My Mother's Ashes, My Fury Unleashed

My husband Collin forced me to watch him with his mistress, Jaime, calling it my "education" on how to be a woman. This was my reality for months, even on our wedding anniversary.

He refused to pay for my mother's life-saving treatment, causing her death. Then, he let Jaime beat me so severely that I miscarried the baby I didn't even know I was carrying, leaving me unable to ever have children.

As if that wasn't enough, Jaime shattered my mother's urn in front of me and fed her ashes to a dog, all while Collin watched.

My mother's last words were, "Stop begging him."

She left me a number for my estranged uncle, a powerful man I barely knew.

When I called him, he sent a jet to bring me to London.

Now, I'm back. Not as the broken wife he discarded, but as the new CEO of his collapsing company, ready to take everything from him.

Chapter 1

Calista POV

My stomach churned, a familiar cold knot forming as Collin's voice, laced with disdain, cut through the thin hotel room walls. "You're just... unfulfilling, Calista."

He didn't even bother to soften the blow. Not anymore. I clutched the silk robe tighter around me, the fabric doing little to fend off the chill that had settled deep in my bones.

Across the room, Jaime giggled, a bright, triumphant sound that sliced right through me. Her slender fingers, adorned with a ring I recognized as mine-a gift from Collin on our first anniversary-traced patterns on his chest. He was shirtless, casual, entirely at ease in his infidelity.

"She always was, wasn't she?" Jaime purred, her eyes, dark and glittering, met mine over Collin's bare shoulder. A wicked smile played on her lips, a shared secret between them, a weapon against me.

I stood there, forced to watch. This was Collin's twisted idea of "education." He claimed I needed to learn how to be a woman, how to please a man. Jaime, barely out of her teens, was supposedly my tutor. Every weekend, for months now, this had been my reality. Our wedding anniversary weekend, no less. How fitting.

Jaime untangled herself from Collin, sauntering towards me with fake concern. "Are you okay, Calista? You look a little pale."

She reached out, her fingers digging into my arm. A sharp sting, then a burning sensation. Her nails were long, freshly manicured. I didn't flinch, didn't give her the satisfaction.

"Here." I reached into my robe pocket, pulling out a crisp hundred-dollar bill. My hand trembled slightly, but only I would notice. "This is for your... time."

Jaime snatched the money, her eyes narrowing. "That's it? For my time? Collin works me hard, you know." Her voice was a childish whine, but her eyes held a predatory glint. She slapped my arm harder, the sting now radiating up to my shoulder.

"Jaime!" Collin's voice was sharp, a mock-reprimand. He was pulling on his expensive silk pajamas, a smirk playing on his face. "Be nice."

She skipped back to him, rubbing her wrist with exaggerated theatricality. "She pinched me! She's so jealous, Collin."

He wrapped an arm around her, kissing her forehead. "My poor baby. I know, she just doesn't understand our special connection." He looked at me then, his gaze cold, devoid of any warmth it once held. "You see, Calista? Some women know how to appreciate a man's efforts."

He pulled a thick wad of bills from his nightstand drawer, pressing them into Jaime's hand. "Go on, sweetheart. Buy yourself something pretty. Ignore her."

Jaime' s smile returned, wide and victorious. She blew him a kiss, then tossed a triumphant glance my way before disappearing into the adjoining room. The door clicked shut, leaving Collin and me in a silence thick with unspoken accusations.

"Your mother's medical bills arrived today," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. I refused to let him see me break.

Collin sighed, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. "Again? That woman is a bottomless pit. How much is it this time?"

"It's the experimental treatment," I explained, my throat tightening. "The doctors say it's her best shot. It's a lot, Collin. More than we expected."

He scoffed. "More than you expected. I told you, if she can't pull through, she can't pull through. Why waste good money?" He paused, then added with a smirk, "Besides, Jaime doesn't ask for payment. She's here because she wants to be. She cherishes my company, unlike some people."

My hands clenched at my sides. Cherishes his company. The words felt like a physical blow.

