CLEO

AGE 18

God.

I thought I already knew how it felt. To have my heart torn from the chest. When I let Dax go, the remnants of our love—memories of every look, every touch, and every word we shared—became jagged and destructive. At my lowest, I'm ashamed to admit that I may have used a blade on myself to ease the pain. My hand lingers over my belly. A stab of anguish hits low and deep, reminding me that I'm not living for two anymore. I'm alone again. Barren. Our baby is gone.

Forever.

This is nothing like losing Dax. There's no comparison. I may be miserable, but I'm still alive, crawling through the wreckage. Breathing. Barely. But breathing. The child we lost will never have the privilege to draw breath again. It guts me. I once told Dax that glass becomes deadly when it shatters. Foolishly, I believed our love was strong enough make our demons bleed. I don't know if this holds true anymore. Sometimes glass simply shatters and stays broken. No amount of tears or prayers can bring our little one back, and the helplessness that comes with this reality is pure agony. It doesn't hurt like a tragic love story. Or knives carving into flesh. It's more of a void. Infinitely dark. Endlessly sad. Hell on a whole other level. Never have I felt so empty.

I can't breathe.

I can't think.

I can only feel loss.

Like darkness overpowering the light, grief consumes the love in me. This well of emotion has nowhere to go. Dax doesn't want it, and our baby's no longer here to feel it. Trav reaches for me again, giving my hand a squeeze. His touch makes me want to recoil. Fuck him. I don't want to share a second of this moment with him. If he hadn't starved me, my body would've been strong enough to protect the fragile life growing inside me.

My jaw tightens.

I hate him.

Disgust rises like a vengeful wave.

I hate him so much.

I reign it in, knowing I can't act on these violent thoughts. Not yet. I need to behave in front of the doctor. She hasn't left the room, and I don't trust her. Trav has his team of lawyers vet every individual who comes in contact with us and binds them to him with iron-clad NDAs, generous payouts, and blackmail, if necessary. I suspect this doctor is no different, which means she'll have his back and not mine when push comes to shove.

Right on cue, Trav informs me, eyes brimming with emotion, "This is Dr. Powell, Cleo. I'll be forever grateful to her. She wasn't able to save our baby, but, at least, she saved your life. I don't know what I'd do if I lost both of you today."

Dr. Powell echoes his sentiment with just the right amount of professionalism and compassion, "I only wish that I could've done more for your family. I'm so sorry for your loss."

My eyes dance between Trav and Dr. Powell, and this twisted urge to laugh arises. I feel like I'm watching actors in a play. I focus on Dr. Powell, studying her for a moment. Woman to woman. She's neither old nor young. Maybe somewhere in her forties? She has kind features, but looks can be deceiving. Behind a pair of trendy Tom Ford glasses, her brown-eyed gaze hones in on me, too. Concern creases her brow when she sees the strained look on my face.

Gently, Dr. Powell asks, "Are you still experiencing discomfort, Cleo? I already have you on codeine and paracetamol, but I can prescribe something else to help with pain management."

I'm on painkillers?

That's when the numbness in my right leg becomes more noticeable. And the right side of my ribs.

Why can't I feel anything down there?

Confused, I demand, "Why did you put me on so many meds?"

Trav supplies helpfully, "Because of your fall."

I blink several times. "I... fell?"

Oh, right.

I remember fainting in the bathroom.

Dr. Powell nods. "You have a displaced fracture in your right leg and two broken ribs. Local anesthesia was applied during your surgery to realign the bones."

The fuck?

It's not like I was thrown out of a second-story window.

How did I break my bones from fainting in the bathroom?

Unless Trav did something while I was unconscious.

My pulse hammers with suspicion and dread. I struggle to stay calm. "I'm sorry. My memory seems to be a bit fuzzy. Can you remind me? How... did I fall?"

The doctor glances at Trav even while answering my question, "Your fiancé told me that there was an accident. You tripped down a flight of stairs."

I tilt my head toward Trav. Our eyes meet. His face is a picture of innocence, but I can see past the facade.

Tripped?

More like—shoved.

"Did the fall contribute to the," my breath shorts before I can say the godawful word aloud, "miscarriage?"

"I believe so."

Fighting my rage, I stay silent.

She murmurs, "I know this must be a lot to take in. It breaks my heart to be the bearer of bad news."

Again, I say nothing. The doctor has no idea how insidious Trav can be. Or maybe he already paid her to look the other way.

Either way, fuck her, too.

She offers to give us a moment of privacy to process our grief. Dr. Powell closes the door behind her as she exits the room. The moment that we're alone, Trav's loving, doting demeanor shifts. Mine does, too. There's no need for us to lie or beat around the bush. Trav probably found me on the floor of the bathroom and saw the pregnancy test. He knows I cheated on him. Just like I know he punished me for it.

My glare pierces him. "Did you do it?"

Trav shrugs, giving me nothing with his dead-eyed expression. But the malice in his voice tells me everything he left unsaid. "Don't blame me for cleaning up your mess. I did what was necessary. You know you fucked up first."

Maybe he did push me down some stairs. Or maybe Trav kicked in my ribs and stomped my leg while I was unconscious. I don't know how he broke my bones. It doesn't matter. What matters is finding a way to survive his wrath. I'm well versed in how he ticks. If I let him release his anger on me in smaller, frequent doses, it's less likely that he'll murder me in a fit of pent-up rage.

