Chapter 4

During her week in the hospital, Charlotte' s phone was a constant source of torment. Kalia, having made a miraculous recovery from her "fainting spell," sent a steady stream of photos.

Kalia in a plush bathrobe, a breakfast tray laden with delicacies in front of her. The caption: Bryant insists I have breakfast in bed. He' s so sweet.

A close-up of Kalia' s hand, a new diamond bracelet on her wrist. A little get-well gift. He feels so bad about what you did.

A selfie of her and Bryant, his arm wrapped protectively around her. He hasn' t left my side.

Charlotte looked at the images, her heart a numb, heavy stone in her chest. She didn't delete them. She saved every single one. They were fuel.

She was discharged on a gray, drizzly morning. As she was signing the final paperwork, she saw Kalia across the lobby, looking perfectly healthy and smug. Charlotte ignored her and walked out, her leg in a heavy cast, using crutches to move.

When she got home, Bryant was waiting for her, his face a thunderous mask.

"Where is she?" he demanded, his voice like ice.

Charlotte was confused. "Where is who?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Charlotte," he snarled. "Kalia. She's missing. The hospital security footage shows you were the last person to see her."

He thought she had done something to Kalia. After everything, after he had left her for dead, he still believed she was the villain.

The sheer, staggering injustice of it all was almost comical.

"I have no idea where she is," Charlotte said, her voice flat.

"I'm not in the mood for your games!" he snapped, stepping closer. "This isn't about some stolen design or a petty argument. Her safety is at stake."

He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her skin. "If anything happens to her, Charlotte, I will make you pay. You will wish you had died on that terrace."

A chill went through her. She knew he meant it. He was capable of anything when it came to Kalia.

"I don't know where she is," she repeated, her voice cracking.

His patience snapped. He dragged her, crutches and all, down to the cavernous wine cellar in the basement of the building. The air was frigid, the walls lined with dusty bottles.

"You'll stay here until you're ready to tell me the truth," he said, his voice echoing in the cold space.

He slammed the heavy door shut, the lock clicking into place.

The cold seeped into her bones almost immediately. She was still weak from her injuries, wearing only a thin sweater. She huddled in a corner, shivering violently. Her teeth chattered, and the pain in her leg flared with the cold.

Hours passed. The room grew colder. Bryant had turned the temperature down. Frost began to form on the metal shelves. Her skin turned a deathly pale, then a mottled purple. Her movements became sluggish, her thoughts slow and syrupy.

Every few hours, the door would open, and Bryant would stand there, silhouetted against the light.

"Where is she?"

She would just shake her head, her jaw too stiff with cold to form words. She stared at him, her eyes red-rimmed and full of a quiet, stubborn defiance.

His face grew darker with each visit. He lowered the temperature again.

She felt her heart slowing, her breath coming in shallow, icy puffs. She was going to die here. For a crime she didn't commit. For a woman he loved more than her life.

The door opened one last time.

"This is your last chance, Charlotte," he said, his voice a low growl. "Tell me where she is, or I'm locking this door for good."

She looked at him, and in his eyes, she saw it. A deep, abiding hatred. He wanted her to die.

A single tear froze on her cheek. She was too weak to even shake her head. She could only manage a faint, rattling breath.

He took it as a final refusal. "Fine," he hissed, and began to close the door.

But then, a voice called his name from the hallway. "Bryant? What are you doing down here? It's freezing!"

It was Kalia.

She appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a luxurious fur coat. "I just went for a little spa weekend with the girls," she chirped, pouting. "My phone died. Did you miss me?"

She threw her arms around his neck. Bryant froze, his hand still on the door. He stared at Kalia, then at the half-frozen figure of Charlotte huddled on the floor.

He hugged Kalia back, a desperate, relieved embrace, as if she were a treasure he had almost lost.

Charlotte watched them, a bitter, ironic smile touching her frozen lips. Then, the darkness finally consumed her.

She was floating in a black, silent void. A nightmare played out on a loop. She was a little girl again, chasing after a young Bryant, reaching for his hand. He would turn, his face cold and disdainful, and push her away. Over and over, he pushed her away.

She woke with a cry, tears streaming down her face. She was in a hospital bed again. Bryant was there, sitting by her side.

He was holding her phone. An incoming call lit up the screen.

He answered it. "Hello?"

He listened for a moment, his expression unreadable. When he hung up, his face was a complex mask of confusion and suspicion.

"Who was that?" he asked, his voice strange. "He said he was confirming arrangements... for your birthday gala."