"I'll handle it," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

"Good. And don't forget we have that charity gala next week. Try to look less like a ghost, Calista. And maybe," he leaned in, his voice dropping to a mocking whisper, "I'll even give you a proper wedding night. You know, for old times' sake. After Jaime has taught you a thing or two."

I just nodded, my eyes fixed on a spot on the wall behind him. The money he had given Jaime for her "time" burned a hole in my pocket. I would use it. But not for what he thought.

Later, as I lay in the cold, empty bed we once shared, the memory of my mother's fading voice echoed in my ears. The hospital room was sterile, white, smelling of antiseptic and despair. I had called Collin, desperate, begging him to approve the funds for her treatment.

"Collin, please," I had pleaded into the phone, tears streaming down my face. "It's life or death. Just this once."

All I heard in response was a soft moan, then Jaime's muffled giggle, followed by Collin's low, possessive chuckle. He knew I was listening. He wanted me to hear. He had hung up without a word.

My mother, frail and fading, had understood. She saw the desperation in my eyes, the way my shoulders slumped, the silent pleading that had become my default state.

"Stop begging him, Calista," she whispered, her voice raspy, barely audible. "You deserve more than that."

She had refused further treatment that day. A week later, she was gone. Her last words, etched into my memory, a command, a release: "Stop begging him."

I slid my hand under the pillow, pulling out the frayed piece of paper she had pressed into my hand just before she closed her eyes for good. A name. A number. Bernard Velasquez.

My estranged uncle. My mother's brother.

My fingers, still trembling, dialed the number. Three rings, then a gruff, deep voice answered. "Velasquez."

"Uncle Bernard," I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears. "It's Calista."

A beat of silence. Then, a roar of pure, unadulterated joy. "Calista! My little hummingbird! Is that truly you? Oh, my dearest, it's been far too long! Where have you been? Are you alright?"

I closed my eyes, a single tear escaping. "I'm... fine, Uncle."

"Fine? You don't sound fine, child," he said, his voice instantly softening, concern replacing the boisterous cheer. "Tell me everything. No, don't tell me over the phone. I'll send a jet. You're coming to London. Immediately."

"I..." I began, but he cut me off.

"No arguments. Your mother would have wanted this. My sister, she... she always knew you were meant for more than that simpleton you married." His voice was low, laced with an old anger I didn't understand. "Just say yes, Calista."

"Yes," I breathed, the word a fragile promise.

"Good. You'll be safe here. And we'll sort everything out." His voice was a balm, a distant echo of a family I barely remembered.

I hung up, a strange mix of fear and relief washing over me. The decision was made. I was leaving. I was done begging.

A warm hand suddenly closed around my waist, pulling me backward against a hard chest. Collin. His scent, a mix of expensive cologne and someone else's cheap perfume, filled my nostrils.

"Who was that, darling?" His voice was smooth, deceptively gentle, but the grip on my waist tightened, a silent threat.

I stiffened, my gaze falling to his neck. A faint red mark, a hickey, blossomed just beneath his ear. Jaime's mark. Always Jaime's mark.

"Just a work call," I lied, my voice flat. "About some old investments."

"Investments?" He chuckled, his breath warm against my ear. "You still dabble in that finance rubbish? I thought you gave that up for us." His hand moved, tracing the curve of my hip. "You know, you've been quiet lately. Not a single tear, not a single plea. Are you still angry about... everything?"

"No," I replied, pulling away subtly. "Just tired."

"Tired?" He spun me around, his eyes piercing mine. "Or just boring? I've been telling you, Calista, you've become so predictable. So utterly uninteresting in bed. Jaime, she has a spark. A fire. You used to have that, once." He sneered. "Or maybe I just imagined it."

My stomach clenched. "I'm just not feeling well," I mumbled, trying to push past him. "It's that time of the month."

He watched me, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes, but then he just shrugged. "Fine. Women and their moods." He turned, heading for the bathroom. "Just don't expect me to be waiting around for you to get over it."

