Chapter 5

Adelaide POV:

The recovery was a long, lonely ordeal. I spent weeks in that sterile hospital room, watching the seasons change through my window. The surgery had been successful, but my body was a roadmap of Alonzo's cruelty-a mended leg, a web of fading bruises, and a soul that felt fractured beyond repair.

Alonzo never visited. He never called. He paid the bills, of course. A transaction, just like our marriage. I was his property, and he was merely covering the cost of repairs.

The nurses would speak in hushed, pitying tones when they thought I was asleep.

"Can you believe it? Mr. Taylor has been here every single day... but for the man in the VIP suite."

"I heard he flew in a team of chefs from Paris because Mr. Webster was tired of the hospital food."

"And the flowers... a new truckload every morning. The whole wing smells like a botanical garden. Meanwhile, she hasn't had a single visitor."

I learned to tune them out. The words were just noise. The pain in my heart had numbed to a dull, constant ache, like a phantom limb that would never stop throbbing.

The day I was finally discharged, Jaxon was there waiting for me. His warm, kind face was the first genuine smile I had seen in months. He didn't ask questions. He just wrapped me in a gentle hug, careful of my still-healing body, and helped me into his car.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Addie," he said softly.

He and a few of my other close friends threw a small "divorce party" for me at a quiet, upscale restaurant. They toasted to my freedom, to my new beginning.

"To Adelaide! Finally free from the clutches of that heartless bastard!" one friend cheered, raising her glass.

"We'll find you a new man," another promised. "One who actually has a soul. An artist, maybe? Or a poet!"

For the first time in a long, long time, a real smile touched my lips. The warmth of their friendship was a balm on my wounded spirit. The future, which had seemed like a black, terrifying void, now held a tiny spark of possibility.

I excused myself to go to the restroom. When I returned a few minutes later, our table was empty. Jaxon and my friends were gone.

A knot of unease tightened in my stomach.

A waiter approached me, his expression nervous. "Ma'am... your friends... they were taken to a private room upstairs."

"Taken? By who?"

"Mr. Cinnamon Webster," the waiter stammered. "He was... very drunk. He insisted they join him for a drink."

My blood ran cold. I knew Cinnamon's "invitations." They were commands, backed by the terrifying power of Alonzo's name.

I didn't hesitate. I dashed for the stairs, my leg aching in protest. I found the room and threw open the door without knocking.

The scene inside made my stomach churn. Cinnamon was draped over a sofa, his face flushed with alcohol. And he was trying to force a glass of whiskey into Jaxon's hand, his fingers creeping unpleasantly up Jaxon's arm. My other friends stood by helplessly, intimidated by the two hulking bodyguards flanking the door.

"What do you think you're doing?" I snapped, my voice ringing with fury.

Cinnamon looked up, his eyes lighting up with drunken, malicious glee when he saw me. "Ah, the guest of honor arrives! We were just celebrating your... departure."

Before he could say more, the door opened again. It was Alonzo. He took in the scene with a single, sweeping glance, and his face darkened with anger. But his anger, as always, was completely misdirected.

"Cinnamon," he said, his voice sharp. "What is this? I told you to wait for me downstairs."

Cinnamon pouted, stumbling to his feet. "You were taking too long! You were talking to that boring old man for ages! I got bored! And lonely! You're neglecting me, Lonzo!"

Alonzo's assistant, who had followed him in, quickly interjected. "Mr. Taylor was finalizing a merger, Mr. Webster. It was crucial."

"I don't care about your stupid merger!" Cinnamon shrieked, his voice escalating into a full-blown tantrum. He pointed a trembling finger at one of my female friends. "And you! You were flirting with him! I saw you! You were trying to seduce my Lonzo!"

He lunged toward her, his movements clumsy with drink.

I moved instantly, stepping in front of my friend, my body a protective shield. "Stop it, Cinnamon! You're drunk and making a fool of yourself."

Cinnamon came to a screeching halt, his drunken rage now focused entirely on me.

But it was Alonzo's voice that cut through the tension, cold and deadly.