Chapter 2

Alana Casey POV:

The clinic was sterile, all white walls and the quiet hum of medical equipment. It smelled of antiseptic, a clean smell that I hoped could wash away the filth of my past life. I lay on the table, the paper crinkling beneath me, and for the first time since my rebirth, I felt a flicker of something close to peace. It was a grim, hollow peace, but it was mine.

This was the right choice. A child born of a love that was a lie, a child who had been so brutally murdered before my eyes... it would be a mercy to prevent that life from ever starting. I was saving it from its father. I was saving myself.

Just as the doctor administered the anesthetic, a loud crash echoed from the hallway, followed by shouting. The door to the operating room burst open, and my blood ran cold.

Conrad.

His face was a thundercloud of rage. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking past me, at the doctors, his eyes wild with a frantic terror I' d only seen once before-when he thought Eliana was in danger.

"Where is she?" he roared, grabbing the nearest doctor by the collar. "Eliana Harrington! She was brought in an hour ago, a miscarriage! Where is she?"

My heart stopped. Eliana? Here?

The doctor, pale and trembling, pointed a shaky finger toward the VIP suite down the hall. "She's... she's in surgery. We're trying to save her."

Conrad's control snapped. He slammed his fist into the reinforced glass of the operating room door, shattering it into a spiderweb of cracks. "Trying isn't good enough! Get the best goddamn doctors in this hospital in that room now, or I will burn this place to the ground with all of you in it!"

He shoved the doctor toward the door. "Go! Now!"

The medical staff scrambled, abandoning me on the table. My anesthetic had just begun to take hold, my limbs feeling heavy, my vision blurring at the edges. Through the haze, I watched as the chief surgeon rushed out, casting a single, apologetic glance back at me before disappearing down the hall.

They left me. They just left me. For her.

A laugh bubbled up in my throat, a hysterical, broken sound. Of course. Even here, even now, Eliana came first. The world bent to her needs. Conrad would move heaven and earth for her, while I was just... collateral damage.

The man I knew, the man I had loved and bled for, was gone. He had been replaced by this monster, this stranger who would let me lie here, cut open and abandoned, for a woman he'd known for a few months.

My consciousness began to fade, the darkness at the edge of my vision creeping in. As I drifted off, my mind replayed a twisted reel of memories.

I remembered a night, years ago, after a rival gang had ambushed us. I' d taken a shiv to the ribs meant for him. He' d held me in his arms, his voice raw with fear. "Don't you ever do that again, Alana. Don't you dare leave me."

Then the memory shifted, curdling into something ugly. It was from my first life, the memory of him standing over me, his eyes as cold as a winter sky. "You are replaceable. She is not."

The memory of my loyal men, executed one by one because they had failed to stop me from going after Eliana. Their faces, loyal to the very end.

The scalpel, the baby's cry, the leering faces of his men.

Pain. So much pain.

I was jolted back to consciousness by an agony so sharp, so blinding, it stole the air from my lungs. A scream tore from my throat.

"She's awake! The anesthesia wore off!" a nurse yelled from somewhere nearby.

The pain was a living thing, a fire consuming me from the inside out. I could feel the cold, sharp instruments inside me. I thrashed on the table, my vision swimming in a red-tinged haze.

"Hold her down! We're almost done!"

Hands pushed me back onto the table, holding my arms and legs. The pain was unbearable. It was a punishment, a penance. It was the echo of my first death, a horrific reminder of what he was capable of.

Then, mercifully, the world went black again.

When I awoke, I was in a private room. The sun was streaming through the window, but I felt nothing but a hollow chill. Marcus was sitting in a chair by my bed, his face grim.

"He never even came to check on you," Marcus said, his voice low and laced with disgust. "He's been sitting outside her room the entire time. Hasn't left her side."

"Did he see you?" I asked, my voice a dry rasp.

"No. We were careful."

"Good."

Marcus shook his head, his jaw tight. "Alana, why didn't you just tell him? Tell him you were pregnant, that you were the one on that operating table."

