SCARLETT’S POV
They held me for four hours.
Long enough to smear my name across every outlet from Milan to Monte Carlo. “Heiress turned hitwoman,” one anchor dared to say. I’d laughed when I saw the headline–mostly because I’d been wearing six–inch Louboutins and carrying a Swarovski clutch when the bullets flew. If I was going to kill my sister, I wouldn’t have done it at a charity gala in front of sixty cameras. I have taste. And a reputation to protect.
They released me without charges, of course. No weapon. No motive, except being the sister Alina couldn’t stop obsessing over.
And Zacharias?
He walked into the police station, hand in his pocket like he owned the precinct. Which, knowing him, he might’ve.
He kissed me on the temple in front of every reporter, wrapped an arm around my waist, and told the world:
“She’s my wife. And I stand by her.”
God, it was almost worth getting framed just to watch Alina’s name shrivel in
the headlines.
But I wasn’t done.
Because something about that night–about the angle of the shot, the timing, the way Alina clutched her arm like an actress in a soap opera–itched at me.
So I started digging.
By morning, I was at the hospital, wearing a white doctor’s coat over black silk. The badge said Dr. Antonella Russo. The bribe said twenty thousand euros wired to a nurse named Marcia who liked cigars and hated Alina’s tantrums.
“Room 304,” she whispered. “And don’t get caught. The cameras on this floor work, even if the staff doesn’t.”
I found Alina’s chart in a locked file drawer. The timestamps were wrong. Her admittance was logged before the emergency call was even placed.
Her wound was superficial. Purposefully clean. Like someone told the shooter exactly where to aim to make it look bad–but not feel bad.
Sloppy. /
Chapter 19
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12:28 Mon, 19 May GM.
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I snapped pictures of everything, slid the documents back, and made for the
service stairs.
That’s when I saw the black Maybach.
And Winston.
Leaning against the hood like the ghost of a fever dream I burned five years ago. Black suit, gold cufflinks, and that same damn scar I gave him when I
slashed his cheek in Berlin.
“Scarlett,” he drawled, stepping forward. “We need to talk.”
“No,” I said smoothly. “We don’t.”
He moved faster than I expected–grabbed my wrist, spun me into his arms,
and forced me toward the car.
I elbowed him once in the ribs–hard. He grunted but didn’t let go.
“You still fight like a queen,” he murmured, dragging me toward the passenger
door.
“Let go before I make you a headline.”
He shoved me inside.
The door slammed shut.
I could smell his cologne before I even looked up. Bergamot and obsession.
Winston slid into the driver’s seat beside me and locked the doors.
“Let’s talk here,” he said, voice low, coiled.
I didn’t flinch. Just crossed my legs, slow and deliberate.
“You’re getting bolder. Public hospital, broad daylight? What’s next, dragging me out of a courtroom? Don’t flatter yourself, Winston. Whatever this is–it’s -done.”
He leaned closer, eyes blazing.
“I watched you on the news. The way you stood there like a queen while the world turned against you, Holy moly, Scarlett, I forgot how much I loved the fire.”
“You didn’t love me,” I said coldly. “You loved owning me. There’s a difference.”
He grabbed the steering wheel like he wanted to crush it.
“You were mine before him.”
“No,” I said. “I was never yours. You borrowed me. Then broke me. Now I’m the one with the match.”
Chapter 30
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He stared at me.
And I stared right back.
Winston leaned back in the leather seat like we were on some date. Like we weren’t parked in the shadows of a hospital, and he hadn’t just dragged me inside his goddamn car like a predator with a tie.
I kept my posture relaxed. Legs crossed, fingers folded neatly in my lap. But my eyes? Cold. Sharpened.
“You’ve got Alina,” I said coolly, voice smooth as gin on ice. “Why disturb me?”
He laughed, low and bitter. “Alina? She was never more than a placeholder. A toy. You know that.”
I arched a brow. “Could’ve fooled me. You sure seemed happy parading her around like a prize at every gala you crashed. Or did your backup doll finally chip her porcelain?”
Winston’s jaw twitched. He didn’t like that.
“I realized too late,” he said, eyes pinning me in place. “It was always you. You were the one I wanted. Not her. Not any of them. You ruined me, Scarlett.”
I tilted my head, tone bored now. “No, darling. I just stopped letting you ruin me. There’s a difference.”
He leaned in, breath hot with madness. “You think you’re so untouchable now. Wearing his name. Playing queen. But you were obsessed with me once–don’t lie.”
I smiled faintly. “I was. Emphasis on ‘was.’ But you couldn’t handle it when I turned that obsession inward. You’re not angry J left. You’re humiliated that someone like me became someone else’s wife. That I love him now.”
He gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles bleached bone–white.
Then he said it.
“I already arranged one car accident. Sent your precious Zacharias into a coma once before. You think I won’t do it again?”
Silence.
My heartbeat paused. Not fear. Rage. Cold, white–hot rage crawling under my skin.
“You did what?” I whispered.
His grin was cruel. “Don’t look so surprised. You know what I’m capable of. I warned him to stay away from Alina thru call. He didn’t listen.”
Chapter 20
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12:29 Mon, 19 May GM.
I reached for the door. Calmly. Deliberately. Pressed the unlock button.
It didn’t work.
He lunged.
478%會
One hand at my throat. The other groping my waist like he had any right. “You’re mine,” he growled. “You were always-”
I headbutted him. Hard. Heard the crunch of cartilage. He roared in pain. I clawed at his face–nails dragging red down the side of his cheek, deep enough to scar.
He grabbed my wrist, yanked me forward–then slammed his fist into my stomach.
The pain ripped through me like fire. I doubled over, breath gone, vision blurring.
But I smiled through my teeth.
“Congratulations,” I hissed. “Now you’ve got blood on your suit.”
Because the second I could breathe again, I was going to kill him. Not quickly. Not mercifully.
But piece by filthy piece.
