Chapter 4

Years of combat training had hardwired Nicholas's reflexes. His body reacted before his mind caught up.

He twisted sideways, dodging the blade, and caught Lisbeth's wrist in one fluid motion. He wrenched it outward.

The fruit knife clattered to the floor.

Lisbeth was already too weak. The force sent her stumbling, and she crashed onto the hospital bed.

Her dislocated wrist screamed with pain, sending tremors through her entire body. But her eyes never left his face.

Nicholas looked down at her. He bent and picked up the knife.

"You tried to kill me?" He stepped closer and gripped her chin, forcing her head up. "For that bastard child? Or for those men you've been whoring around with?"

Lisbeth's head was wrenched back, her eyes bloodshot. She spat each word through clenched teeth. "Nicholas, you're an animal. You owe my mother her life."

"Your mother had a heart attack. That has nothing to do with me." His grip on her chin tightened. "Lisbeth, have you forgotten who you are? You abandoned your own mother for other men, and now you come at me like a lunatic?"

Lisbeth laughed.

"You're right. I did forget." The laughter died. She looked straight into his eyes. "I forgot you're a heartless monster. I should've put a knife through both of you the moment I found out about you and Adalyn—you and that bitch deserve each other."

The words hit his rawest nerve.

The photographs flashed through his mind. The paternity report.

"You filthy whore."

Nicholas raised his hand. The fruit knife arced through the air.

The blade sliced through the hospital gown and opened a gash along Lisbeth's left arm.

Flesh split apart. Blood poured out instantly.

Lisbeth didn't flinch.

She didn't even blink. She stared at him the way you'd stare at a dead man.

That look cut Nicholas deeper than any blade.

He slashed again.

This time across her shoulder.

Blood soaked through the fabric and ran down her arm, dripping onto the sheets in dark, spreading stains.

"Does it hurt?" Nicholas released her chin. The tip of the knife pressed against her collarbone and slowly pushed down. "When you were having the time of your life in bed with those men—did you ever think this day would come?"

Lisbeth closed her eyes. She didn't even waste the energy to answer.

The saddest grief is the death of hope.

She was nothing now but a hollow shell, surrendered to whatever he chose to do.

The door burst open.

The guard and two doctors rushed in, drawn by the commotion. They took one look at the scene and froze, the color draining from their faces.

"Mr. Stuart—" A doctor clutched his medical kit and stepped forward to treat Lisbeth's wounds.

"Get out." Nicholas didn't turn around.

The doctor stopped mid-step, caught between duty and terror.

"I said get out." Nicholas turned his head, his eyes murderous. "Anyone who touches her—I'll make their entire family disappear from Empire City."

The doctor and the guard exchanged a glance. They retreated through the door without another word.

The room belonged to the two of them now.

Nicholas turned the bloodied knife over in his hand. He dragged a chair to the bedside and sat down.

He watched her bleed.

The blood kept coming—pooling along the edge of the mattress, dripping to the floor in a steady rhythm.

The air reeked of iron.

Lisbeth's face grew paler by the minute. Her breathing grew shallower.

Warmth was leaving her body degree by degree. Her hands and feet turned cold.

The signs of severe blood loss.

Was she dying?

Good.

Finally—release.

She could see Elicia again. She could see the baby who never got to open its eyes.

Lisbeth forced her eyelids open and stared at the ceiling.

"Nicholas…" Her voice was barely a whisper.

His hand tightened around the knife handle.

"You'd better… let me die here today." A ghost of a smile crossed her bloodless lips. "Otherwise… as long as I have one breath left… I will haunt you. Even as a ghost… I won't let you go."

Nicholas smirked. "You think I'm afraid of ghosts?"

Lisbeth said nothing more.

Her vision blurred. Her eyelids grew impossibly heavy.

Nicholas watched the focus drain from her eyes. Watched the faint rise and fall of her chest grow fainter.

Panic clawed up from somewhere deep inside him and spread through his body like wildfire.

He stood. Walked to the bed. Slapped her face.

"Lisbeth, stop playing dead."

No response. Her head lolled limply to one side.

Nicholas pressed his fingers beneath her nose.

A breath. Barely there.

Almost nothing.

"Lisbeth!" His voice cracked sharp and loud. He seized her collar and hauled her upright. "I didn't give you permission to die. You don't get to die!"

Silence answered him.

He dropped her back onto the bed, spun toward the door, and roared. "Doctor! Where the hell are you? Get in here!"

The doctors who'd been hovering outside nearly tripped over each other scrambling in.

"Stop the bleeding!" Nicholas pointed at Lisbeth on the bed. His voice carried a tremor he didn't even recognize as his own. "If she dies, every last one of you goes down with her."

No one hesitated. They began working immediately.

The room erupted into controlled chaos.

Nicholas stood to the side, watching them thread tubes into Lisbeth's body, watching blood flow through the IV lines into her veins.

He yanked at his tie, irritated, and tossed the bloodied fruit knife into the trash.

He didn't want her to die.

She still owed him. She didn't get to escape that easily.

Yes. That was it.

That was what he told himself.

Tormenting her. Watching her suffer. That was what he wanted.

If she died, the game would be over. And that would be no fun at all.

The doctors worked for over thirty minutes before the bleeding was finally under control.

"Mr. Stuart, we've stopped the hemorrhaging." The attending physician wiped cold sweat from his forehead and chose his words carefully. "The patient was already extremely weak before this. Combined with the excessive blood loss, her condition is critical. And…"

The doctor trailed off.

"And what?" Nicholas cut in, impatient.

The doctor considered his words. "Her will to live is almost nonexistent." A pause. "To put it simply—she doesn't want to survive."