Chapter 3

Alexia didn't fight him. She didn't say another word. The will to argue was gone.

She went back to her room, the crushed gold and torn photograph clutched in her bleeding hand. She laid the wreckage out on her vanity, trying to piece it back together, but it was impossible. Like her marriage. Like her family. It was broken beyond repair.

She carefully wrapped the broken pieces in a silk handkerchief. She would find a master craftsman to fix it. It was a fool's hope, but it was all she had.

A knock on the door. It was Kassandra, leaning against the frame, a smug, victorious look on her face.

"He'll never love you, you know," Kassandra said, her voice a low taunt. "He and Anton, they love seeing you hurt. It's the only thing that makes them feel anything."

"You're a fool if you think they love you," Alexia replied, her voice tired. "You're just a tool. A disposable one."

Kassandra laughed. "Maybe. But right now, I'm the one he's using. And soon, you'll be out of the picture completely. You should just leave. Make it easy for everyone."

Alexia had had enough. She stood up to leave, but Kassandra blocked her path.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Get out of my way," Alexia said, her voice dangerously low.

She tried to push past, but Kassandra grabbed her arm. Alexia shoved her away, harder than she intended.

Kassandra lost her balance, her eyes wide with theatrical shock. She let out a piercing shriek as she tumbled backward, falling down the grand staircase.

The crash echoed through the silent mansion.

Seconds later, Jacob and Anton were there, running to the bottom of the stairs.

"Kassie!" Jacob cried, cradling her in his arms.

Kassandra was already sobbing. "She pushed me! Alexia pushed me down the stairs! She said... she said she wouldn't let me get close to you and Anton."

Jacob looked up the stairs at Alexia. He looked from her to his son, not as kin, but as one might observe two strange and intricate mechanisms executing a shared, inexorable program. Their eyes held not malice, but a chilling, inhuman curiosity for the outcome. His jealousy, her "violence," it was exactly the proof he wanted.

He swiftly suppressed it, his features rearranging themselves into an expression of severe, theatrical fury. "Get her to the car. We're going to the hospital."

He turned to the two bodyguards who had appeared. "And as for her," he said, nodding toward Alexia, "she is overwrought. She requires a lesson in consequences. Take her to her chambers until her composure returns. Be firm."

"What is the meaning of this?" Alexia demanded, a dreadful chill beginning to creep from the base of her spine.

"You have lost your self-possession," Jacob said, his voice chillingly calm. "This is the result."

He was insane. They were all insane.

"No! I didn't push her! She's lying!" Alexia screamed, backing away as the bodyguards advanced.

"She wouldn't lie," Anton said, his voice small but firm, standing beside his father. "You're just jealous, Mom. This is your punishment for not loving us enough to let us be happy."

The bodyguards grabbed her. She fought, she kicked, she screamed.

"You will rue this day!" she shrieked, her voice abraded by desperation. "All of you!"

They dragged her toward the top of the stairs. As they struggled with her near the edge of the landing, Alexia shoved back with all her might. One of the guards, caught off balance, lost his grip. The momentum sent her tumbling sideways, over the edge.

The ceiling and the floor abruptly exchanged places in her field of vision. The back of her head struck the marble landing, and the impact sent a jarring shock through her jaw, forcing her teeth together with such violence that she tasted the salt of her own blood. A sickening crack, like the sound of dry kindling snapping, echoed in her ears.

As her vision blurred, the last thing she saw was Jacob and Anton. They were smiling. Truly smiling.

"She's in so much pain, Dad," she heard Anton whisper, his voice filled with a disturbing sort of happiness. "That means she really, really loves us."

Jacob's low chuckle was the last sound she heard as darkness consumed her.

The final, fragile filament of her hope was not merely broken; it was ground into dust beneath the heel of their satisfaction.

She woke up in a hospital bed, a familiar, sterile prison. Every inch of her body screamed in agony.

A nurse was checking her IV. "You're awake. You gave us all quite a scare. Your husband was so worried. He's been here all night."

Alexia's fingers twitched. He was a good actor. A brilliant one.

"He just stepped out a few minutes ago, when he saw you were about to wake up," the nurse continued, oblivious. "He said he was going to check on the other young lady. Such a caring man."

Alexia felt a bitter laugh rise in her throat, but it came out as a pained cough. Of course he left. The performance was over. The audience was awake.

She refused to let the nurse call him. She knew where he was. He was with Kassandra, continuing the charade.

She spent the next few days in the hospital, recovering alone. The physical pain was immense, but the emotional hollowness was worse.

When she was discharged, her lawyer was there again, this time with a divorce agreement. She signed it without a second thought, her hand shaking from the lingering nerve damage, but her resolve firm.

In the hospital lobby, she saw them. Jacob, Anton, and Kassandra, looking like a happy family. Kassandra's arm was in a sling, a purely decorative accessory.

Alexia clutched the signed papers in her hand, took a deep breath, and walked toward them.

She held out the folder to Jacob.