I watched him go, the words "Stop begging him" ringing in my ears. I wasn't begging anymore. I wasn't even angry. Just... empty. And determined. My body felt heavy, aching with a pain that had nothing to do with menstruation, and everything to do with the hollow space where my heart used to be. The night felt endless, each tick of the clock dragging me further into a nightmare I couldn't escape, or so I thought. I just needed to hold on a little longer.

My stomach churned, a familiar cold knot forming as Collin's voice, laced with disdain, cut through the thin hotel room walls. "You're just... unfulfilling, Calista."

He didn't even bother to soften the blow. Not anymore. I clutched the silk robe tighter around me, the fabric doing little to fend off the chill that had settled deep in my bones.

Across the room, Jaime giggled, a bright, triumphant sound that sliced right through me. Her slender fingers, adorned with a ring I recognized as mine-a gift from Collin on our first anniversary-traced patterns on his chest. He was shirtless, casual, entirely at ease in his infidelity.

"She always was, wasn't she?" Jaime purred, her eyes, dark and glittering, met mine over Collin's bare shoulder. A wicked smile played on her lips, a shared secret between them, a weapon against me.

I stood there, forced to watch. This was Collin's twisted idea of "education." He claimed I needed to learn how to be a woman, how to please a man. Jaime, barely out of her teens, was supposedly my tutor. Every weekend, for months now, this had been my reality. Our wedding anniversary weekend, no less. How fitting.

Jaime untangled herself from Collin, sauntering towards me with fake concern. "Are you okay, Calista? You look a little pale."

She reached out, her fingers digging into my arm. A sharp sting, then a burning sensation. Her nails were long, freshly manicured. I didn't flinch, didn't give her the satisfaction.

"Here." I reached into my robe pocket, pulling out a crisp hundred-dollar bill. My hand trembled slightly, but only I would notice. "This is for your... time."

Jaime snatched the money, her eyes narrowing. "That's it? For my time? Collin works me hard, you know." Her voice was a childish whine, but her eyes held a predatory glint. She slapped my arm harder, the sting now radiating up to my shoulder.

"Jaime!" Collin's voice was sharp, a mock-reprimand. He was pulling on his expensive silk pajamas, a smirk playing on his face. "Be nice."

She skipped back to him, rubbing her wrist with exaggerated theatricality. "She pinched me! She's so jealous, Collin."

He wrapped an arm around her, kissing her forehead. "My poor baby. I know, she just doesn't understand our special connection." He looked at me then, his gaze cold, devoid of any warmth it once held. "You see, Calista? Some women know how to appreciate a man's efforts."

He pulled a thick wad of bills from his nightstand drawer, pressing them into Jaime's hand. "Go on, sweetheart. Buy yourself something pretty. Ignore her."

Jaime' s smile returned, wide and victorious. She blew him a kiss, then tossed a triumphant glance my way before disappearing into the adjoining room. The door clicked shut, leaving Collin and me in a silence thick with unspoken accusations.

"Your mother's medical bills arrived today," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. I refused to let him see me break.

Collin sighed, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. "Again? That woman is a bottomless pit. How much is it this time?"

"It's the experimental treatment," I explained, my throat tightening. "The doctors say it's her best shot. It's a lot, Collin. More than we expected."

He scoffed. "More than you expected. I told you, if she can't pull through, she can't pull through. Why waste good money?" He paused, then added with a smirk, "Besides, Jaime doesn't ask for payment. She's here because she wants to be. She cherishes my company, unlike some people."

My hands clenched at my sides. Cherishes his company. The words felt like a physical blow.

"I'll handle it," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

"Good. And don't forget we have that charity gala next week. Try to look less like a ghost, Calista. And maybe," he leaned in, his voice dropping to a mocking whisper, "I'll even give you a proper wedding night. You know, for old times' sake. After Jaime has taught you a thing or two."

I just nodded, my eyes fixed on a spot on the wall behind him. The money he had given Jaime for her "time" burned a hole in my pocket. I would use it. But not for what he thought.

