Chapter 4

A look of pure terror washed over Austen' s face.

"Alana, no," he whispered, his voice cracking. He lunged for the trash can, snatching the ring out as if it were a holy relic.

"Please, don't do this. Don't leave me," he begged, his composure shattering. He tried to grab her hand, to force the ring back on her finger.

Alana noticed a faint trace of pink lipstick on his collar, the same shade Joyce always wore. The sight filled her with a cold, clear disgust.

She pulled her hand away.

"I must have lost it when they were changing my bandages," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. "It's loose."

The lie was flimsy, but he clung to it like a drowning man. Relief flooded his features, so potent it was sickening.

"Oh. Okay. Of course," he stammered. "We'll get it resized immediately. I'll have a jeweler here within the hour."

Two days later, once she was discharged from the medical wing, he insisted on taking her out. An apology tour.

He took her to Rodeo Drive, a place she despised. He paraded her through a seriese of outrageously expensive boutiques, buying her things she didn't want, his public display of affection suffocating her.

"Whatever my queen wants, my queen gets," he announced loudly in a jewelry store, drawing the attention of other shoppers.

He bought her a diamond necklace so heavy it felt like a collar.

"Isn't he the best?" a woman whispered to her friend. "A total dreamboat. He worships her."

Alana felt nothing. The gifts were just golden chains. The praise was a reminder of her isolation.

Then, she saw it. In the window of a small, exclusive auction house. A silver locket, tarnished with age.

It was her mother's.

It had been sold off with the rest of her mother' s belongings by her father after he remarried. Seeing it now felt like a punch to the gut.

"I want that," she said, her voice tight.

Austen, thrilled by her first show of interest, immediately arranged for a private viewing.

The starting bid was high, but manageable. Alana was determined to get it back.

As the bidding started, a new voice joined in, driving the price up.

It was Joyce. She sat across the room, a smug look on her face, deliberately bidding against Alana.

"Joyce, stop it," Alana said through gritted teeth.

Joyce just smiled.

"Austen," Alana pleaded, turning to him. "Tell her to stop. It was my mother's."

Austen looked torn. He glanced from Alana' s desperate face to Joyce's pouting one.

"My love," he said softly, putting a hand on Alana's arm. "It's just a piece of jewelry. Let her have it. I'll buy you something even better."

The betrayal hit Alana harder than any physical blow. He was choosing Joyce. Again. Over her mother's memory.

"No," Alana said, her voice shaking with rage. She turned back to the auctioneer. "One million dollars."

The room went silent. Joyce gaped at her, shocked.

"Sold!" the auctioneer declared.

Alana had won. A small, hollow victory.

Joyce burst into tears and ran from the room, playing the victim once more.

Austen started to go after her, but Alana grabbed his arm. "You're not going anywhere with me, Austen."

He hesitated, then sighed. "Fine. I'll go get the locket for you. Wait for me in the car."

He walked away. Alana watched him go, then, on a dark impulse, she followed him.

She found him in a secluded hallway at the back of the auction house. He was with Joyce.

He wasn't scolding her. He was comforting her, stroking her hair, his back to Alana.

"It's okay, my sweet," he was murmuring. "Don't cry. I'll get you another one, a better one."

"But I wanted that one," Joyce whined. "I wanted to take something else from her."

"I know, I know," Austen soothed. "We'll find another way to punish her for this. I promise. I won't let her upset you."

Alana's heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. She couldn't breathe. She turned and fled, stumbling out into the cold evening air.

She ran without knowing where she was going, the city lights blurring through her tears.

Her phone buzzed. A message from Austen.

"I have the locket. Sorry about the delay. Meet me at the west parking garage, level 3. I have a surprise for you."

A surprise. She knew what that meant. Punishment number ninety-eight.

She walked towards the parking garage, a numbness settling over her.

She found his car, the engine humming quietly. As she reached for the door handle, two men grabbed her from the shadows.

They didn't speak. They just started hitting her. Punching her stomach, her back. One of them kicked her legs out from under her. She fell hard onto the concrete.

The pain was immense, but the emotional agony was worse.

"This is for upsetting Ms. Cummings," one of the men grunted, delivering a final, brutal kick to her ribs.

She heard a crack.

They left her there, crumpled and broken on the cold, oil-stained ground.

Her phone buzzed again. It was Joyce.

A picture of the silver locket, smashed to pieces. The text underneath read: "He says hello. Oh, and Dad is having a family dinner tonight. You'd better be there."

Alana stared at the shattered image of her mother's locket. Something inside her broke.

She pushed herself up, ignoring the searing pain in her ribs. She had to go to that dinner. She had to get what was left of the locket.

It was a long, agonizing walk to her father's house. Every step was a fresh wave of pain. But she kept going.