Eight Years Of His Cold Betrayal

After eight years in a cold marriage, I watched my husband, Damian, run past me during a raging fire. He ignored my screams, his only focus on saving another woman.

That night, he coldly admitted he never loved me. Our entire marriage was just a business deal he was forced into.

But his betrayal didn't end there. His mistress, Aida, framed my innocent younger brother for a crime he didn't commit. Damian believed her lies without question.

He stood by as she had my brother murdered in his hospital bed. He even forced me to crawl over broken glass to apologize for "upsetting" her.

The final blow came when he threatened me with my mother' s heirloom box, not knowing it held my brother' s ashes. He had taken everything from me-my love, my family, my dignity.

He thought he had broken me. But he only forged me into a weapon.

Now, I'm back. And as the new majority shareholder of his company, I'm here to make him pay for every last sin.

Chapter 1

Jillian POV

After eight years in a marriage that felt more like a business arrangement, I watched my husband, Damian, ignore my screams as a fire raged, rushing past me to save another woman.

That moment was the end of everything. It was the end of the carefully constructed world I had lived in, the one where I believed my husband suffered from a deep, crippling trauma that explained his coldness. It was the painful echo of a thousand nights I had spent alone, convincing myself that his distance wasn't personal, that it was just him. I had told myself he simply didn't know how to love, that his childhood had stripped him of that capacity, and I, Jillian Castillo, was patient enough to wait for him to heal.

I never pushed him, never demanded more than he was willing to give. Our physical intimacy had died years ago, a casualty I'd blamed on his supposed inability to connect. I thought I was understanding. I thought I was devoted. I thought I was the one person who truly saw him, truly understood his silent battles. I would leave little notes for him, reminding him of small joys, of shared moments, hoping to chip away at the walls he' d built around himself. I even secretly consulted therapists, reading every book I could find on trauma and attachment, trying to find a way to reach him. Every single day, I woke up believing that with enough love, enough time, he would eventually open up to me.

Tonight was a corporate gala, a dazzling affair of old money and new tech, just like Damian and our arranged marriage. The ballroom shimmered with crystal and silk until the fire alarms shrieked, slicing through the polite hum of conversation. Chaos erupted. People rushed for the exits, their elegant composure shattering into primal fear. Then came the first explosion, a deafening roar that sent a wave of heat through the room. A chandelier plummeted, glass raining down around us. That's when I saw him.

Damian was not running towards me. He was tearing through the crowd, his eyes wild with an emotion I had never seen directed at me. Panic. Raw, frantic panic. I tried to call his name, but my voice was lost in the cacophony. He shoved past a security guard, practically tackling him, his gaze fixed on something, or someone, deeper inside the inferno. He barked orders, his voice hoarse, desperate. He was reaching for someone, pushing himself into the most dangerous part of the burning room.

My heart twisted, a sharp, physical pain in my chest. I had never seen him so emotional, so utterly consumed. For a fleeting second, I thought, He's coming for me. But that hope died as quickly as it ignited. I saw him reach a figure huddled near a collapsed pillar. Aida. Aida Reyes, the widow of his late best friend and business partner.

He pulled her into his arms, his face buried in her hair, whispering words I couldn't hear over the roaring blaze, but the tenderness in his posture, the fierce protection in his embrace, spoke volumes. It was a tenderness he had never shown me. Not on our wedding night, when he had coldly pushed me away, presenting a prenuptial agreement that dictated every aspect of our lives, right down to separate bedrooms. Not in eight years of shared meals and polite conversations, where he maintained a rigid two-foot distance between us, a boundary that felt more like an invisible wall. Not once in all those years did I feel the warmth of his genuine affection, the searing passion I just saw him display for her.

The full weight of his lie hit me like a physical blow. He wasn't incapable of love. He just wasn't capable of loving me. The pain was so sharp, so sudden, it stole my breath. I sagged against a wall, my legs weak, tears streaming down my face, blurring the already smoke-filled room.

Then came another blast, closer this time, throwing me to the ground. A sharp, agonizing pain erupted in my leg. I cried out, my voice raw with terror and betrayal. "Damian! Help me!"