I mask my nerves behind a smirk and taunt, "But you can't get it up. Did you expect me to never have sex again?"

"I'm going to find him," Trav drawls, "and castrate him."

Immediately, I muddy the targets to protect Dax, "What makes you think I only fucked one guy? I'm a dirty little whore, remember? One dick will never be enough to satisfy me."

Rage flashes over his face. He raises his hand to strike me.

"Careful," I warn softly. "We're in a hospital. Not our apartment. Someone might see you."

"Fine," Trav agrees. "But you and me are only getting started here. Just you wait. I'll show you what happens when you break my trust. Once I find these fuckers, I'll make you watch while I break them in. Piece by piece. Bone after bone. Their screams will be the only thing you hear when I kill you, too."

Trav's hand lowers to his side, but the way he holds my gaze is chilling. Fear grips me when I realize that I've likely pushed him too far. His ego will never get over my betrayal. Trav didn't hesitate to end the tiny heartbeat inside me, and broken bones are child's play. This is just the beginning of his rampage. He's going to find Dax. I can't let that happen. Then, he'll get rid of me, too.

"You can't kill me yet," I remind him.

"Watch me."

Survival instincts kick in. I don't know if I'm thinking clearly anymore. Emotions are running too high, and my adrenaline is racing. I keep rambling to buy more time, "I'm eighteen now, we're not married yet, so I still have full control over my Syncore shares."

He grins. "You're such a simple-minded, little rich girl. Truly naive. It's almost laughable."

"What are you talking about?"

"Did you think your shares are that important? They're not."

"Fuck you."

I hate that he's kind of right. My mom and dad currently control 51% of Syncore. Brookes owns 10%. I just inherited my 10%. According to my parents' will, we don't become majority shareholders unless both of them kick the bucket.

"Your dad's already starting to crack under the pressure my dad's putting on him. I'm confident that he'll give in to our demands. A new merger will be in the works soon enough. This is his last chance to make things right, though. If he disappoints again, we'll make him disappear. Along with your mom. Then, you and Brookes will inherit Syncore, and you'll already be my wife. I'll own you and Syncore."

He's willing to kill my parents.

Lovely.

"So you're keeping me around as a backup plan?"

"Partly," he admits. "Mostly, though, I just like watching you suffer."

"I won't let you win!"

"Don't you worry. I'll find a way to drain everything from your family."

"Over my dead body."

I mean it.

If I can escape before Trav forces me to marry him, it'll make his end game that much more difficult. I need to disappear. Now. The odds aren't in my favor, but something about this moment feels critical. It's do or die, kill or be killed, and I'd rather go down fighting. Even if I fail, I'm ready to meet my end. It won't be so bad.

Our baby will be waiting for me.

Both hands twitch as though searching for something sharp and deadly. I search the room with wild eyes. There's nothing sharp and deadly within reach. The tubes in my arm catch my eye. Except the IV. A plan forms in my mind. Control slips away. Impulse finally takes over.

Without hesitation, I yank the needle from my veins. I start bleeding, and it fucking stings, but I don't care. It's the only thing that I can turn into a weapon right now. Narrowing my eyes, I imagine how it'll look rammed into the side of Trav's neck.

How many times will I have to stab him before he dies?

As though reading my mind, he growls a warning, "Don't even think about it, you crazy bitch."

I laugh in his face like Harley fucking Quinn. When Trav sees the unholy gleam in my eyes, he scrambles away. I swing my arm as hard as I can in his direction. I want to end him. He ripped away everyone I ever loved. But his swift movements throw off my aim. The silver of metal skewers his eye instead. He screams with pain. Blood gushes from his wound. Lunging forward from my hospital bed, I try to stab him again.

Trav hits the emergency button on my bed. Within seconds, a team of nurses rushes in.

"Stop, please, listen to me!" I beg them hoarsely. "I didn't fall down the stairs, I think Trav p—"

Pushed me.

I don't get to finish, and they weren't listening, anyway. Nor do they stop. They restrain me and reattach my IV. I struggle like a feral beast. Scratching, biting, shrieking. But there's too many of them and only one of me. I feel cold liquid course through my veins. What are they pumping into me? I start to feel drowsy and sluggish as hell. Am I being sedated?

Fuck.

Soon, my eyelids feel too heavy to keep open, and darkness becomes the only color I can see.

***

When I wake up again, I sit up with a violent jolt. I don't know how much time has passed. It feels like I've been out for days. Pain pulses through me. The meds must be wearing off. Thank God. Wincing, I observe my surroundings, feeling strangely hung over. I keep blinking and staring like some kind of soulless doll.

The walls are gray. Fluorescent lights keep flickering. It appears I'm no longer in the same hospital room. There's still a patient's gown on my body, though. No windows. Just a heavy metal door. There's something very familiar about this place. Suddenly, I know exactly where I am, and I can't bear the thought of being trapped here once more. My heart starts hammering in protest.

No!

No!

No!

To my right, a cheery voice pipes up, "You're awake."

Still blinking and slightly dazed, I look over. "What?"

My face pales when I spot Dr. Liu standing in the corner of the room with a clipboard. He smiles a clinical smile. "Welcome back to Ashwood, Ms. Fitzgerald."