Chapter 7

I walked to her bedside like I was moving through water.

Her face was peaceful, but so, so pale. The lines of pain around her eyes were finally gone. I touched her hand. It was already cooling.

A wave of nausea and a grief so profound it felt like a physical blow knocked the air from my lungs. I crumpled to the floor, my silent screams echoing in the hollow chambers of my heart.

The hours that followed were a blur. I signed papers. I made arrangements. The words "death certificate" and "cremation" were just sounds, meaningless and distant.

As I sat on a bench outside the morgue, holding a small, heavy box, my phone buzzed. It was a video message. From Ginger.

I opened it.

She was in what looked like a hotel room, wearing a sheer black negligee. The camera panned, and there was Hudson, unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes dark with a hunger I knew all too well.

He cornered her against a wall, his mouth crashing down on hers. The sounds were grotesque, intimate. Her fake moans and his guttural growls.

My mind was numb, but a part of me, a small, stubborn part, still felt the stab of pain.

My mother was dead. Her body wasn't even cold. And he was with her. Celebrating.

I clenched my fist, my nails digging into my palm until they drew blood.

My phone buzzed again. A text message. From Hudson.

Ginger is hungry. Pick up her favorite pasta from Rossi' s and bring it to the Four Seasons. She was very frightened by your outburst at the hospital. This is your apology.

I started to laugh. It was a horrifying, broken sound. He was demanding I cater to the woman who had effectively murdered my mother, as an apology for my grief.

He didn't even know she was dead. He hadn't bothered to check.

I shut the phone off. I finished the arrangements, my movements robotic. I bought the pasta. I drove to the hotel.

This was the end. He had taken everything. Now, I would take myself.

I knocked on the door of his penthouse suite. He opened it, looking annoyed.

"What took you so long?"

I held out the bag, my face a blank mask. "Here."

His eyes fell to my hands, to the raw, red marks on my palms where my nails had dug in. A flicker of something-unease?-crossed his face.

"Aleen..." he started, reaching for me.

I flinched back, a violent, involuntary recoil. "Don't touch me."

He froze, his hand hovering in the air. A dangerous look entered his eyes. "What did you say?"

"I said," I repeated, my voice flat and dead, "don't touch me."

He stared at me, his jaw tightening. "You dare to be repulsed by me?"

I said nothing. The image of the video, of his hands on her body, was burned into my mind. I felt sick.

His face contorted with rage. He grabbed me, slamming me against the wall, his mouth crushing mine in a brutal, punishing kiss. I struggled, but he was too strong.

"You're just throwing a tantrum over your mother," he snarled against my lips. "She's fine. I'll buy her the best doctors, the best care. I'll compensate her. Now stop this nonsense."

He pulled back, his eyes glinting. "But your little fits need to have a limit, Aleen. Cross it again, and you'll find out what real consequences are."

I looked at him, my eyes red-rimmed and hollow. He didn't know. The irony was so thick I could choke on it.

What else could he possibly do to me? What was more terrifying than the hell I was already in?

Suddenly, the suite door burst open.

A half-dozen police officers stormed in. "Nobody move!"

An officer stepped forward, his eyes scanning the room. "We're investigating an incident at City General Hospital. A patient, Ira Harris, died due to illegal interference with a surgical procedure."

My eyes shot to Ginger, who was cowering behind the sofa. Even she looked shocked that they were here. She hadn't expected this.

Then Hudson did the unthinkable.

He stepped forward, pointing a finger directly at me.

"It was her," he said, his voice cold and steady. "She did it. She was hysterical and caused the disruption that led to her mother's death."

I stared at him, my mind unable to comprehend the betrayal. My breath hitched. My voice was a shredded whisper.

"Hudson... what are you saying?"

He strode over, pulling me into a corner, away from the police. His whisper was for my ears only.

"Ginger can't have a criminal record," he hissed. "Her family is very strict. It would ruin her. But you... you have nothing. No one. I own you. I can keep you for the rest of your life. I'll get you out in a week, maybe two. Just a slap on the wrist. Be a good girl and take the fall for her."

The world went silent. All I could hear was the rushing of blood in my ears.

My heart didn't just break. It turned to dust.

I looked into his eyes, searching for a flicker of the man I once loved. There was nothing. Only cold, calculating cruelty.

He saw my expression. He saw the final, utter devastation. He flinched, for just a second, a tremor running through him before he looked away.

Then he turned back to the police. "I have security footage from the hospital. It will prove everything I've said."

Of course he did. He would manufacture whatever evidence was needed to protect her. To sacrifice me.

My blood ran cold, then hot. A laugh, sharp and brittle, escaped my lips.

A clown. I was a pathetic, ridiculous clown in his sick circus.

I loved the wrong man. And I had paid for it with everything I had.