Chapter 3

Charlotte POV

I woke up on the bathroom floor.

The world was tilting on its axis, my head spinning, my skin burning hot.

I tried to stand, but my legs gave out like water.

I must have called Clara in my delirium.

I don't remember dialing, but suddenly she was there, her cool hands a stark contrast against my fevered forehead.

"Jesus, Lottie," she hissed, her voice tight with panic. "You're burning up."

She didn't take me to the hospital.

Hospitals meant paper trails. Records. And records meant Aiden would find me.

Instead, she drove me to a private clinic in the city-a sterile, nondescript building that dealt in cash and anonymity.

I lay in the pristine white bed, the cool slide of an IV dripping into my arm.

Clara sat in the chair, watching me with eyes dark with worry.

"You have to tell me what's going on," she said. "You look like you've been in a war."

"I have," I rasped.

And so, I purged it all.

I told her about the ledger. The missing money. Leo.

The phone call.

Clara didn't speak for a long time.

Then, with shaking hands, she reached into her bag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, ignoring the sterile environment.

"That son of a bitch," she whispered, the smoke curling around her words. "I'll kill him. I'll hack his accounts and zero him out."

"No," I said, my voice weak but steady. "I just want to leave."

"Then we leave," she said fiercely. "I'll help you."

The fluids were doing their work; I needed to use the restroom.

Clara moved to help me, but I waved her off. "I can walk."

I shuffled down the hallway, clutching the IV pole for support.

The clinic was quiet.

Expensive.

This was where the city's elite came to bury their sins and stitch up their scandals.

I passed a VIP waiting area.

The heavy door was cracked open just an inch.

Then I heard a voice that made my blood freeze in my veins.

"He called him a bastard, Aiden."

It was Haven.

I stopped dead, pressing my back against the cold wall.

"Who?" Aiden's voice was a low growl. A dangerous, familiar sound.

"Some kid at school," Haven sobbed. "He said Leo doesn't have a dad. He pushed him."

"I'll handle it," Aiden said, the promise of violence heavy in his tone. "I'll tear the school apart if I have to."

"You can't," Haven wept. "We have to be secret. You said we had to be secret."

"Fuck the secret," Aiden snapped.

I peeked through the crack.

Aiden was kneeling in front of Haven.

He was holding her hands, rubbing them with a tenderness I hadn't seen in years.

He looked... desperate.

"I protect what's mine, Haven. You know that."

"Do you?" Haven looked up at him, tears streaming down her flawless face. "Because I'm pregnant again, Aiden."

The silence that followed was deafening.

I covered my mouth to stifle the gasp that threatened to escape.

Aiden stared at her, stunned.

"Pregnant?"

"I'll get rid of it," Haven whispered, trembling. "I know it's a mistake. I know you have... her."

"No," Aiden said immediately.

He stood up, turning away from her to punch the concrete wall.

Crack.

His knuckles split. Blood bloomed like a dark rose on the grey paint.

He didn't scream.

He just breathed heavily, his shoulders shaking with the force of his emotion.

With me, when the rage took him, he threw things at me.

With her, he hurt himself to keep from scaring her.

He turned back to her, his face resolute.

"We keep it," he said. "I'll fix this. I'll make you official. I'll give you status in the Family."

"What about Charlotte?" Haven asked, her voice small.

"Charlotte doesn't matter," Aiden said, waving a hand dismissively. "She's barren anyway. This... this is my blood."

Barren.

The word hung in the air, sharp and cold.

I wasn't barren.

I was on birth control pills he had replaced with placebos years ago, desperate to breed an heir. But I had been taking my own hidden stash, terrified of bringing a child into his violent orbit.

He thought I was broken.

But I wasn't broken. I was protecting the one thing he couldn't touch.

And now, he was replacing me.

I walked back to my room, my steps silent.

I didn't cry.

I was done crying.

Two days later, Clara drove me back to the estate.

The divorce papers felt heavy in my bag, a physical weight.

I walked into the living room.

Leo was there.

He was sitting on the floor, engrossed in a toy.

In his hands was a porcelain ballerina music box.

My mother's music box.

The one thing I had left of her. The one thing Aiden had promised no one would ever touch.

Leo was twisting the delicate dancer's head, his movements clumsy and cruel.

Snap.