Chapter 7

Fear, cold and sharp, gripped me. The two men moved closer, their faces impassive, their intentions clear. I was helpless, broken in a hospital bed, a prisoner of the man I once loved.

They didn't speak. They didn't need to. Their presence was a promise of violence.

I had to get out.

My mind raced, searching for an escape. The window. It was my only chance.

With a surge of adrenaline that momentarily eclipsed the pain, I threw off my blanket and lunged for the edge of the bed. I pushed myself off, landing hard on my good leg. The impact sent a jarring shockwave of agony up my broken one, and I cried out, collapsing to the floor.

But I couldn't stop. I crawled, dragging my useless leg behind me, my arms screaming with the effort.

The men were on me in an instant, grabbing me, trying to drag me back to the bed. I fought back with the desperation of a cornered animal, kicking, scratching, biting.

In the struggle, I managed to pull free for a second. I scrambled the last few feet to the window and, without a second thought, unlatched it and climbed onto the narrow fire escape.

I had to get away.

I heard shouting from the room above. They were coming after me.

I forced myself down the fire escape, each step a fresh wave of torture. My vision swam. I was losing blood. My body couldn't take much more.

I made it to the bottom and stumbled into an alleyway. I leaned against the cold brick wall, gasping for breath, my body on the verge of collapse. I had to keep moving. I pushed myself off the wall and staggered towards the street.

That's when I heard the screech of tires.

A black car, the same one from the ranch, swerved into the alley, blocking my path.

Alaric, Darrius, and Jefferey got out.

"Azalea, what are you doing?" Darrius asked, his voice laced with false concern. "You're hurt. Let us help you."

I saw the truth in their eyes. They weren't there to help me. They were there to finish the job.

I turned and ran, my broken body screaming with every step. I stumbled out of the alley and into the street, directly into the path of an oncoming truck.

The last thing I heard was the blare of a horn and the squeal of brakes.

Then, darkness.

I woke up in a hospital. Again. This time, the pain was a universe. Every breath was a struggle. The doctor told me the list of my injuries was long: multiple fractures, severe internal bleeding, a major concussion. It was a miracle I was alive.

Alaric, Darrius, and Jefferey were there, of course. They sat by my bedside, their faces models of grief and worry.

"It was horrible," Alaric said, his voice thick with emotion. "You just ran out into the street. We tried to stop you."

"The truck driver said he couldn't stop in time," Darrius added somberly. "We're so, so sorry, Azalea."

They thought I didn't remember. They thought the concussion had wiped my memory clean. They thought I would believe their story.

I just looked at them, my eyes cold and empty.

They left, promising to return. I knew they would. They had to maintain the illusion of being my devoted friends.

I spent weeks in that hospital, slowly, painfully healing. When I was finally discharged, they were there to greet me, all smiles and relief.

They drove me back to my penthouse. When I walked in, my heart stopped.

Alexander and Isolde were there. They were sitting on my sofa, in my living room, as if they belonged there.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice shaking with rage.

Alexander stood up, his expression cold. "We need to talk."

Isolde started to cry. "My necklace," she sobbed, clutching her throat. "My beautiful diamond necklace. It's gone. I think... I think someone stole it from my room while I was visiting you at the hospital."

She looked at me, her eyes full of accusation.

"I didn't take your necklace," I said, my voice flat.

"Of course she didn't," Alaric said, stepping forward as if to defend me. "Azalea would never do something like that."

It was all a play. A ridiculous, transparent play.

Alexander ignored him. He took a step towards me, his eyes burning with a cold fire. "I'm going to find that necklace. And I'm going to search this entire apartment."

"You can't do that!" Darrius protested weakly.

"Watch me," Alexander sneered.

He snapped his fingers, and his bodyguards started tearing my home apart. They overturned furniture, smashed vases, ripped paintings from the walls.

The other three "friends" made a show of trying to stop them. "Alexander, this is crazy!" "You're going too far!"

It was a pathetic performance. A race to see who could appear the most loyal to me while still serving their true master.

I just stood there, watching the destruction, a cold calm settling over me. This was the final act of my humiliation.

Finally, after feigning enough resistance, Alaric turned to Alexander. "This is pointless. Let's settle this like men. A race. If I win, you leave her and her apartment alone."

A race. How utterly predictable. How childish.

Alexander agreed, a smug smile on his face. The five of them left, heading for their expensive cars, leaving me in the wreckage of my home.

I knew how this would end. Alaric would "race" his heart out, and he would lose. He would come back, defeated and apologetic, having "tried his best" to protect me.

And I would be left with nothing.

I sat down on the one chair that was still upright and laughed. A dry, broken sound. They thought they had finally broken me.

They had no idea what they had just unleashed.