Chapter 4

The wind on the eighth floor tore at her limbs like claws. In the split second that weightlessness swallowed Ainsley whole, something deep inside her chest finally unclenched.

It was over.

She had loved Elijah for eight full years, and what had it earned her? A dead child. A murdered mother. Eight years of devotion fed to a man who devoured it without blinking.

What awaited her was having her kidney carved out, her dignity shredded. There was nothing left in this world worth holding on to.

The sound of impact echoed through the garden below. Blood soaked into the grass beneath her in an instant.

A few seconds of numbness—then every nerve in her body seemed to snap at once. Pain erupted from her legs and ripped through her organs, her spine, her skull.

Ainsley's consciousness flickered. Her vision blurred into a wash of crimson. Footsteps. Screaming. Then nothing but black.

She thought she was finally free.

But even death would not claim her vengeful spirit.

When her eyes opened again, every inch of her body screamed in agony. Her legs were the worst—it felt like thousands of steel needles being driven through bone.

The white ceiling stabbed at her eyes. The sharp reek of antiseptic flooded her nostrils.

Both legs were encased in heavy plaster casts, suspended from a frame above the hospital bed. She couldn't move them at all.

Monitors beeped steadily beside her. IV lines riddled the back of her skeletal hand. A cervical collar locked her neck in place. She didn't even have the strength to lift her head.

"Awake?" A voice—cold, cruel—cut through the sterile air.

Elijah stood at the edge of her bed in a black tailored suit, stripped of the refined elegance he once wore like armor. What radiated from him now was nothing but terrifying frost.

Ainsley's eyes rolled painfully in their sockets until her gaze landed on her own legs—stiff, broken, suspended like dead weight.

She hadn't died.

She had summoned every last shred of courage to end it all, thrown herself from eight stories up, and all she'd gotten was paralysis.

How laughable.

She didn't want to live anymore. So why was God so cruel, insisting on keeping her here, forcing her to endure this living hell?

A wave of desolation surged through her chest. The corners of her mouth twitched into a bleak, hollow smile as tears soaked the pillowcase beneath her head.

"Getting bolder, aren't you? Trying to kill yourself right in front of me?" Elijah leaned down, his large hand seizing her fragile jaw in a vise grip, fingers digging in so hard it felt like he'd crush the bone.

"Ainsley, who gave you permission to die?"

Ainsley's lips parted, but no sound came out. All she could do was stare up at him through bloodshot eyes.

"You think dying solves everything?" Elijah looked at her, venom churning in the depths of his gaze. "Let me make this crystal clear. Without my permission, you don't get to live on your terms, and you don't get to die."

He released her jaw and straightened, his tone paper-thin and merciless. "The doctors said both legs are shattered. Comminuted fractures. Even if they heal, you'll never stand straight or walk steady again. They're done."

Done.

Ainsley's heart plummeted into an abyss.

She truly had nothing left now. Nothing but a broken, barely breathing shell.

"You wanted to die because you thought I couldn't control you anymore." Elijah slid his hands into his pockets, looking down at her, his voice laced with poison. "Ainsley, don't forget—your life has never belonged to just you."

"The Hopper Group shares are still in your grandfather's hands. Every last one of your relatives in the Hopper family's branch lines depends on the Hopper family to survive."

With every sentence, her pupils contracted a fraction more.

"You die once, I dismantle one piece of the Hopper Group. You try to run again, I will erase every branch family connected to the Hoppers from this city. Permanently."

"Your mother is dead. She can't protect you anymore. Right now, the only person standing between the entire Hopper family and ruin—is you."

He knew her too well.

Even battered beyond recognition, even hating him down to the marrow of her bones, the last soft place inside her—that stubborn sense of duty—was reserved for protecting the people the Hopper family had left.

Ainsley began to tremble violently. A ragged, shattered sound scraped from her throat as tears poured down her face.

Elijah was too cruel.

How had she loved a man like this for eight years?

Killing her child and her mother wasn't enough. Now he was using her only remaining family as leverage, stripping her of even the right to choose her own death.

"Do you understand?" Elijah looked down at her as she broke apart, not a shred of pity in his eyes.

"From now on, put away any thoughts of dying. Behave, and the Hopper family stays untouched. Step out of line, and I'll make everything the Hoppers have left pay for your defiance."

Ainsley closed her eyes. Cold seeped through her entire body, head to toe, as endless despair swallowed her whole.

The days that followed held no treatment. No recovery.

Three days later, her wounds still hadn't closed. Her legs still throbbed and bled through the bandages.

Her neck hadn't healed either. Elijah sent men to rip away every piece of medical equipment and drag her out of the hospital by force.

They didn't even give her a wheelchair.

Two bodyguards in black hauled her between them, her useless legs scraping the ground, and dragged her back to the Bourbon Mansion—the home where she had spent three years as Mrs. Bourbon.

The house she had once poured all her love into, tending every corner with care, had become her prison and her place of humiliation.

The mansion's grand foyer stretched wide and opulent.

Sabrina lounged on the sofa in a flowing dress, idly admiring her manicure. She watched Ainsley being dragged through the door, her eyes glittering with amusement and triumph.

"Elijah, why the rush to bring Ainsley back? She hasn't even recovered yet."

Every word dripped with feigned concern. Every syllable was mockery.

Elijah's voice was ice. "Someone like her doesn't need recovery. As long as she's breathing, that's enough to be useful."

He glanced at Ainsley, who couldn't even stand on her own, and issued his order without a trace of mercy. "Starting today, you are no longer Mrs. Bourbon."

"You're the maid of this house."

"Every room, every floor, every corner of this mansion—inside and out—is your responsibility."

Ainsley jerked her head up, disbelief flooding her eyes.

Both legs shattered. Wounds still open. Standing alone was agony—and he wanted her to clean this entire estate?

The Bourbon Mansion sprawled over ten thousand square feet. Three floors. Courtyards, covered walkways, more rooms than she could count.

Ainsley said nothing for a long time. Her face was white as paper.

"What's the matter? Not willing?" Elijah arched a brow, his threat naked and unhesitating. "Would you rather I cut off every last one of the Hopper family's business partnerships right now?"