He paused, just for a split second. His head turned, his eyes flickered in my direction, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. My breath hitched. Hope, a foolish, desperate little thing, flared in my chest. Maybe he would come back. Maybe.

But then Aida, nestled in his arms, whimpered, a soft, fearful sound. Damian's head snapped back to her. His grip on her tightened, his eyes refocusing entirely on her safety. He didn't spare me another glance. He turned and ran, carrying her in his arms, disappearing into the swirling smoke.

My vision blurred. The pain in my leg was nothing compared to the agony in my chest. He had seen me. He had heard me. And he had chosen her. Again. Over and over again, he had chosen her.

Everything went black.

When I woke up, the acrid smell of antiseptic replaced the smoke. My leg throbbed, a dull, constant ache. The first thing I did was reach for my phone, my fingers fumbling. I needed Hildegarde. Damian's grandmother. She was the only one who had ever truly cared for me in that cold, gilded cage of a family. I didn' t want him to get in trouble. Even then, after everything, a part of me, a deeply wounded, foolish part, still worried about him.

The door burst open, and Hildegarde stormed in, her face etched with fury, a heavy cane clutched in her hand. "Damian Ramsey!" she roared.

Damian stood rigidly in the corner, his arm in a sling, his face impassive. He didn't flinch when Hildegarde' s cane struck his good arm, a sharp, resounding thwack.

"How dare you!" she raged, her voice trembling with anger. "How dare you abandon your wife? Your wife! For that... that serpent!"

Damian' s jaw tightened. He didn' t look at me. "She needed me more," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.

Hildegarde scoffed. "Aida Reyes? That manipulative little schemer? She needs a heavy dose of reality, not your pathetic protection!" She turned her furious gaze on him. "You will stay away from her, do you hear me? She is nothing but trouble. And the minute your arm is healed, you will go back to Jillian and make amends. You will fix this marriage!"

Damian finally looked up, his eyes meeting Hildegarde' s, then sweeping over me. There was no apology, no remorse. Just a cold, hard resolve. "No," he said, his voice a low growl. "I won't. I can't. I never loved Jillian. I married her because you forced me. Because of some ridiculous promise to her grandfather."

My breath caught in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing the ground would swallow me whole. The air left my lungs in a sharp gasp. It wasn't the pain from my injured leg, but a far deeper wound. He had just said it. Out loud. His secret, laid bare.

Hildegarde gasped, her face turning ashen. "You... you always said it was your trauma, your past. You lied!"

Damian remained silent, his gaze unwavering, confirming everything with his terrifying admission. It wasn't trauma. It was Aida. He wasn't broken. He just didn't love me. He never had.

The realization hit me with the force of a tidal wave, washing away eight years of self-deception, eight years of patiently waiting for a love that was never mine to begin with. I always thought Aida was just a grieving widow, a friend who needed support. I even felt pity for her, sometimes. Now, I saw her for what she truly was. A predator. And Damian, my husband, was her willing accomplice.

My stomach churned. A wave of nausea swept over me, and I barely made it to the bathroom before violently throwing up. I knelt on the cold tile floor, clutching my stomach, tears mixing with bile. He never loved me. He never loved me. The words echoed in my head, a cruel, relentless mantra.

I wiped my mouth, my hands shaking. Hildegarde had left, disgusted. My gaze fell upon my reflection in the mirror-a pale, bruised woman, her eyes hollow, stripped bare of all illusions. My leg was in a brace, but the real injury was invisible, carved deep into my soul. I stared at my reflection, a stranger looking back.

I slowly pulled myself up, leaning heavily on the counter. The phone was still in my hand. I clutched it, my knuckles white. There was only one thing left to do.

I limped back into the room, my resolve hardening with every painful step. The air still felt thick with Damian' s betrayal. I saw Hildegarde, about to leave.

"Hildegarde," I rasped, my voice barely a whisper, but firm. "Please. Don't go."

She turned, her eyes full of weariness and pity. "Jillian, my dear, what is it?"

