Chapter 7

Amy stormed down the grand, sweeping marble staircase, her blood boiling, her heart hammering against her ribs. She just wanted to get out of this suffocating house.

She reached the massive foyer. The high-tech security lock on the front door suddenly beeped.

The heavy brass door swung open. A blast of freezing New York night air swept into the warm lobby.

Amira walked in. She was flanked by two private nurses, wearing a custom silk hospital gown under a thick cashmere coat.

They met dead center in the foyer, directly beneath the massive crystal chandelier.

Amira stopped. Her eyes immediately darted to Amy's rumpled collar, her flushed cheeks, and her swollen lower lip. A flash of ugly, venomous jealousy twisted Amira's features.

But it was gone in a second. Amira smoothed her face into a sickeningly sweet, condescending smile.

"Oh, Amy," Amira cooed, her voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room. "Did Beckham call you here to check on my son?"

Amy's face turned to stone. She felt a wave of absolute disgust. She stepped to the side, trying to walk past the woman.

Amira flicked her eyes to the nurses. One of them immediately stepped sideways, blocking Amy's path to the door.

Amira shook off the nurses' hands and took a step closer to Amy. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial, mocking whisper.

"Are you jealous seeing Kevin?" Amira smiled, her eyes glinting with venomous triumph. "After all, not every woman is capable of bearing an heir for the Graham family. Beckham and I put so much 'effort' into having him... those days were truly sweet."

Amy's feet rooted to the marble floor. The words hit her brain like a physical club. A loud, high-pitched ringing started in her ears.

Her hands curled into tight fists at her sides. Her perfectly manicured nails dug so hard into her palms that the skin broke.

She fought down the violent wave of PTSD-induced nausea rising in her stomach. She stared at Amira's moving mouth, feeling completely detached from reality.

Amira saw Amy's silence and mistook it for defeat. Her smile widened into a cruel sneer. "It must be hard for you. Knowing you're just a barren, lower-class piece of trash who couldn't even give him a child."

Amy's head snapped up. The dead, numb look in her eyes vanished, replaced by a sharp, terrifying glint of pure violence.

Without a single warning, Amy raised her right arm.

Amy's patience reached its absolute limit. She raised her hand and delivered a crisp, resounding slap across Amira's cheek. It wasn't a heavy blow, mindful of the woman's fragile heart, but it was profoundly humiliating. SMACK.

The sound was like a gunshot in the cavernous lobby. Amira's head snapped violently to the side.

Amira let out a high-pitched scream. She stumbled backward, clutching her rapidly swelling cheek, her eyes wide with absolute shock.

The two nurses gasped and lunged forward to grab Amy.

"Touch me and I'll break your arms," Amy snarled, her voice radiating such dark, commanding authority that the nurses froze in their tracks.

Amy stepped forward. She grabbed the lapels of Amira's expensive silk coat and yanked the woman forward.

A cold, demonic smile stretched across Amy's face.

"You know what? I changed my mind," Amy whispered, each word dripping with venom. "I'm not signing those divorce papers. I am going to sit on the title of Mrs. Graham for the rest of my life, just to watch you rot."

She leaned in closer, until her lips were inches from Amira's ear.

"And remember this," Amy hissed. "When they cut your chest open... I am the one holding the scalpel over your beating heart."

Amira's face drained of all color. Pure, unadulterated terror filled her eyes. She began to shake uncontrollably, trying to pull away.

Amy released her grip, shoving Amira backward with a look of utter disgust, like she was throwing away garbage. Amira collapsed onto the marble floor.

Amy reached into her bag, pulled out an antibacterial wipe, and slowly cleaned her hands. She dropped the used wipe right at Amira's feet.

She pushed past the frozen nurses, pulled open the heavy brass door, and walked out into the freezing New York night without looking back.