Chapter 3

Chloe's POV

I was dragged by the hair into Kayla Pembroke’s underground private club.

The heavy steel doors slammed shut behind me, sealing my fate.

"Throw her down," Kayla ordered, her voice dripping with venom.

Two massive bouncers hurled me onto the center of a massive Persian rug.

It wasn’t soft. It was covered in shattered, jagged glass.

The shards sliced straight through my thin dress and deep into my knees.

I gasped, the sharp, biting pain instantly cutting through the dull ache in my bones.

Kayla sat on a leather sofa, lazily swirling a glass of dark liquor.

"Your sister ruined my dress. She insulted my bloodline," Kayla sneered, stepping closer in her red stiletto heels.

"Since you're here to pay her debt, start paying. Wipe the floor. With your bare hands."

I looked at the bloody glass scattered across the intricate rug.

If I refused, my family would be slaughtered. Alexander would be ruined.

I placed my trembling hands onto the broken glass and began to wipe.

The glass tore into my palms. Flesh ripped. Blood instantly pooled, staining the rug a sickening crimson.

The surrounding guards laughed.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, forcing myself not to scream.

"Not good enough," Kayla said coldly.

She picked up a crystal decanter from the table. But it wasn't alcohol inside.

"Let’s see if Alexander still wants to protect your sister after he sees what happens to you."

Without another word, she poured the burning liquid directly onto the right side of my face.

The scream that tore from my throat didn't even sound human.

It was absolute, blinding agony.

My skin sizzled and popped. The horrific stench of my own burning flesh filled my nose.

I writhed on the glass, clawing desperately at the air, begging for it to stop.

The pain was too immense. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs, and then, everything went mercifully black.

Three days later, I was tossed out of a moving van onto the cold driveway of the Sawyer mansion.

Half of my face was wrapped in filthy, infected bandages. Blood and yellow pus seeped through the gauze.

I dragged my battered, dying body up the steps and pushed open the front door.

Alexander was standing in the foyer.

He was holding a cup of coffee, looking effortlessly flawless in his tailored suit.

He turned at the sound of the door.

He stared at my ruined, grotesque face.

And then, he took a half-step back.

Just half a step.

But that tiny, subconscious movement was a sledgehammer smashing the final, fragile piece of my heart into dust.

"Chloe..." he stammered.

His voice trembled. Not with pity. With overwhelming revulsion.

He had fallen in love with my beauty. Now, looking at me made his stomach turn.

"I'll... I'll hire the best plastic surgeons in the world," he lied, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. "I promised to take care of you, and I will. For the rest of your life."

He said the words, but his hands stayed firmly glued to his sides.

He couldn't even bring himself to step forward and touch me.

I looked at the man I had loved with my entire soul. The man who handed me over to monsters to protect a liar.

I let out a broken, raspy chuckle.

I pushed past him without a single word.

I just wanted to lie down. I wanted to wait for the bone cancer to finally take me.

I pushed open the door to my bedroom.

Vivian was sprawled across my mattress, scrolling through her phone.

She was wearing my favorite silk pajamas. The ones Alexander bought me for our anniversary.

She looked up. Her eyes widened in mock horror.

Then, she burst into a fit of hysterical, malicious laughter. "Oh my god, Chloe! You look absolutely horrific! Even a ghost would run away from you! No wonder Alexander looked sick to his stomach. He’s going to have nightmares!"

A sudden, violent spasm wracked my chest.

The cancer was gnawing at my spine, triggered by the massive infection in my face.

I hunched over, coughing so hard my ribs felt like they were splintering into pieces.

Thick, black blood erupted from my lips, splashing onto the expensive hardwood floor.

Vivian dramatically rolled her eyes and pinched her nose.

"Ugh, really? Still playing the victim?" she scoffed, utterly disgusted. "You're always so dramatic, Chloe. Stop faking it and clean that up. It's gross."

Days blurred together in an agonizing haze of fever, bone-crushing pain, and silent despair.

Then came the day of the surgery. The day they would extract my marrow to "save" Vivian.

Alexander and my parents drove me to an abandoned, decaying industrial park on the dark outskirts of the city.

The underground black clinic was hidden behind a heavy, rusting iron door.

It smelled of cheap bleach, mold, and old blood.

My parents didn't notice the stench of death. They were practically vibrating with joyous anticipation.

"I booked the Michelin five-star restaurant downtown," my mother whispered excitedly to my father, ignoring me completely.

"We'll order the wagyu! We have to celebrate Vivian's absolute rebirth tonight!" my father agreed, his eyes shining with tears of happiness.

Alexander stood a few feet away. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the rusted wall. He still refused to look at my face.

"Go in, Chloe," Alexander commanded, "The doctor is waiting. Don't waste any more of our time."

I slowly walked toward the heavy iron door.

My trembling, scarred hand hovered over the freezing metal handle.

I stopped.

I slowly turned around.

I looked at my mother, eagerly adjusting her designer coat.

I looked at my father, beaming with pride for his youngest, precious daughter.

I looked at Alexander, my husband, impatiently tapping his perfectly polished shoe.

I took a shallow, painful breath.

"If I walk in there..." I said, my voice a cracked, hollow whisper.

The three of them paused, finally looking at me.

"And I never come out," I asked softly, staring into Alexander's empty eyes. "Will you miss me?"