I took a deep breath, the decision solidifying in my mind. "I want a divorce."

Jillian POV

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. I sank to my knees, the injured leg screaming in protest, but I didn't care. The physical pain was a dull throb compared to the hollowness in my chest. "Please," I choked out, looking up at Hildegarde, my eyes pleading. "I can't... I can't do this anymore."

Hildegarde gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Her eyes, usually so sharp and commanding, softened with shock and sorrow. "Jillian, my child..."

"I'm done," I whispered, the finality of it a strange relief. "I just want out."

She knelt beside me, her touch gentle on my shoulder, a tenderness that felt like a lifeline in the wreckage of my life. "Are you sure, dear? This isn't a decision to be made lightly."

"I'm sure," I said, my voice gaining strength. "More sure than I've ever been about anything."

She looked at me for a long moment, truly seeing me, not the wife of her grandson, but the broken woman before her. Finally, she nodded, a slow, deliberate movement. "Very well, Jillian. If this is truly what you want, I will help you. But... there's a condition."

My heart sank a little, but I was beyond caring. "Anything," I said, my voice flat. "Just get me out."

She squeezed my shoulder, a silent promise. "You will get your divorce. And you will be well compensated. But you must promise me, Jillian. Promise me you will not let this break you. You will rise from this. You will be stronger."

"I promise," I said, the words a silent vow to myself as much as to her. I stood up, leaning against the wall, the strength in my legs returning, fueled by a new, cold resolve. "Thank you, Hildegarde."

She only nodded, her expression grim. I knew she understood. I left the room, the hospital corridor feeling strangely empty, like the life I had just walked away from.

The next few days were a blur of pain medication and legal discussions. Hildegarde's lawyers were efficient, moving with a speed that suggested years of experience in high-stakes divorces. I was a ghost, drifting through the motions, my mind numb with grief and betrayal. I spent most of my time in my temporary apartment, staring blankly at the walls, the silence a deafening reminder of my emptiness.

One evening, there was a loud bang on my door. Before I could even react, it burst open. Two hulking men in dark suits stormed in, their faces grim. My heart leaped into my throat. What is happening?

They grabbed me, my injured leg buckling under me. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?" I cried out, struggling against their iron grip.

They didn't answer, just dragged me out of the apartment, down the hallway, and into a waiting black SUV. My mind raced, trying to make sense of the sudden, brutal abduction. Who were these men? Why were they doing this?

They drove for what felt like hours, the city lights blurring into an indistinguishable streak. When the car finally stopped, I was disoriented, my head throbbing. They pulled me out, shoving me inside a grand, imposing house.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a dimly lit room, my head pounding. My hands were tied behind my back, and my leg, still in its brace, was throbbing with renewed pain. Panic clawed at my throat. I looked around, my eyes adjusting to the gloom.

Then I saw him. My younger brother, Cristopher. He was huddled in a corner, his face pale, his eyes wide with terror, tears silently streaming down his cheeks. His hands were also tied, his bright, ambitious spirit utterly crushed.

"Cristopher!" I cried, trying to reach him, but the ropes bit into my wrists. "What have they done to you?"

He just shook his head, unable to speak, his body trembling violently. The sight of my innocent brother, always so full of life and dreams, reduced to this terrified shell, ignited a fierce, protective rage within me.

The door creaked open, and Damian stepped in. He looked at me, then at Cristopher, his face a mask of cold indifference.

"Damian! What is this?" I demanded, my voice raw. "Let him go! What did he do?"

He merely scoffed. "Your brother, Jillian, is a thief. A corporate spy."

My jaw dropped. "What? That's insane! Cristopher would never do anything like that!"

"Oh, but he did," a syrupy voice purred from behind Damian. Aida. She floated into the room, perfectly dressed, a picture of false innocence, her eyes gleaming with malicious triumph. "He stole sensitive company data. He sold secrets to our rivals. He tried to ruin everything Damian has worked for."

"That's a lie!" I screamed, my voice cracking. "Cristopher, tell them! Tell them it's not true!"

