Chapter 2 Make him pay.

I wake up... slowly. The world feels blurry, distant, like I'm swimming through a fog I can't quite shake. My head throbs, a dull ache that pulses with every heartbeat. I try to move, but my body feels heavy, like it's not entirely mine anymore. My throat is dry, scratchy, like I've been swallowing sandpaper. I try to speak, but no sound comes out.

I force my eyes open, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights above. The room is white-too white-.

The sharp smell of antiseptic fills my nose. A hospital.

"Doctor, she's awake!" a nurse calls from somewhere near my bed.

Footsteps rush closer, and a man's voice cuts through the fog. "Stay calm," he says gently. "You're safe."

A figure comes into focus-a man in a white coat. His dark eyes are calm but focused as he leans over me.

"Can you hear me?" he asks.

I try to speak, but my throat is dry. Only a croak comes out.

"It's okay," he says. "Let me check a few things first. Follow the light."

He holds up a small penlight, moving it side to side. I force my eyes to track it, even though the movement makes my head pound.

"Good, good," he murmurs, more to himself than to me "Can you squeeze my hand?"

I try, but my fingers barely twitch.

"That's fine," he assures me. "You'll get stronger."

His words are supposed to comfort me, but dread claws at my chest.

"Do you remember anything?"

I shake my head, my mind still a jumbled mess. The last thing I recall... what is the last thing I recall? Images flash in my mind-fire, screaming, pain. But it's all disjointed, like pieces of a puzzle that don't quite fit together.

"How... long?" I manage to whisper, my voice rough and weak.

He hesitates, his expression softening. "Three months."

Three months?

I try to sit up, but pain shoots through me, sharp and unforgiving. That's when I notice the bandages-wrapped around my arms, chest, legs. My whole body.

"Don't move too much," the doctor warns, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"What happened?" I ask, panic rising in my throat.

"You were in a car accident," he says carefully. "Your skin sustained severe burns."

Burns.

The word slices through me, cold and cruel. I look down at my bandaged body, disbelief gripping me.

"No..." My voice cracks as tears blur my vision.

"I know this is hard," the doctor says softly. "But you survived. That's what matters."

"It's okay," he says softly. "You're safe now. You're going to be okay."

But I don't feel okay. I feel broken, shattered, like a piece of glass that's been dropped and smashed into a thousand tiny pieces. I want to scream, to rage, to demand answers. But all I can do is cry.

His words barely register. My body doesn't feel like mine anymore. It's a cage of pain and scars.

A sob escapes my throat, raw and broken.

The doctor places a hand on my shoulder. "You're alive," he says gently. "You will heal."

I shake my head, the tears coming harder.

The doctor stays with me, his presence steady and calming, until my sobs subside. When I finally regain some semblance of control, he clears his throat, his expression turning serious once more.

"There's someone who wants to see you," he says. "He's the one who saved you."

The door opens, and an older man steps inside. His presence fills the room-tall, commanding, with silver hair and eyes that hold both warmth and power. His suit is impeccable, exuding wealth and authority.

He looks at me with quiet concern. "Good to see you awake," he says, his voice deep and steady.

"Who are you?" I ask, my voice still shaky.

"My name is Kenji Takahashi," he says. "Chairman of Takahashi Global. You're in Tokyo."

Tokyo?

"You saved me?" I ask, confused.

He nods. "My security team found your car after the explosion. You were barely breathing, but we got you out."

Explosion.

Memories crash into me-the dinner with George, the dizziness, waking up in the car, the crash, the fire.

George's cold voice echoes in my mind: I can't pretend to love you anymore. With you gone, your wealth and the company will be mine.

Anger simmers beneath the pain, sharp and bitter.

"Why?" I ask, my voice steadier now. "Why did you save me?"

Kenji's expression softens. "Because I could. No one deserves to die like that."

I swallow hard, unsure what to say.

"You'll stay here until you recover," he says. "Everything has been arranged."

"Thank you," I whisper, though the words feel hollow.

Kenji gestures to a tablet on the table. "Do you want to know what's been happening?"

"Yes," I say quickly. "Please search my name."

He picks up the tablet and sits beside my bed, angling the screen so I can see it. His fingers move across the surface as he types: Genevieve Hartwell.

The results load, and my heart stops.

Every headline screams the same thing: Heiress Dies in Tragic Car Accident.

My breath catches as I read the articles. Pictures of the wreckage flash on the screen-flames, twisted metal.

Kenji glances at me, his brow furrowing. "The media was... thorough," he says carefully.

One video catches my eye. He taps on it, and George's face fills the screen.

On the screen is a video of George, standing in front of a crowd of reporters. His face is pale, his eyes red and swollen as if he's been crying. He's clutching a tissue, his hands trembling as he speaks.

"I... I can't believe she's gone," he says, his voice breaking. "Genevieve was my everything. I don't know how I'll go on without her."

I feel a surge of nausea, bile rising in my throat. The audacity of him, to stand there and act like a grieving fiancé when he's the one who caused this. The camera zooms in on his face, and I see it-the faintest hint of a smile, barely there, but unmistakable. He's enjoying this. He's enjoying the attention.

My stomach twists into a knot.

Liar.

I watch as he covers his face with his hands, pretending to cry. The audience eats it up, reporters snapping photos of his "grief."

Rage boils inside me, hot and consuming.

Kenji's voice cuts through my fury. "That man-"

"My husband," I spit out, venom lacing my words.

Kenji's brows lift in surprise, but he doesn't press me for details.

I glare at the screen, my knuckles aching even though I can't clench my fists. "He did this," I whisper, more to myself than to him.

Kenji nods slowly, as if piecing things together. "You've been given a second chance," he says quietly. "What will you do with it?"

I meet his gaze, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.

"I'm going to make him pay."