Chapter 8

Pain tore through me with such force that I screamed behind the tape covering my mouth. The second strike landed before I could recover, sending a burning sensation through my body as though something scorching had been dragged across my skin. My vision blurred, and I could no longer tell whether I was struggling to breathe or simply breathing too quickly to think.

The third blow made me clamp my teeth together until I tasted blood. My entire body curled instinctively, trembling as the pain seemed to settle into every bone.

Then another came.

And another.

Vincent didn't stop.

By the time he reached ninety-nine, I had stopped resisting. Blood covered my back, my body barely responding except for the occasional involuntary tremor. My thoughts had begun drifting away from what was happening, retreating somewhere distant where I didn't have to feel any of it.

And in that strange, detached state, I remembered something Vincent had once promised me.

He had sworn Sabrina would pay for what she'd done. He'd told me exactly how he intended to punish her, promising that he would have her restrained and make her suffer for taking my hand.

He had sounded so certain.

So why was I the one tied up now?

Why was I the one bleeding beneath his hands?

“Sabrina,” Vincent asked through the haze, his voice frighteningly calm, “how many men did she use to torment you?”

“Ten,” Sabrina answered faintly.

“Then ten isn't enough.”

My stomach sank.

“Find a hundred men,” he ordered. “The worse they are, the better. And make sure she has something to loosen her up.”

He came toward me and struck my chin with his foot.

“You thought you could hurt my wife and get away with it?” His voice was filled with fury. “I'll make sure you regret ever laying a hand on her.”

The impact knocked my mask loose.

“Vincent…”

I barely managed to force his name past my ruined throat.

For one desperate second, I wondered if he would recognize me.

If you knew it was me, would you be sorry?

But the words never came properly. They dissolved into broken sobs and strangled sounds.

Vincent didn't even turn around.

He was already taking Sabrina's hand.

“Don't look at her,” he told her gently. “There's nothing worth seeing. I'll stay with you for the next few days, all right?”

Their voices disappeared as they walked away, and the door closed behind them.

I was left alone.

Then someone returned and loosened my restraints just enough to force something into my mouth.

I tried to spit it out, but I had no strength left.

Within moments, heat rushed through my body. My skin seemed to burn from the inside, my chest tightening as panic rose through me.

Then the men arrived.

One after another, they crowded into the room, their clothes dirty and their bodies reeking of alcohol and sweat. Their eyes moved over me with a cruelty that made me feel less like a person than an object.

Hands grabbed at me.

I recoiled, fighting with whatever strength remained.

Then the drug took hold more violently, twisting the pain and heat together until I couldn't understand what my own body was doing. I felt sick, terrified, and utterly trapped.

Tears streamed down my face.

What have they done to me?

My hand found something beside me.

A vase.

I seized it and smashed it against the floor. Before anyone could stop me, I grabbed a sharp fragment and drove it into my thigh.

The pain was immediate and clean.

It cut through the haze enough for me to think again.

I looked around.

There were too many men between me and the door.

But behind me was a window.

I didn't give myself time to reconsider.

I ran.

Someone shouted as I climbed through the opening, and then I jumped.

For one terrifying second, I thought I'd made a fatal mistake.

Instead, I crashed onto the grass below.

Pain shot through me, but I was alive.

I pushed myself upright and ran.

The club's rear entrance was open, and I stumbled through it without stopping. Blood soaked through my clothes, every step sending another wave of pain through my body, but I refused to slow down.

I didn't look back.

My phone vibrated repeatedly in my pocket.

When I finally dared to check it, Vincent's message was waiting.

[Amara, this project is taking longer than I expected. I may be gone for several more days. Be good and wait for me at home. Love you.]

I stared at the screen.

Then a laugh escaped me.

It sounded nothing like happiness. It was hollow, exhausted, almost foreign to my own ears.

Another notification appeared beneath it.

[Your identity cancellation has been completed. All records associated with this identity are now invalid.]

I read it twice.

Then, for the first time that night, I smiled.

It was done.

I was no longer Amara Sinclair.

The woman Vincent Ravelli thought he knew no longer existed.

When I returned to the villa, I packed as quickly as I could. Vincent had taken most of my important documents years ago, but that no longer mattered. Those records had belonged to someone who was already gone.

I only gathered what I truly needed.

Before leaving, I removed the ring from my finger.

There was still a faint trace of my blood on it.

I placed it carefully on the desk where Vincent couldn't possibly miss it.

Once, I'd imagined taking revenge myself. I had imagined confronting him and making him understand exactly what he'd done.

But I didn't need to anymore.

That ring would tell him enough.

He would see it, understand that I had been there, and eventually realize that the woman he'd beaten and abandoned had been me all along.

Perhaps the truth would hurt him more than anything I could have done.

I walked out of the villa that night.

The sky had turned a deep shade of blue, and the stars were barely visible through the glow of the city. Still, they were there, scattered across the darkness.

Stars always found a way to shine eventually.

I held tightly to that thought as I boarded the plane.

The ticket carried my new name.

There was no return flight.

As the aircraft rose above the city, I leaned back against my seat and closed my eyes.

For the first time in years, I didn't know what tomorrow would look like.

And strangely, that uncertainty didn't frighten me.

It felt like freedom.

“Goodbye, Vincent,” I whispered, knowing he couldn't hear me.

I only hoped that whatever life waited ahead, our paths would never cross again.