Chapter 4

Jacob took the folder, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What's this?"

"Just some hospital discharge papers, honey," Kassandra said, not even glancing at the documents. "The lawyer said you needed to sign them so we can go home." Alexia remained silent, her face pale, letting Kassandra's impatient dismissal do the work for her. The lawyer presented a clipboard with the top page angled toward Jacob-a standard financial liability form. Underneath it, separated by a thin sheet of carbonless copy paper, lay the divorce petition.

Anton chimed in, "Yeah, Dad, hurry up. Kassie needs to rest."

Without reading a single word, Jacob scrawled his signature on the line. He handed the clipboard back to the lawyer who stood silently beside Alexia, and then turned his back on her, ushering Kassandra and Anton toward the exit.

They left her standing there, alone in the middle of the bustling lobby.

A strange emptiness filled her. The searing pain was gone, replaced by a cold, hollow ache. It was the feeling of a limb that had been amputated. It still hurt, but it was no longer a part of her.

"How long until it's finalized?" she asked the lawyer, her voice a monotone.

"With his signature, we can file it immediately. A few weeks for the cooling-off period, then you'll be officially divorced."

Alexia nodded and put the copy of the agreement in her bag. She turned to leave, but a luxury car pulled up to the curb in front of her.

Kassandra rolled down the window. "Get in, Alexia. We'll give you a ride home." Her voice was sickly sweet, a victor's magnanimity.

"No, thank you," Alexia said.

From inside the car, she heard Jacob cough lightly. His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror, a silent command. Kassandra got out and grabbed Alexia's arm.

"Don't be silly. Jacob wants you to come with us."

Alexia looked from Kassandra's fake-sympathetic face to Jacob's impassive one in the mirror. It was another test. Another pathetic attempt to control her, to force her into their twisted family portrait.

The entire circumstance was so profoundly absurd, a tragedy so overwrought it bordered on farce. A dry, mirthless laugh caught in her throat. She allowed Kassandra to guide her into the vehicle.

The ride home was suffocating. Jacob and Anton continued their performance, fussing over Kassandra, occasionally glancing at Alexia to gauge her reaction.

She gave them none. She gazed out the window, allowing the city's lights to streak across her vision, a meaningless wash of colour against the grey canvas of her thoughts.

Suddenly, the driver slammed on the brakes. A truck had swerved into their lane. The car jolted violently, and Alexia's head slammed against the window.

The world spun. Through a haze, she saw Jacob lunge across the seat. For a wild, insane moment, she thought he was coming for her.

Their eyes met.

Then he swerved, twisting his body to shield Kassandra from the impact.

The last vestige of hope in Alexia's breast did not shatter; it froze, solidifying into a shard of ice.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Cummings! The roads are slick," the driver stammered.

Jacob was already checking on Kassandra. "Are you hurt? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Jacob. You protected me," Kassandra purred, her voice a little shaky. Then she gasped, pointing at Alexia. "Oh my god, Alexia! Your head!"

Blood was trickling down Alexia's temple. Jacob finally turned to look at her, his face a mess of conflicting emotions.

"Should we go back to the hospital, sir?" the driver asked.

Jacob's jaw worked. He looked at Alexia, then at Kassandra. The game, always the game.

"No," he said, his voice hard. "She can take care of it herself when we get home."

Anton nodded in agreement. "She's strong. She'll be fine."

Alexia closed her eyes. The exhaustion was bone-deep.

Back at the mansion, she went to her bathroom and cleaned the cut on her head herself. She applied the antiseptic with a steady hand, not flinching from the sting. She didn't cry. The tears had dried up long ago.

She stayed in her room for days, nursing her wounds, both visible and invisible.

One evening, she went to take out the trash. As she stepped out the back door, something hard hit the back of her head. The world went black.

She woke up in a cold, dark space. The air smelled of rust and decay. An abandoned factory. Her hands and feet were tied to a chair.

A digital timer was strapped to her waist. It was a bomb. It read: 10:00.

Across from her, Kassandra was also tied to a chair, sobbing hysterically.

Alexia immediately started working on a knot binding her right wrist, her fingers clumsy and weak from the nerve damage.

Suddenly, the factory doors burst open. Jacob and Anton rushed in, their faces pale with panic.

Jacob's eyes locked onto Alexia. He took a step toward her.

"Jacob! Help me!" Kassandra shrieked, her voice cutting through the tense silence.

Jacob froze. His gaze flickered between the two women. The internal struggle was plain on his face. Love, or what he called love, versus the game.

The game won.

He turned to Kassandra. "I'm coming, Kassie." He ran to her, his back to Alexia. "Just hold on, Alexia. I'll be back for you."

His words were a death sentence. The timer on her waist read: 02:17.

Her spirit, which she had believed incapable of further injury, was caught in the merciless jaws of a vise, tightened by a final, absolute despair.

He untied Kassandra in seconds. He pulled her to her feet and rushed her toward the exit.

As they ran past, Kassandra turned her head and gave Alexia a triumphant, tear-stained smile.

A chilling clarity descended upon her. This was but another, grander performance. She recalled a file she had once glimpsed upon Jacob's desk, its tab bearing the inscription 'Extreme Fealty Protocols.' A corporate matter, she had assumed. She understood now. This was the final, terrible crucible of his design.

And she had failed. Or perhaps, she had finally passed.