Later, as I lay in the cold, empty bed we once shared, the memory of my mother's fading voice echoed in my ears. The hospital room was sterile, white, smelling of antiseptic and despair. I had called Collin, desperate, begging him to approve the funds for her treatment.

"Collin, please," I had pleaded into the phone, tears streaming down my face. "It's life or death. Just this once."

All I heard in response was a soft moan, then Jaime's muffled giggle, followed by Collin's low, possessive chuckle. He knew I was listening. He wanted me to hear. He had hung up without a word.

My mother, frail and fading, had understood. She saw the desperation in my eyes, the way my shoulders slumped, the silent pleading that had become my default state.

"Stop begging him, Calista," she whispered, her voice raspy, barely audible. "You deserve more than that."

She had refused further treatment that day. A week later, she was gone. Her last words, etched into my memory, a command, a release: "Stop begging him."

I slid my hand under the pillow, pulling out the frayed piece of paper she had pressed into my hand just before she closed her eyes for good. A name. A number. Bernard Velasquez.

My estranged uncle. My mother's brother.

My fingers, still trembling, dialed the number. Three rings, then a gruff, deep voice answered. "Velasquez."

"Uncle Bernard," I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears. "It's Calista."

A beat of silence. Then, a roar of pure, unadulterated joy. "Calista! My little hummingbird! Is that truly you? Oh, my dearest, it's been far too long! Where have you been? Are you alright?"

I closed my eyes, a single tear escaping. "I'm... fine, Uncle."

"Fine? You don't sound fine, child," he said, his voice instantly softening, concern replacing the boisterous cheer. "Tell me everything. No, don't tell me over the phone. I'll send a jet. You're coming to London. Immediately."

"I..." I began, but he cut me off.

"No arguments. Your mother would have wanted this. My sister, she... she always knew you were meant for more than that simpleton you married." His voice was low, laced with an old anger I didn't understand. "Just say yes, Calista."

"Yes," I breathed, the word a fragile promise.

"Good. You'll be safe here. And we'll sort everything out." His voice was a balm, a distant echo of a family I barely remembered.

I hung up, a strange mix of fear and relief washing over me. The decision was made. I was leaving. I was done begging.

A warm hand suddenly closed around my waist, pulling me backward against a hard chest. Collin. His scent, a mix of expensive cologne and someone else's cheap perfume, filled my nostrils.

"Who was that, darling?" His voice was smooth, deceptively gentle, but the grip on my waist tightened, a silent threat.

I stiffened, my gaze falling to his neck. A faint red mark, a hickey, blossomed just beneath his ear. Jaime's mark. Always Jaime's mark.

"Just a work call," I lied, my voice flat. "About some old investments."

"Investments?" He chuckled, his breath warm against my ear. "You still dabble in that finance rubbish? I thought you gave that up for us." His hand moved, tracing the curve of my hip. "You know, you've been quiet lately. Not a single tear, not a single plea. Are you still angry about... everything?"

"No," I replied, pulling away subtly. "Just tired."

"Tired?" He spun me around, his eyes piercing mine. "Or just boring? I've been telling you, Calista, you've become so predictable. So utterly uninteresting in bed. Jaime, she has a spark. A fire. You used to have that, once." He sneered. "Or maybe I just imagined it."

My stomach clenched. "I'm just not feeling well," I mumbled, trying to push past him. "It's that time of the month."

He watched me, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes, but then he just shrugged. "Fine. Women and their moods." He turned, heading for the bathroom. "Just don't expect me to be waiting around for you to get over it."

I watched him go, the words "Stop begging him" ringing in my ears. I wasn't begging anymore. I wasn't even angry. Just... empty. And determined. My body felt heavy, aching with a pain that had nothing to do with menstruation, and everything to do with the hollow space where my heart used to be. The night felt endless, each tick of the clock dragging me further into a nightmare I couldn't escape, or so I thought. I just needed to hold on a little longer.