I closed my eyes. "What would that have changed, Marcus? He saw his men abandon me for her. He shattered a door because he was worried about her. He would have just seen it as another one of my 'tricks.' Another attempt to get his attention." I let out a bitter laugh. "He would have accused me of faking a miscarriage to make Eliana look bad."

"He wasn't always like this," Marcus said quietly. "Remember when you took that bullet for him? He sat by your bed for three days straight. Refused to eat or sleep until you woke up."

"That Conrad is dead," I said, my voice flat. "Eliana killed him."

I looked at Marcus, my most loyal man, the closest thing I had to a friend. "I need you to do something for me. Get me a new passport. A new identity. Get me a one-way ticket to somewhere far away, somewhere he'll never think to look."

He nodded, his eyes sad but understanding. "I'll take care of it."

"And Marcus," I added, meeting his gaze. "Burn everything. My files, my clothes, any trace that I ever existed in his life."

I was going to become a ghost.

A few days later, Marcus delivered the passport and ticket. I was recovering at home, a place that no longer felt like a home but a gilded cage filled with memories that had turned to poison. In all that time, Conrad hadn't called. Not once. Not a single text. It was as if I had already ceased to exist. A part of me, the weak, foolish part that still remembered the good times, felt a sharp sting of pain. But I pushed it down, burying it under layers of cold, hard resolve.

That night, I was packing a small bag when a floorboard creaked in the hallway. I froze. I was a ghost, but my instincts were as sharp as ever. I wasn't alone.

I reached for the gun I kept hidden under my mattress, my movements silent and fluid. But as I rose from my crouch, something sharp and acrid was pressed over my mouth and nose. Chloroform. My muscles went slack, the world tilting and spinning. My last thought before darkness claimed me was a bitter, ironic one.

I had survived death itself, only to be taken down in my own home.

I woke up to the smell of rust, stale beer, and something foul that made my stomach churn. I was lying on a cold, damp concrete floor. My head throbbed, and a fresh wave of pain radiated from my lower abdomen. I pushed myself up, my body screaming in protest. The room was dimly lit, and I could see discarded food containers and what looked like dried vomit in the corner.

My stomach heaved, and I retched, emptying the meager contents of my stomach onto the filthy floor.

Then I heard voices outside the thin metal door. Conrad's voice.

"Is she awake yet?" he asked, his tone impatient.

"Not yet, boss," another familiar voice replied. One of his lieutenants. "Are you sure about this? She just had... surgery."

"She brought this on herself," Conrad's voice was ice. "She needs to learn that her little tantrums have consequences. This is a lesson in loyalty. When she's scared enough, I'll go in and 'rescue' her. She'll be so grateful, she'll forget all about her little disappearing act."

My blood ran cold. This was his doing. He had orchestrated this. This wasn't a punishment for going after Eliana. This was a punishment for my silence. For my withdrawal. For daring to pull away from him.

He was going to break me, then put me back together so I would be his perfect, obedient doll again.

I scrambled back, pressing myself against the far wall, my heart hammering against my ribs. I had to stay awake. I had to be ready.

When the door handle turned, I forced my eyes open, trying to look dazed and weak.

Conrad stepped in, and his expression immediately shifted from cold indifference to one of shocked concern. It was a masterful performance.

"Alana! My God, what happened?" He rushed to my side, gathering me in his arms. "I'm so sorry, baby. I just found out. We got the bastards who did this. I promise you, they'll pay for what they did."

He held me close, his voice a soothing murmur against my hair. It was all a lie. A sick, twisted play where he was both the villain and the hero.

I looked up at him, my eyes red-rimmed, playing my part. "Conrad," I whispered, my voice trembling.

"I'm here, baby. I've got you," he said, his voice thick with fake emotion. "Let's go home. And then, we'll go make them pay. Together."

He lifted me into his arms, and as he carried me out of that filthy room, I buried my face in his chest, my body shaking with silent, seething rage. He thought he was teaching me a lesson in loyalty.

But the only lesson I was learning was how to hate him.