Chapter 5

Charlotte POV

The door to my bedroom drifted open without so much as a knock.

Haven sauntered in.

She wasn't crying now. The tears had vanished the moment she left Aiden's sight.

She looked like a cat that had just eaten the canary and was already prowling for dessert.

She closed the door behind her and locked it with a deliberate click.

"Sign the papers," she said.

She pointed to the divorce decree sitting on my desk.

I hadn't even shown them to Aiden yet.

"You went through my bag," I said, my voice hollow.

"I go through everything in this house," Haven said, running a finger along my vanity, claiming my space as her own. "I need to know what kind of mess I'm cleaning up."

"You want him that bad?" I asked. "He's a monster, Haven."

"He's a King," she corrected, her eyes gleaming. "And I'm going to be his Queen."

She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms.

"You think you're special because you married him? I saved him, Charlotte. Seven years ago."

I froze.

Seven years ago.

"He was dying," Haven said, smiling. "Kidney failure. From the drugs. No one in the family was a match."

My hand flew to the scar on my side.

"I donated a kidney," I whispered, the memory of the pain rushing back. "To you. You said you were sick."

Haven laughed. It was a cruel, tinkling sound, devoid of any warmth.

"I wasn't sick, sweetie. Aiden was. But the Don couldn't let the world know his Enforcer was weak. So we used you."

The room spun.

They had cut me open.

They had taken a part of me.

And they had put it in him.

"I gave him life," I said, my voice trembling.

"No." Haven stepped closer, her perfume suffocating me. "You gave him a spare part. I gave him a son."

She glanced at the clock.

"He'll be here in a minute. To check on you."

"Get out," I said.

"I want it all, Charlotte," she hissed, dropping the facade entirely. "The house. The money. The name. And I want him to hate you. I want him to throw you out like garbage."

She heard heavy footsteps in the hall.

She smiled.

Then, without hesitation, she threw herself backward.

She hit the floor with a heavy thud and started screaming.

"No! Charlotte, stop! My baby!"

The door burst open.

Aiden stood there, filling the frame with his dark presence.

He saw Haven on the floor, clutching her stomach.

He saw me standing over her.

"She pushed me!" Haven screamed, tears instantly flooding her face. "She tried to kill the baby!"

Aiden looked at me.

His eyes turned black.

"I didn't touch her," I said, my voice steady despite my fear. "Check the cameras, Aiden."

He didn't move toward the security monitor.

He moved toward me.

"You attacked a pregnant woman?" he roared.

"She's lying!" I shouted. "She just told me-"

"Shut up!" Aiden grabbed my arm. His grip was bruising, tight enough to snap bone.

"You're jealous. You're sick."

"Check the cameras!" I begged.

"I don't need cameras to see what you are," he spat. "You're bitter. You're barren. And you're cruel."

He shoved me away.

I stumbled back, hitting the desk hard.

He knelt beside Haven. "Are you okay?"

"It hurts," Haven sobbed, burying her face in his chest. "Take me to the doctor."

Aiden scooped her up in his arms.

He looked at me one last time over his shoulder.

There was no love in his eyes.

Only disgust.

"Stay here," he ordered. "If you leave this room, I'll chain you to the bed."

He carried her out.

I listened to his footsteps fade away down the hall.

I looked at the cameras mounted in the corner of the room.

The red light was off.

She had disabled them.

I started to laugh.

It began as a dry chuckle and turned into a sob.

He didn't check the cameras because he didn't want to know the truth.

He wanted her to be the victim.

Because if she was the victim, he was the hero.

And if I was the villain, he didn't have to feel guilty about destroying me.

I wiped my eyes.

The tears were gone.

I picked up the divorce papers.

I signed them.

Then I picked up the pen and set it down with finality.

I didn't pack a bag.

I didn't take clothes.

I walked to the window.

We were on the second floor. There was a trellis covered in ivy clinging to the brick.

I had climbed it once, years ago, to sneak out and paint the sunrise.

I opened the window.

The night air was cold.

It felt like freedom.

I climbed out.

I left the diamond bracelet on the sill.

I left the repaired music box on the desk.

I left Charlotte Herrera in that room.

The woman who hit the ground running was someone else entirely.

And she was never looking back.