Calista POV

The night passed in a blur of restless half-sleep, haunted by my mother' s fading whispers and Collin' s cruel laughter. When morning finally arrived, it offered no solace. My eyes felt gritty, my head heavy. I dragged myself out of bed, the hotel room feeling colder than ever.

Collin was already up, sitting by the window, engrossed in his phone. He scrolled through something, a faint smile playing on his lips. His morning routine hadn't changed, even with a mistress in the next room and a wife he despised in the same one.

"What are you looking at so intently?" I asked, my voice raspy. I didn't care, not really. Just going through the motions.

He barely glanced up. "Just some online shopping. Jaime mentioned she needed a new bag."

My gaze fell to his screen. A limited-edition leather tote, something I had admired online, even added to my own wish list a few months ago. He used my account, sometimes, when he was too lazy to log into his own. A faint, almost forgotten intimacy.

A pang, fleeting and unwelcome, shot through me. I pushed it down. That Calista, the one who cared about frivolous bags and Collin's fleeting affection, was long gone.

"Looks nice," I said, my voice flat.

He finally looked at me, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "You think so? Jaime's a bit picky, but I think she'll like it. It's trendy, new. Not like some of the... classic pieces you prefer." His tone was dismissive, a subtle jab at my taste, at me.

His phone wallpaper flashed. A photo of Jaime, pouting playfully, her hair dyed a shocking bubblegum pink. I remembered when he used to complain about my taste in art, calling it "too avant-garde." But he'd meticulously searched for a painting of a pink sunset for Jaime, something gaudy and saccharine, just because she'd once mentioned she liked the color. He' d even spent days crafting a ridiculous, glitter-covered card for her last birthday. He' d scoffed at the quiet, hand-stitched scarf I' d made him for his own, years ago.

"It suits her," I said, my voice empty.

He nodded, satisfied. He stood, walked over to me, and gave me a perfunctory peck on the cheek. His lips felt cold.

Just then, his phone buzzed. A bright, cheerful ringtone. Jaime's ringtone. He immediately picked up, his face softening, a genuine warmth radiating from him that I hadn't seen directed at me in years.

"Morning, angel," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. He moved away, stepping onto the small hotel balcony, his back to me. His words were hushed, meant only for her.

I walked into the kitchenette, setting about making coffee. He liked his black, strong. I preferred tea, my stomach unable to handle the bitterness. An old allergy, one he used to fuss over, making sure I always had my preferred chamomile blend.

He came back inside, frowning. "No coffee? What am I supposed to drink?"

"I don't drink coffee, Collin," I reminded him, my voice devoid of patience. "You know that. It makes my stomach ache."

He looked at me as if I'd just spoken in a foreign language. "Oh. Right." A moment of silence, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Then he shrugged. "I guess I'll just get one downstairs."

I remembered a time when he would meticulously brew pour-over coffee for me, explaining its delicate notes, making sure it cooled to the perfect temperature. He'd even researched my allergies, making a list of foods to avoid, a concerned frown always on his face. Now, I was just a vague inconvenience. It was strange, how easily he'd forgotten, and how easily I'd adapted to being forgotten.

He was about to leave when he hesitated, turning back to me. "I'm sorry, Calista. I... sometimes I forget." He sounded almost sincere. A rare, unsettling moment.

But before I could process it, his phone buzzed again. Jaime. He glanced at the screen, then back at me, that flicker of annoyance returning to his eyes. The moment was gone.

"I have to go," he said, the apology already forgotten. "Jaime needs me." With that, he was out the door. The clack of his expensive shoes echoed down the hallway.

I finished my tea alone, staring out at the grey city. The loneliness was no longer a sharp pain, just a dull ache, a constant companion.

A text message vibrated my phone. Collin. "Out with Jaime. Don't wait up."

I stared at the screen. He hadn't sent a "don't wait up" text in years. Not since the first few months of our marriage, before his late nights became the norm, before my pleas turned into silence. The last time he'd actively "reported" his whereabouts, I think, was three years ago, before his company really took off. A lifetime ago.

