Chapter 3

"You evil woman!" Leo' s shriek cut through the haze of my pain. "You hurt Geneva!"

Ethan was already at Geneva's side, ignoring me completely. He knelt, his voice full of worry. "Are you okay? Did she hurt you?"

They left me there. Lying in a growing pool of my own blood on the cold stone patio. No one came to help. The party guests stared, whispered, and then turned away, convinced by Geneva's performance.

I lay there, the world spinning, a bitter laugh caught in my throat. It was so absurd. So horribly, predictably cruel. A tear slipped from my eye, mixing with the blood on my cheek.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a couple of the catering staff hesitantly approached.

"Ma'am? Should we call an ambulance?" one of them asked, his young face pale.

I managed a weak shake of my head. "No. Just... help me up."

They helped me to a chair on the veranda, away from the prying eyes. One of them, a kind-faced woman, gently cleaned the gash on my head with a napkin. The sting was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the gaping wound in my soul.

"Should we call your husband?" she asked softly.

"No," I said, the word tasting like ash. "There's no one to call."

I could hear them in the distance, a murmur of voices discussing my "vicious attack" on "poor, pregnant Geneva." Pregnant. Of course. Another lie to garner sympathy.

Another laugh, this one louder and more unhinged, escaped my lips. It sounded like the cry of a dying animal. The catering staff exchanged worried glances and backed away slowly.

My body was screaming in protest, but I forced myself to my feet. I had to get out. I stumbled through the house, my vision blurring in and out of focus. My flight was leaving soon.

I made it to my room, the world swaying violently. I collapsed onto the bed, every muscle in my body trembling. Just a few minutes, I told myself. Just a few minutes to gather my strength.

My eyes drifted shut.

I was woken by a sharp, searing pain in my arm. My eyes flew open.

A wave of anaphylactic shock hit me. My throat started to close up, my skin erupting in angry red welts. I gasped for air, my lungs burning.

Leo stood by my bed, a triumphant, cruel smile on his face. In his hand was a fistful of peanuts. He knew I was deathly allergic.

"You're not going anywhere," he said, his voice cold.

I instinctively recoiled, trying to scramble away from him.

"Epi... pen," I choked out, my voice a strangled whisper. "In my... purse."

He laughed, a high, chilling sound. He picked up my purse from the nightstand, rummaged through it, and pulled out my EpiPen.

He held it up, dangling it in front of my face. "Looking for this?"

I reached for it, my movements clumsy and desperate. He snatched it back, his eyes dancing with malicious glee.

"You don't deserve to be saved," he sneered, his face a twisted mask of hatred.

He walked to the open window and, without a moment's hesitation, threw my life-saving medicine out into the darkness.

"No!" The cry was a raw, desperate sob.

I stumbled out of bed, my body screaming in protest, and crawled towards the window. I had to get it. I had to.

But my body was betraying me. I was getting weaker, my vision tunneling. I collapsed onto the floor, my head hitting the thick carpet.

The impact was soft, but it triggered a new wave of agony. Sharp, piercing pains erupted all over my body. I looked down.

The floor around my bed was littered with broken glass. Shards of all sizes, glinting in the moonlight. He had set a trap for me.

My hands, my knees, my arms-they were all sliced open, bleeding freely. One shard had narrowly missed my eye, leaving a deep, burning gush just below it.

I couldn't scream. My throat was too swollen. All I could manage was a low, agonized moan.

I was dying. This six-year-old child, the one I had raised and loved, was murdering me.

The door opened. Ethan and Geneva stood there, silhouetted against the hallway light.

Geneva looked at the scene, at Leo standing proudly over my broken body, and her first words were not of horror, but of annoyance.

"Leo! What did I tell you about making a mess?" she scolded. "And you could have damaged her face. Her marrow is the most important thing. We need to keep the container in good condition."

Container.

A bitter, self-mocking thought floated through the darkness that was swallowing my mind.

She wasn't worried about me. She was worried about her supply chain.

And then, everything went black.