Chapter Five

After that day, Gordon never came back to the hospital.

My heart stayed still.

When I was discharged, I walked out alone.

The sky was a smeared gray, like a dirty rag. I stood at the hospital entrance for a long time, but there wasn’t a single empty taxi. It didn’t matter. This was my deadline. I had to go back to the estate and finish the last step.

Time was tight. I turned down a narrow side street.

At the corner, I caught a glimpse of two vague figures ahead. A sense of foreboding slammed into me. Instinctively, I turned to retreat.

Too late.

Something hard struck the back of my head. The world went black.

Cold water splashed my face, and I jolted awake.

I opened my eyes to find my wrists tied behind my back. I was thrown in a musty corner of a dim living room. Not far away, Paula was bound as well, hair disheveled—but there was no trace of panic on her face.

Footsteps approached from outside, heavy and hurried.

“Gordon!”

Paula’s voice changed in an instant, going high and tremulous.

“Let them go.”

Gordon’s voice was as cold as ice. His gaze fixed on the man behind us—Phil, the politician he’d nearly beaten to death at the auction.

“I’ll pay you.”

“Hoffmann, you think money fixes everything?” Phil’s face was still mottled with fading bruises. His eyes were venomous. He slapped the gun in his palm. “I was in the hospital for a week because of you.”

He swung the gun toward us. “You only get to take one of them. The other one stays here—my boys can have some fun with her. Or…”

He smiled, cruel and bright. “They both die.”

Gordon’s jaw tightened. His words came out between his teeth. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Try me.” Phil laughed. His two men raised their guns, aiming at my forehead and Paula’s. “Let’s see what’s faster—your men storming in, or my bullets.”

Silence fell.

Gordon’s gaze darted between us. Paula’s tear-streaked face gleamed in the half-light.

“Paula,” he said without thinking.

“I choose Paula.”

The next second, a boot drove into my side and kicked me down into the basement.

After that, I lost track of time.

Beatings. Insults. Cold tools. My consciousness swung between agony and oblivion.

They were careful to avoid vital spots. They wanted the suffering to last. A heavy strike to my left knee was accompanied by a sickening crack. After that, I couldn’t feel the leg at all.

When the basement door finally opened again, the light stabbed my eyes.

They dragged me out and tossed me at the gate. A black car waited there.

Ignatius was behind the wheel.

“Miss Sterling, I’ve come to take you home,” he said, his old voice as steady as ever.

The ride was silent.

I watched the desolate landscape whip past the window. “Where is he?” I asked, voice barely audible.

Ignatius hesitated before answering, “He’s with Mrs. Paula. She was frightened that day, and got hit by cold water. She ran a high fever when she got back.”

I pulled one corner of my mouth up and said nothing.

We approached the hospital’s turnoff, and I spoke again. “Go straight to the estate.”

The old butler glanced at me in the mirror. “You could rest a few days—”

“No.” My voice was raw.

“No more waiting.”

The car rolled through the familiar iron gate. I dragged my ruined leg out of the backseat, just in time to see Gordon about to leave.

He stopped short when he saw me. A complicated expression flickered across his face.

“You’re back?”

I looked at him without expression, as if I were looking at a stranger.

He seemed to search my face for something, and failed. He sighed, speaking in a tone like charity. “Get some rest. Paula’s… still blaming herself for what happened. I’ll check on you later.”

Without waiting for a reply, he got into the car and drove off.

I watched the taillights disappear beyond the gates and whispered to the empty air,

“I won’t wait for you anymore.”

The punishment room was as cold as ever.

My back was a map of twisted scars, old and new, almost covering the original three brands.

Ignatius’s hand was steady. He picked up a special tool and found the strip of dead, branded skin—the Hoffmann crest that had grown into my flesh.

“Last step,” he announced tonelessly.

Then he ripped.

A raw, animal sound tore from my throat. The pain was indescribable, as if someone had torn a chunk of my soul out with their bare hands. My vision went black, my body convulsed violently, and I nearly passed out.

I forced my teeth together and refused to fall.

Blood poured down my spine, dripping onto the cold floor.

Ignatius tossed the strip of flesh into the brazier by his side.

Then he handed me a packet of documents and a new ID.

“Alani Sterling, this is your certificate of expulsion. From this moment on, you have no ties to the Hoffmann family.”

My hands shook as I took the blood-smeared papers. Then I dragged my lame leg toward the door, one staggering step at a time, and crossed out of the place that had imprisoned five years of my youth and delusion.

Outside, it was already dark. I hailed a cab.

The driver stared at me in the rearview mirror—at the blood, at the wreck—and faltered, “Where to, miss?”

Leaning my head against the cold window, I stared at a city that was both familiar and strange, glittering and utterly devoid of warmth.

I closed my eyes and spoke three clear words:

“To the airport.”