I didn't reply. There was nothing to say.

Later that afternoon, I left the hotel room, the key card heavy in my hand. I retrieved my mother's ashes from the funeral home. They were in a small, elegant urn, cool and smooth beneath my fingers. A wave of profound grief washed over me, a physical weight pressing down on my chest. I had planned to take her to London with me, to scatter her ashes in a field of wildflowers, just like she always wanted. A quiet, peaceful farewell.

As I stepped out of the funeral home, the city erupted in light. Fireworks. A burst of color against the twilight sky. A celebration. For what?

My phone buzzed. Social media. A photo from Jaime. She was smiling, radiant, standing next to Collin. He was holding a remote control, looking up at the sky. Above them, drones painted a giant, glittering heart in the air. Inside the heart, Jaime's face, meticulously recreated by tiny lights.

The caption read: "Early anniversary surprise! Collin is the best husband ever! So lucky to have him. #FirstAnniversary #LoveOfMyLife."

My vision blurred. First anniversary. It was our anniversary, our wedding anniversary. Not theirs. Not yet.

Another post. Collin, reposting Jaime's picture, adding his own caption: "To my one and only." He had pinned it to the top of his profile, right above a dusty, forgotten photo of our own wedding.

The comments flooded in. "So romantic!" "Jaime, you deserve this!" "Calista could never." "Poor Calista, looks like she's been replaced."

My stomach lurched. I gagged, leaning against a cold brick wall, bile rising in my throat. I remembered washing his clothes, scrubbing out wine stains from his expensive shirts, soaking his dirty socks when he was too tired. He had a meticulous obsession with cleanliness, a phobia of dirt. Yet, in Jaime's photo, he was laughing, his hands covered in paint, helping her create some childish art project. He never lifted a finger for me. He always said I was "too delicate" for such chores, but his eyes always held a hint of disgust.

A dull, throbbing pain started in my lower belly. It wasn't the kind of pain I normally felt. It was deeper, more insistent.

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the intrusive images, the cruel words. The world spun. When I opened them again, I saw a familiar face rushing towards me. My housemaid. Maria. Her eyes wide with panic.

"Madam Calista!" she cried, rushing forward.

Before she could reach me, a searing pain erupted on my cheek. A sharp, stinging blow. The world tilted.

Calista POV

The force of the slap sent me stumbling. I hit the polished marble floor of the hotel lobby, the cold shock momentarily clearing my head. My cheek burned, a fiery imprint of a hand.

"You bitch!" Collin's face was contorted with rage, his phone shoved inches from my eyes. On the screen, a blurry video played-too dark to make out details, but the sounds were unmistakable. A couple, intimately entwined. Jaime' s unmistakable giggle, Collin' s low growl. My humiliation, broadcast for the world to see.

"How dare you leak this?!" he roared, his foot connecting with my side. A searing pain shot through me. I gasped, struggling to catch my breath.

"I didn't..." I rasped, pushing myself up on my elbows, my cheek throbbing, the taste of blood in my mouth. "I wouldn't."

Before I could finish, another sharp crack echoed in the lobby. Jaime. She stood over me, her face a mask of fury, her hand still raised from striking me. My head snapped back, hitting the floor with a dull thud. My lip split, a thin line of crimson tracing down my chin.

"You jealous hag!" Jaime shrieked, her foot lashing out. It connected with my stomach, a brutal, sickening impact. A gasp escaped my lips, but it was cut short by another kick, and another. "You tried to ruin me! You tried to expose us!"

A sharp, stabbing pain erupted deep within my abdomen. It was different from the superficial pain of the kicks, a deep, twisting agony that made me double over. I could feel something warm and wet spreading beneath me.

"Madam Calista is bleeding!" Maria, our maid, screamed from somewhere nearby, her voice laced with terror.

Collin, who had watched Jaime's assault with a detached, almost pleased expression, flinched. His eyes widened slightly. He took a hesitant step towards me, a flicker of something that looked like guilt, or perhaps just panic, crossing his face.