Cristopher whimpered, shaking his head. "I... I didn't..."

Damian's eyes, cold as ice, fixed on me. "He confessed. He admitted everything. He's been expelled from college. His reputation is ruined. And it's all thanks to you, Jillian."

"Me?" I stared at him, bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

"You provoked Aida," he said, his voice hard. "You chose to disrespect her. And this is the consequence. This is your doing, Jillian."

"This is your doing!" I yelled, my anger finally breaking through the numbness. "You're twisting things! Cristopher is innocent! You need to investigate this properly!"

Damian merely crossed his arms, a chilling smirk playing on his lips. "There's nothing to investigate. Aida said he did it. And I believe her."

My world tilted on its axis. He believed her. Without question. Without proof. Against my brother. Against me.

"Please, Damian," I pleaded, my voice breaking, the anger dissolving into despair. "Don't do this. He's just a kid. You'll destroy his future."

He remained impassive, his gaze distant. Aida, meanwhile, watched with a smug satisfaction that made my blood run cold.

Cristopher let out a heart-wrenching sob. "I told them... I told them everything they wanted to hear," he choked out, fear twisting his young face. "They said... they said if I didn't, they'd hurt you, Jillian."

"No!" I screamed, struggling against my bonds. "Don't listen to them, Cristopher!"

Aida stepped forward, a cruel smile on her lips. "Oh, he listened. He confessed to everything. And now, he'll pay the price."

Before I could react, one of the men pushed Cristopher forward. He stumbled, falling to his knees. Aida then held up a small, elegant knife. "And for lying to me," she purred, "he'll suffer."

"No! Don't touch him!" I shrieked, my eyes wide with horror as Aida began to mockingly cut at Cristopher's clothes, humiliating him.

Cristopher, his face a mask of primal terror, suddenly scrambled to his feet. With a desperate lunge, he broke free from the man holding him and ran towards the window, which was surprisingly open slightly. "I won't let you hurt her!" he yelled, his voice a raw, broken sound. "I won't!"

"Cristopher, no!" I screamed, knowing exactly what he was about to do. He was aiming for the small crack, the desperate hope of escape. I lunged forward, hitting the ground, the ropes chafing deep into my wrists, tearing at the skin. I could only watch, helpless.

He was fast, but the window was too small, too high. He slammed against the glass, an impossible escape. The men grabbed him again, pulling him back. But Cristopher, in his desperation, fought back with a sudden, unexpected strength. He clawed at their faces, bit at their hands.

"You won't break me!" he shrieked, his voice laced with pure defiance. "I'm not a thief! I never betrayed anyone!"

As the men wrestled him back, something snapped in Cristopher. His eyes, fixed on me, suddenly filled with a profound, heartbreaking resolve. "Jillian," he gasped, his voice barely audible, "Live for me. Be free."

Then, with a horrifying, gut-wrenching scream, he twisted free and threw himself headfirst against the heavy, ornate mirror on the wall, shattering it into a thousand sharp pieces. The impact was sickening. He fell to the ground, a pool of crimson rapidly spreading around him.

"CRISTOPHER!" I shrieked, my voice tearing through the air. I lunged, desperate, but the ropes held me fast. My head hit the floor, pain exploding behind my eyes. No. Not him. Not my brother.

Everything went black again.

I woke up to the sterile smell of a hospital room, alone. My head throbbed, my wrists ached, and my heart felt like a gaping wound. "Cristopher!" I cried out, trying to sit up, but my body refused to cooperate.

A nurse rushed in, gently pushing me back down. "Easy, Mrs. Ramsey. You've had a concussion."

"My brother," I whispered, tears welling up in my eyes. "Where is Cristopher?"

The nurse's face softened with pity. "He's... he's in critical condition, Mrs. Ramsey. But he's stable for now."

Relief, a fragile, fleeting thing, washed over me. He was alive. He was still fighting.

Just then, Damian walked in, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. He held a phone to his ear, listening intently, then nodded. "Understood. Tell them she'll apologize." He hung up and looked at me. "You're awake. Good."

