Chapter 3

A suffocating cocktail of antiseptic and sickening iron ripped me from the fog of unconsciousness.

I jolted awake with a sharp gasp, only to find myself lying on a bed in one of the manor’s guest rooms.

Alexander Sterling stood over me, his icy blue eyes—the very same pair that had once whispered endless sweet nothings into my ear—stripped of every ounce of warmth, cold and hollow.

“Quit playing dead if you’re awake.” He tugged at his necktie, his tone laced with unmasked impatience.

My first instinct was to run. But the second I stirred, a searing twinge stabbed through my lower abdomen. My hand flew to my belly on reflex.

The gentle curve that had swelled with my five-month-old child was gone, flat and barren beneath my palm.

A deafening buzz exploded inside my skull, drowning out all rational thought.

“My baby… Where is my daughter?!” I clutched the bedsheets until my knuckles whitened, my voice breaking into a raw, agonized shriek.

“She’s dead.” Alexander delivered the two words in a detached, dismissive tone, as if he were commenting on the weather.

“The doctor cleaned everything up thoroughly. That underdeveloped mistake of a fetus is nothing more than medical waste now.”

“AHHH!” I lunged straight for him in a frenzy, nails bared as I scraped them viciously toward his face. “It was you! You and that bitch killed her! Alexander, that was your own flesh and blood! How could you be so cruel?!”

His gaze turned sharp and frigid in an instant. He grabbed my wrists and shoved me harshly back against the headboard without a shred of mercy.

“Have you lost your goddamn mind, Chloe?”

Disgust etched across his flawless features.

“When the Harrington Group collapsed, your parents threw themselves off a rooftop like desperate stray dogs. I pulled you out of that wreckage single-handedly and paid off your astronomical Wall Street debts. Is this how you repay your savior? Throwing a hysterical fit and repulsing me with your petty tantrums?”

His words sliced into my chest like a rusted, blunt blade, twisting relentlessly inside my broken heart.

So this was how he saw me all along. Never a beloved wife—only a cheap plaything he’d taken pity on and bought for his own amusement, a prisoner disguised as a spouse.

My heart turned to ash within my chest, every last tear dried up completely. I ground my trembling teeth and enunciated each word with cold, unyielding resolve.

“I want a divorce, Alexander. I’m leaving this repulsive place.”

The bedroom door swung open before he could respond.

Victoria sauntered inside with the sinuous, twisting gait of a serpent. She didn’t even spare me a glance, melting straight into Alexander’s embrace in an overtly coquettish manner.

“Darling, did you finally get your hands on the Tear of the Siren? The Manhattan elites’ Christmas Ball is right around the corner, and I absolutely have to wear it to outshine every last person there.”

Alexander arched a refined brow, his gaze drifting to me with blatant contempt as the pieces clicked into place. “So the lunatic who fought you for the necklace today was her.”

He turned back toward me and held out a hand, his tone no different from someone commanding a disobedient hound. “Hand over the necklace. Apologize to Victoria.”

I clamped both hands firmly over the velvet box tucked inside my coat pocket—it was all I had left, the last piece of my mother.

“Over my dead body!” I roared hoarsely. “This is my mother’s relic! No one is ever taking it from me!”

Victoria rolled her eyes scornfully and strode to the edge of the bed, jabbing a finger directly at my face. “Don’t act so high and mighty, Chloe. Your bankrupt mother’s been rotting in the ground for years.

I’ve already shown immense restraint by letting you cling to the title of Mrs. Sterling. It’s just a worthless necklace—what right do you have to argue with me? Hand it over now.”

“Get away from me! Don’t touch me!” I swung my arm to push her away.

My fingertips hadn’t even grazed her clothes when Victoria let out a shrill, dramatic scream. She threw herself backward in an exaggerated arc and crashed heavily onto the wool carpet.

“Ow… It hurts…” Fat, glistening tears welled in her eyes in the blink of an eye as she sobbed weakly. “Alexander, she pushed me. My stomach hurts so badly…”

Alexander’s expression darkened instantly. He rushed over at once and gathered her carefully into his arms, his movements gentle beyond compare.

The absurd, nauseating scene before me snapped what little sanity I had left. I burst into hysterical laughter, the action scraping my throat raw and filling my mouth with the metallic tang of blood.

“Alexander, you’re nothing but a blind, foolish fool! And I was the bigger idiot for ever loving you—for failing to see what a vile, worthless piece of scum you truly are!”

Smack!

A brutal slap cracked across my cheek, whipping my head sharply to the side.

Alexander loomed over me, his eyes so dark and venomous it looked as if he intended to tear me apart limb from limb.

He plunged his hand ruthlessly into my coat pocket and snatched the velvet box holding the Tear of the Siren.

“A thankless, deranged woman like you doesn’t deserve to own something this exquisite.” His voice softened drastically as he tucked the box tenderly into Victoria’s grasp. He then raised his voice to bark a sharp order at the guards outside the door.

“Lock this room. Do not give her so much as a single drop of water without my explicit permission.”

The door slammed shut and clicked locked from the outside.

Night fell over the Sterling Manor. Downstairs in the grand ballroom, jazz melodies mingled with the clink of crystal glasses and peals of carefree laughter.

The family’s weekly weekend ball had officially begun.

Through the narrow ventilation grille, Victoria’s voice drifted faintly down the hallway.

“Alexander, are you sure we should leave her locked up there all alone? What if she does something reckless? Maybe you should go check on her.”

Alexander’s reply came without the slightest pause or hesitation, cold and unfeeling. “Let her rot. The Harringtons are long dead, and she’s penniless with nowhere in this world to go. After a few days of hunger, she’ll come crawling out on her knees to beg Victoria for forgiveness.”

Their footsteps faded into the distance.

I collapsed onto the icy floor, the throbbing ache in my abdomen and the stinging burn on my swollen cheek serving as constant, brutal reminders of the hell I’d endured.

Beg for forgiveness?

I, Chloe Harrington, would rather die than bow my head to the two murderers reveling in my suffering.

I dragged myself unsteadily to my feet, my gaze locking onto the bottle of hard liquor sitting in the corner of the room.

If Alexander thought I was trapped with nowhere to run, then I would carve a path straight to ruin with my own two hands.

I twisted open the bottle cap without a second thought and doused the curtains and carpet with the burning liquor. I struck a match and tossed it unflinchingly into the alcohol-soaked fabric.

WHOOSH—

Towering flames erupted instantly, devouring every fixture in the room with ravenous greed. Thick, choking smoke and acrid burnt stench flooded the guest room in mere seconds.

I turned on my heel and shoved open the floor-to-ceiling French windows overlooking the dark night.

Violent gales howled into the room, tangling wildly through my disheveled hair.

I leaned forward and threw myself off the ledge, a broken-winged bird surrendering entirely to the endless, black night.