finally came. Not soft, cinematic tears. Ugly, heaving sobs that tore at my chest and echoed off the marble walls.

I had loved a ghost. I had built a life on a foundation of rot.

Slowly, the sobbing stopped. The pain didn't leave, but it crystallized into something harder. Something sharper.

I wiped my face.

I stood up.

I forwarded every single text message to my encrypted cloud server. Then, for good measure, I sent a copy to Easton's secure drop box.

I walked back into the bedroom.

I picked up my favorite lipstick from the vanity-a deep, blood red. I uncapped it and walked to the portrait of Caleb that hung arrogantly over the bed.

With a steady hand, I drew a target right on his forehead.

Then, the silence was shattered.

The electronic chirp of the front door.

My heart stopped.

"Babe?" Caleb's voice echoed from the hallway, casual, confident. "Why are the lights on?"

"Probably the cleaning lady," Krystal's voice, shrill and close.

I froze.

I was trapped.