"What about Cristopher?" I demanded, pushing myself up despite the pain. "What are you going to do?"

"He's still alive," he said, his voice flat. "For now." My heart clenched. "But if you want him to stay that way, you need to do something for me."

"What?" I asked, dread coiling in my stomach.

"You're going to publicly apologize to Aida," he stated, his gaze hard. "For everything. For trying to ruin her, for making false accusations, for everything she says you did."

"I'll do no such thing!" I cried, my voice rising. "She's lying! She framed Cristopher! She tried to hurt him! She's a monster!"

Damian' s eyes narrowed. "Your appearance is a mess, Jillian. You look pathetic. Get it together. Aida's reputation has been damaged by all this speculation. You will apologize, or I will ensure your brother's condition... deteriorates."

A cold, terrifying chill ran down my spine. He was threatening my brother's life. He was willing to let Aida destroy my family. My anger flared, hot and consuming, but a deeper part of me, a weary, defeated part, knew I had no choice.

"You... you bastard," I whispered, the words barely audible. "You truly are a monster."

He didn't react, just stared at me with an unwavering, merciless gaze. My chest ached, a deep, unbearable pain. I had given him eight years of my life, my love, my patience. And this was how he repaid me. By destroying my brother and demanding my utter humiliation.

A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips. "Fine," I choked out, tears streaming down my face. "I'll apologize. Just... just promise me Cristopher will be safe."

"He'll be safe," Damian said, his voice devoid of any real warmth. "As long as you cooperate."

The words felt like ash in my mouth. I had played the devoted wife, the understanding partner, for so long. Now, I was nothing more than a pawn in his cruel game. My self-worth, my dignity, shattered into a million pieces.

"Good," he said, his tone dismissive. "Get dressed. We're going to Aida's room."

He turned and walked out, leaving me alone in the silent room, the taste of betrayal and humiliation heavy on my tongue. I closed my eyes, a single, raw sob escaping my lips. My brother's life, my last remaining family, depended on this. I had to do it. I had to swallow my pride, my rage, my shattered heart.

I slowly pushed myself out of bed, every movement a protest from my bruised and aching body. The thought of facing Aida, of bowing down to her lies, made my stomach clench. But Cristopher. My sweet, innocent Cristopher.

I picked up the clothes the nurse had left for me. My hands shook as I dressed, each button, each zipper, a struggle. I hated the person I was becoming, the defeated, broken woman. But I had to survive. For Cristopher.

With a heavy heart, I finally made my way to Aida's room, my injured leg dragging slightly. The hallway felt endless, each step a descent into a new hell. I finally reached the door, my hand trembling as I pushed it open.

Before I could even step inside, a hand shoved me hard from behind. I stumbled, falling to my knees onto the polished floor. The brutal force of the shove sent a jolt of pain through my injured leg, making me cry out.

Jillian POV

The impact sent a fresh wave of agony through my injured leg, making me cry out, a raw, involuntary sound. I barely registered hitting the ground before a sharp, stinging slap landed across my face, snapping my head to the side. My cheek burned.

I looked up, my vision blurry with pain and tears. Aida stood over me, her face a mask of false concern, though a flicker of cruel satisfaction danced in her eyes. She wore a delicate silk robe, perfectly coiffed, looking entirely too serene for someone supposedly in a hospital.

"Oh, my poor Jilly," she cooed, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Did you fall? Be careful, darling." Then, her gaze shifted to Damian, who had just entered the room behind me, his eyes already fixed on Aida. "Damian, darling, she pushed me! She's so angry, I just... I tried to help her, and she lashed out." Aida' s voice became a trembling whisper, her eyes welling with crocodile tears. "She hates me so much. I don't know what to do."

Damian's eyes hardened as he looked at me, lying on the floor. His gaze was cold, devoid of any warmth or understanding. "Jillian, what are you doing?" he said, his voice clipped, filled with barely concealed irritation. "You came here to apologize. Not to cause more trouble."

My stomach churned with a nauseating mix of humiliation and despair. He believed her. Of course, he believed her. He always believed her. My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms, the sharp pain a small anchor in the storm of my emotions.