"It's just her period, Collin!" Jaime shrieked, clinging to his arm, her voice deliberately loud. "She's always so dramatic about it! She probably just got her period, and now she's trying to make you feel bad. Remember what you promised me? That you'd always protect me?"

Collin stopped, his gaze falling from my blood-soaked dress to Jaime's tear-streaked face. He looked at me again, then away. The flicker of guilt vanished, replaced by a cold indifference. He was a puppet, and Jaime held the strings.

"I'll... I'll take care of the online rumors," he muttered, his voice strained. "But you shouldn't have done that, Jaime."

"I have nothing left, Collin!" Jaime wailed, suddenly pulling a small, silver penknife from her pocket. She held it to her wrist, her hand trembling theatrically. "She ruined everything! My reputation! My future! My honor! I gave you everything, Collin! My youth, my innocence! And now, because of her, I'm nothing!" She sobbed, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch. "I can't live like this! If I die, I hope I find you in the next life, Collin! Then we can finally be together!"

My eyes, already swimming with pain, watched as Collin's face softened. Fool. She was playing him like a fiddle.

A sudden, sharp scream tore from Jaime's throat. Not a wail of despair, but a shriek of pain. A thin line of blood appeared on her wrist. She hadn't cut herself deeply, but it was enough to make Collin's eyes go wide with horror.

"Jaime!" he cried, rushing forward, cradling her in his arms. He glared at me, his eyes blazing with a renewed fury. "Look what you've done to her!"

He stumbled over my prostrate form in the dim light of the lobby, not even noticing he'd kicked me again. He didn't look back. Just scooped Jaime into his arms and started barking orders at his security detail.

"Find whoever leaked that video! Erase every last trace of it!" he thundered, his voice echoing through the silent lobby. "And as for her..." His eyes, cold and venomous, landed on me. "She'll pay for this. She'll pay for everything."

He stormed out, Jaime sobbing dramatically in his arms, leaving me bleeding and broken on the cold marble floor.

"Maria," I choked, reaching out a trembling hand. The pain was unbearable now, a fire consuming me from the inside out. "Help me, please."

Maria, rooted to the spot, shook her head, her face pale with fear. "I... I can't, Madam Calista. Mr. Fields said... he said I'm not to touch you."

I tried to call Collin. My phone, still clutched in my hand, showed his number. Ring. Ring. Busy. I tried again. Ring. Ring. Voicemail. Again. Again.

Desperate, I tried one last time. It rang once, twice, then clicked. Disconnected. He hung up.

The world began to spin faster, the edges of my vision blurring. The pain in my stomach intensified, a suffocating grip. My head lolled to the side. I could hear Maria's frantic whispers, but her words were like distant echoes. The floor felt cold against my bleeding cheek.

Then, darkness. Just before it consumed me entirely, I felt a strong pair of arms scoop me up. A familiar scent, not Collin's cologne, but something earthy, safe. A whisper in my ear, too faint to understand. Then, nothing.

Collin, speeding away from the hotel, gripped the steering wheel, his jaw tight. He was seething, but not at Jaime. No, he was furious at whoever had dared to expose his carefully constructed facade. His phone buzzed, a quick message from his head of security. "Sir, the online video has been contained, but we've found a trail. It seems to originate from an email address linked to Calista's old work accounts."

A cold dread settled in his gut. Calista. He had to be sure. He called his assistant. "Did you manage to get those funds for Calista's mother's treatment reversed?"

"Yes, Mr. Fields," his assistant replied, her voice crisp. "The hospital confirmed the transfer was successfully recalled."

Collin felt a surge of righteous indignation. So, she was trying to blackmail him. This was her revenge. He would make her regret it.

His phone rang again. It was his secretary, her voice frantic. "Mr. Fields! The stock! Your company shares are plummeting! It's a massive sell-off!"

Collin slammed on the brakes, the sudden stop jarring Jaime, who was still sniffling dramatically in the passenger seat. His world, so meticulously built, was suddenly crumbling.