Chapter 3

Keira Ellis POV:

I woke up to the sterile scent of antiseptic and the dull ache in my face. I was in a private hospital room, the kind that costs a fortune and ensures absolute discretion. My fingers fluttered to my upper lip. It was covered by a thick bandage. The area around it was tender and swollen.

My phone was on the bedside table. I picked it up with a trembling hand. There was a message from an unknown number.

It was a video file.

My stomach lurched, but I had to know. I pressed play.

The video was shaky, clearly filmed on a phone. It was Axel and Diana, years ago, on what looked like a private jet. They were young, vibrant, and tangled up in each other. He was whispering in her ear, and she was laughing, a genuine, happy sound that was nothing like the harsh cackle I' d heard yesterday. He traced the mole above her lip with his thumb.

"I love this," his voice, younger but unmistakably his, said from the phone's speaker. "It's my north star. As long as I can see it, I know I'm home."

The video ended. A new message popped up immediately after.

Heard they had to give you stitches. A shame. He used to love that spot. On me.

Another message.

You see, Keira, you were never a person to him. You were a project. He found the raw materials-dark hair, brown eyes-and tried to shape you into me. He even gave you a job in the same department I used to intern in. Every date you went on, every gift he gave you... it was all a reenactment. A pathetic attempt to relive his glory days with me.

And a final one.

Don't worry, the game isn't over. It's just getting started. I'm going to have so much fun breaking his favorite toy.

A wave of cold fury washed over me. This woman wasn't just cruel; she was pathologically insane. And Axel was her willing accomplice.

The door to my room opened, and he walked in. He was dressed impeccably, looking every bit the concerned husband. He carried a bouquet of my favorite white lilies. The hypocrisy was so thick I could barely breathe.

"Keira," he said, his voice soft. "How are you feeling?"

He set the flowers down and came to my bedside. "I already spoke with HR," he continued, as if we were discussing a business matter. "I'll have them prepare your termination papers and a glowing letter of recommendation. You won't have to go back to the office."

He was firing me. From an internship I' d held for less than a day. He was erasing me from his world, sweeping the whole ugly incident under the rug.

I reached for the resignation papers I'd had my lawyer draft this morning and held them out to him. He took them, his eyes scanning the page. He didn't even flinch. He simply picked up a pen from the table and signed his name at the bottom with a decisive flourish.

My last tie to his world, severed without a second thought.

He put the pen down and reached out, his fingers tracing my jawline, carefully avoiding the bandage. "You're so beautiful," he murmured.

I recoiled from his touch as if I' d been burned. His shirt collar was slightly askew. Peeking out from under the starched white fabric was a faint, but unmistakable, smudge of red lipstick. Diana's shade.

The sight of it broke the last thread of my composure.

"Don't touch me," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "You stood there. You watched her cut me. You promised to protect me, Axel. You promised on our wedding day."

A flicker of something-guilt? annoyance?-crossed his face. "Keira, you don't understand Diana. She's... fragile. You shouldn't have provoked her."

The blame in his voice was a physical blow. He wasn't sorry for what happened. He was sorry I' d gotten in the way. He was sorry I had complicated his twisted relationship with her.

"I provoked her?" I asked, my voice rising with disbelief. "She attacked me!"

"And I'm telling you to stay away from her," he said, his tone hardening into a command. "For your own good."

I stared at him, at this man I had loved with my whole heart, and felt nothing but a cold, empty void. He wasn't just a liar. He was a coward. He was letting Diana run roughshod over his life, over our marriage, and he was blaming me for the consequences.

Fine. If he wouldn't end this, I would.

"If you love her so much," I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my soul, "then let me go. Let's get a divorce."

His face paled. "No," he said, the word sharp, violent. "Don't ever say that. I don't love her. I love you, Keira."

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He glanced at the screen. The name "Diana" flashed across it. His expression instantly softened, his brow furrowing with concern.

He answered, his voice a low, soothing murmur. "What's wrong? ... Is Leo okay? ... Did he eat his dinner?"

Leo. Her cat.

"Don't worry," he said into the phone, his voice dripping with the tenderness he denied me. "I'm on my way now. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

He hung up and turned back to me, his face once again a mask of cool indifference. "I have to go," he said, not even bothering to offer an excuse.

He walked to the door without a backward glance. He didn't ask if I needed anything. He didn't say goodbye. He just left.

He left his wife, who had just been physically assaulted and required stitches in her face because of his lover, to rush to that same lover's side because her cat might have missed a meal.

In that moment, I knew with absolute certainty that in his heart, I wasn't even worth as much as Diana Buckley's cat.

A dry, mirthless laugh escaped my lips. I picked up my phone and dialed my lawyer.

"Draw up the divorce papers," I said, my voice cold and clear. "I want everything I'm entitled to. And I want to be free of him."

I spent two days in that hospital room. Axel never visited. He never called. He didn't even come home to the villa. When I was discharged, I returned to a house that was as silent and empty as my heart.

The first thing I saw was the door to his private study. It was still broken, hanging slightly ajar. I pushed it open. The room was exactly as I had left it-the shattered painting, the ripped photos, the letters scattered on the floor. He hadn't even bothered to clean up the evidence of his obsession. Or maybe he just didn't care if I saw it.

I called a handyman to fix the door. Then, I placed the thick manila envelope containing the divorce papers on the center of his desk, right next to a framed photo of him and Diana.

Let him find it there. Let him see his past and his future colliding.

I spent the rest of the day systematically purging him from my life. I gathered every piece of jewelry, every designer dress, every expensive gift he had ever bought me. I packed them into boxes and arranged for a courier to have them delivered to his office, along with a bill for the emotional distress he had caused.

I was no longer his toy. And I was done playing his game.

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