"Aida," Damian said, his tone softening as he turned back to her, a tenderness in his voice that twisted the knife in my heart. "She's here to apologize. Let's hear it, Jillian."

The words felt like ash in my mouth. My jaw ached, my throat tight with unshed tears and a burning rage. But Cristopher. I closed my eyes, picturing his terrified face, the desperate plea in his eyes.

"I... I apologize," I forced out, each word a slow, agonizing crawl from my soul. My voice was raspy, barely a whisper. "For... for everything."

Aida tilted her head, a venomous smile playing on her lips. "Is that all, Jilly? It doesn't sound very sincere. And you didn't even say my name."

My blood ran cold. She was enjoying this. Relishing in my degradation.

"My brother," I rasped, ignoring her taunt. "Is he... is he safe?"

Aida let out a delicate gasp, clutching her chest. "Oh, Damian, she's still trying to deflect! She's still blaming me for Cristopher's predicament! She's trying to make me feel guilty!" Her voice rose in a wail. "She really does hate me!"

Damian' s face darkened instantly. His eyes, when they landed on me again, were no longer just cold; they were filled with a chilling, raw fury I had never seen directed at me. My heart thumped against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird.

"Jillian," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous, "You will stop. Now. You will apologize properly. And you will never, ever question Aida again."

He took a step towards me, his presence looming, menacing. The air crackled with his anger. I shrank back, a tremor running through me. This wasn't the indifferent Damian I knew; this was a ruthless, terrifying stranger, fueled by a terrifying devotion to Aida.

"I gave you a chance to apologize, Jillian," he continued, his voice devoid of any pity. "Since you insist on being difficult, Aida, my love, you can decide her punishment. Whatever you deem fit."

Aida's eyes gleamed, a wicked, triumphant spark. She smiled, a truly unsettling smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Oh, Damian, you're too kind. I just want her to understand the pain she caused." She looked at me, her gaze lingering on my injured leg, then flickered to the grand, sweeping staircase in the foyer outside the room. "Perhaps... a little walk? A reminder of humility."

Damian' s lips curved into a soft, indulgent smile. "As you wish, my love." He looked at the two hulking men who had brought me here. "Make it happen."

"No!" I screamed, finally finding my voice, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Damian, no! You can't! This is cruel! After everything, after eight years, how can you do this to me?" My mind raced back through the years, the quiet sacrifices, the endless patience, the hope I had clung to, the love I had poured into a void. It was all for nothing. Less than nothing.

He didn't even look at me. He simply turned, his arm gently wrapping around Aida's waist, and began to lead her out of the room. "Take her," he ordered, his voice flat, devoid of any emotion.

The men grabbed me, pulling me roughly to my feet. I fought, thrashing and screaming, but they were too strong. My fingernails tore, breaking off painfully as I desperately clawed at their arms, trying to cling to the doorway, to anything that would stop this nightmare. But they dragged me out, my heels scraping against the floor.

As they pulled me towards the grand staircase, I saw two housemaids sprinkling shards of broken glass onto the marble steps. My blood ran cold. This wasn' t a "little walk." This was torture.

"Please, no!" I cried, my voice hoarse. "Damian! Please!"

He paused at the top of the stairs, still holding Aida, his back to me. He didn't turn around. Aida leaned her head on his shoulder, a small, triumphant smirk on her face. Then, they descended the staircase, not sparing me a single backward glance, leaving me to my fate.

The men dragged me to the bottom of the stairs. One of them twisted my arm, forcing me to kneel on the first step, my injured leg screaming in protest. Then, with a brutal shove, he pushed me forward. I stumbled, my knees scraping against the sharp edges of the glass shards. A jolt of agonizing pain shot through my legs, through every nerve ending.

"Get up!" one of them barked, kicking my uninjured leg. "Climb!"

Tears streamed down my face, not just from the physical pain, but from the searing humiliation, the utter betrayal. My body screamed in protest, but I had no choice. For Cristopher. I had to survive this. I had to get back to him.

