Chapter 4

“I don’t care whether it’s our anniversary, a meeting, or anything else,” Vincent said, his voice softening. “When you’re like this, you come first. Come outside with me. We’ll get some air and clear your head.”

“Really?” Sabrina sounded delighted. “You’re actually letting me leave? I’m not dreaming, am I?”

Vincent gave a quiet, almost amused laugh. “When have I ever lied to you? Go get ready. We’re leaving.”

Soon, the familiar roar of helicopter blades filled the air, carrying Sabrina away once again.

Four years earlier, when I had lost my right hand and the pain was so severe that I could barely breathe, Vincent had stayed beside me without leaving. He barely slept or ate, as though he believed that letting go of me for even a moment would cause me to fall apart.

One night, he carried me from my bed straight onto a helicopter. I was weak enough that I could barely hold myself up, so I clung to him while he held me tightly.

When we were high above the city, he turned my face toward the window.

“Look down,” he murmured. “All those buildings seem enormous from the ground, but from here, they’re tiny. That’s how your problems are, too. They may seem impossible when you’re facing them, but none of them are bigger than you.”

He pressed his forehead to mine.

“You don’t have to face anything alone, Amara. You have me. Whatever happens, I’ll get you through it.”

Back then, I had believed him.

Now I knew the nightmare I had spent years recovering from had started because of him.

The sound of helicopter blades brought me back to the present. I looked up, and my heart tightened when another helicopter descended onto the neighboring property.

Another mansion stood there, almost identical to mine.

The ring in my hand vibrated, and Vincent's voice came through.

“Sabrina, you couldn't leave the villa before, but that changes now. This house is yours. Consider it your anniversary present.”

I couldn't breathe.

“I’ll stay here with you tonight,” he added.

Sabrina laughed happily, as though he had just given her the world.

At the same time, my phone lit up.

[Amara, I have to meet a client about a project, so I won’t be home until tomorrow night. Don’t wait for me. Go enjoy yourself. If you need anything, call your husband. Love you.]

My fingers tightened around the phone as a tear blurred the word husband.

Vincent could build the same life twice. He could give two women beautiful homes, extravagant gifts, and promises that sounded like devotion.

But he could belong to only one woman.

And it wasn't me.

He was with his real wife just beyond the wall, while I felt like some secret he was ashamed to reveal.

This time, I didn't cry.

There was no reason to.

I turned away from the mansion and went home.

Instead of dwelling on what I had seen, I returned to work. I arranged my surgical instruments and forced my stiff hands to concentrate. I had only passed the preliminary stage of the competition. If I wanted to advance, I had to become better—faster, more accurate, and more confident.

Strangely, the pain seemed to sharpen my mind. Decisions came faster than before, and the hesitation that had once plagued me disappeared.

When I finished my first procedure plan, I leaned back and studied it.

My fingers accidentally brushed the ring resting on the metal tray.

A faint click sounded.

Sabrina's voice came through.

“I know one day with you isn't enough,” she said quietly. “After tonight, I have to go back into hiding, don't I?”

I froze.

“I understand that I can't let Miss Sinclair see me, and I know I have no right to ask for more. But sometimes I wish I could be like her. I want to stand beside you openly instead of hiding away. Just once, I want to be your wife where everyone can see me.”

Silence.

My throat tightened, and my injured hand began to tremble.

The memory of the axe returned with brutal clarity. The pain, the blood, the moment my future disappeared.

Vincent knew what Sabrina had done.

That was why he kept her hidden.

He knew seeing her would destroy me again.

He wouldn't allow that.

Wouldn't he?

After a long pause, Vincent finally answered.

“Fine.”

One word.

That was all it took to shatter what remained of me.

I pressed a hand against my chest, struggling to breathe.

The next day, Vincent returned as though nothing had happened.

He came home with gifts, looking every bit like the devoted husband he pretended to be. He brought me a blue necklace that shimmered like the ocean and a custom-made gown covered in diamonds.

“Amara,” he said warmly, “it’s our seventh anniversary. I want everyone to see how happy we are.”

Happy.

I said nothing.

I changed into the dress, let him fasten the necklace around my neck, and allowed him to take my hand as we left for the celebration.

The banquet was held at one of his hotels, naturally. The ballroom was filled with celebrities, business elites, powerful underworld figures, and people whose wealth and influence made them almost untouchable.

Everything looked perfect.

But something felt wrong.

Every waiter wore the same uniform and a mask.

Vincent glanced at the staff before turning toward me.

“Tonight belongs to you,” he said. “No one is taking your attention away. The masks simply keep the staff where they belong—in the background.”

My stomach tightened.

Somehow, I already suspected why.

Guests immediately surrounded us with compliments.

“Mr. Ravelli is still completely devoted to his wife.”

“Mrs. Ravelli is incredibly lucky.”

“I heard he gave her a five-billion-dollar mansion for their anniversary.”

“Every year his gifts become more extravagant. So does his love.”

The word love made me feel sick.

Then a sharp ripping sound broke through the ballroom.

One of the waitresses had fallen, her uniform torn along her thigh. She scrambled upright, visibly terrified.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

No one moved.

Everyone knew Vincent didn't tolerate mistakes.

His expression turned cold.

“Come with me.”

Then he looked at me, and his voice softened instantly.

“Amara, rules exist for a reason. Sometimes people need to learn the consequences of breaking them. I’ll deal with her and come right back.”

I nodded.

Vincent grabbed the waitress by the wrist and pulled her away.

Something about the scene bothered me.

Minutes later, I found myself following them upstairs.

I didn't know why.

Perhaps some part of me already understood what I was about to discover.

The conference room door stood slightly open. I pushed it inward just enough to see through the gap.

And everything inside me shattered.

The waitress was sitting on the table with her arms around Vincent, her legs wrapped around his waist.

Her mask was gone.

I knew that face.

Of course I did.

It was Sabrina.