I crawled, each movement an excruciating ordeal. The glass bit into my knees, my hands, even my forearms as I dragged myself upwards. Blood seeped through my clothes, mingling with my tears. The world started to tilt, my vision blurring, spots dancing before my eyes. The pain was too much. The humiliation was too much.

My head spun. I couldn't breathe. Everything was fading. Just before consciousness completely abandoned me, I saw Damian and Aida, still at the bottom of the stairs, still ignoring me, walking away.

A choked sob escaped my lips, and then, darkness. I tumbled backwards, down, down, down, the hard, sharp steps a blur of agony, until I hit the bottom with a sickening thud.

When I next woke, the world was a hazy, painful blur. I was back in a hospital bed, my body aching uniformly. A nurse was checking my IV. "Cristopher," I whispered, my throat raw. "My brother."

The nurse paused, her face grim. "He's... holding on, Mrs. Ramsey. But he's not good. He might not make it through the night."

My heart plummeted. No. Not my Cristopher. Desperate, I pushed myself out of bed, ignoring the fresh wave of agony from my lacerated body. I stumbled out of the room, determined to find him.

I found my way to his ward, a chilling silence hanging in the air. His door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open. He lay there, hooked up to a myriad of machines, his chest barely rising and falling. His face was pale, almost translucent.

"Cristopher," I whispered, tears blurring my vision. I limped to his bedside, reaching for his hand, my fingers trembling as I clutched his cold, fragile skin. "Please, little brother. Please wake up."

The door swung open, and Aida glided in, a chilling calm about her. She looked at Cristopher, then at me, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. "Still clinging on, I see," she said, her voice a soft, malicious purr. "Such a fighter."

"What do you want?" I snarled, my voice raw with hate. "Haven't you done enough?"

She laughed, a delicate, mocking sound. "Oh, Jilly, my dear. I'm just getting started. Your brother? Such a nuisance. But don't worry, he won't be for long." Her eyes gleamed with an evil satisfaction. "Unless, of course, you leave Damian. For good. Disappear. Never contact him again."

"You monster!" I shrieked, my blood boiling. "You're threatening to kill him? Because of me?"

"He's a constant reminder of you," she said, shrugging delicately. "And Damian... he's mine. All mine. You understand? If you stay, if you even think about coming between us, your precious brother will pay the ultimate price. Damian needs me more than he needs you. He needs me more than he needs your whole worthless family."

My hand flew out, a primal, uncontrolled reaction. The sound of my palm connecting with her cheek echoed in the room, sharp and satisfying. Aida's head snapped back, her eyes wide with shock, a red mark blooming on her pale skin.

I grabbed her by the throat, my fingers digging into her soft flesh, all my pain, all my rage, all my despair coalescing into this one violent act. "If you touch him," I hissed, my voice a low, terrifying growl, "if you so much as look at him wrong, I swear to God, I will end you. You hear me? You will regret the day you were born."

A powerful hand suddenly grabbed my arm, wrenching me away. I cried out as the force pulled at my still healing wounds, sending a fresh wave of pain through my body. I stumbled back, nearly falling.

Damian stood there, his face contorted in a terrifying mask of fury. He held Aida close, his hand gently stroking her reddened cheek. Aida, ever the actress, dissolved into theatrical sobs. "Damian! She hit me! She tried to choke me! She's crazy!"

Damian's eyes, burning with a cold, murderous rage, fixed on me. "Jillian, what have you done?" he snarled, his voice a venomous whisper. "How dare you touch her?"

"She was threatening Cristopher!" I screamed, desperate to make him see. "She admitted it! She's lying about everything! She framed him for corporate espionage! She's the one who's trying to kill him!"

Damian merely let out a mocking laugh. "Aida would never do such a thing. You're delusional." He pulled out his phone, his thumb flying across the screen. "You want to talk about threats, Jillian? Fine. Your brother's life support. Consider it disconnected."

My blood ran cold. My entire body froze. "No!" I shrieked, my voice tearing through the air, but it was too late. I saw him press "send".