Valeria’s hands trembled only slightly as she stared at Anna’s photo again.Bruised. Tied. Terrified.But alive.They wouldn’t kill her. Not yet.Valeria inhaled deeply, then slipped on her sunglasses, tightened her trench coat, and strode out of the penthouse with the quiet resolve of a woman who had already made her decision.This wasn’t about revenge anymore.This was about truth—and leverage.She slid into her black coupe and pulled out of the estate gates, fingers flying across her phone screen at every red light. If Amirah was truly pregnant, there’d be records. Private hospitals. Security footage. Medical staff slipping up somewhere.And there it was.“Princess of Saudi Arabia spotted at Parkcrest Hospital. Exclusive checkup with Doctor Chen.”The article was two weeks old. A PR stunt, clearly—Amirah smiling, lips red, stomach suspiciously flat, posing beside an elderly man in a crisp white coat.Doctor Chen.Parkcrest was fifteen minutes away.She gunned the engine.—By the

The evening sky was bruised with gray, clouds thick as velvet and heavy with rain. Water lashed against the windshield of Valeria’s parked car, each droplet sounding like a ticking clock—reminding her time was slipping.She sat in the shadows just outside the hospital gates, her fingers curled around a small paper cup of ice cream. Vanilla. Her favorite. A poor attempt at comfort. The cold sweetness melted slowly on her tongue as her eyes remained fixed on the glass doors of Parkcrest Hospital.She had been waiting there for over an hour.No one would suspect her car in this spot. She’d taken the liberty of switching plates and keeping her hood low. After all, what she was doing wasn’t just dangerous—it was suicidal. Especially if Elijah ever found out.But she had to know.She had to know who Amirah really was… and why Doctor Chen had lied.Suddenly, movement caught her eye.Her pulse spiked.A figure in a dark trench coat stepped through the sliding doors, an umbrella popping ope

The gas hissed sharply, filling the kitchen with a low, angry growl. It sounded almost alive. Valeria was sweating—her hospital gown replaced with a thin blouse sticking to her back. Her hand trembled as she tried to turn the knob off. Her eyes burned, not just from the heat but from the sharp sting of the onions on the counter. Tears blurred her vision, blurring the blade in her hand as she struggled to chop. The pain in her leg shot upward again—worse now. Her entire body screamed in protest, but she bit her lip and kept going. She had to finish this. She had no choice. She tried lifting the old silver kettle. Her hand barely wrapped around the handle. Her arms were too weak. The water tipped too far—hot, scalding. It splashed down her arm. She screamed. The metal clanged on the counter, bouncing once before landing sideways. Her scream echoed through the marble walls. But no footsteps came. No running. No door slamming open. Just his voice, flat and annoyed from the loun

The bathroom door slammed shut with a metallic clack as Amirah twisted the lock tight. She staggered toward the counter, yanking her designer bag open, breath shallow, heart drumming in her chest like war. "Come on, come on..." she muttered, rummaging through the bag like a madwoman. Her fingers brushed against something cold and sharp—a capped syringe. Then a small bottle of translucent liquid. Her hand trembled as she drew the substance into the syringe, lifting her chin toward the mirror. She didn’t hesitate. Pierce. She injected the liquid into the side of her cheek—right where the scar had twitched, where the skin had started to shift again. A quiet gasp escaped her lips as the sting burned through her nerves. Her legs wobbled slightly, and she grabbed the hand basin for support. Still panting, she leaned over the sink, staring into the mirror. The scar was fading again. Temporarily hidden beneath the serum. But she knew it was only a matter of hours before it return

Instead, he pulled something from his pocket—discharge documents, folded neatly. He set them on the table beside her bed. “I’ve settled everything,” he said. “The bills. The paperwork. Once the doctor clears you, you’re going home.” She stared at the wall, trying not to let him see the way her eyes burned. Elijah paused at the door. “For your own sake, Valeria… stop chasing ghosts.” Then he left. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Valeria with the hum of machines—and the cold realization that while Elijah’s mouth said one thing… The hallway outside Valeria’s room was long and quiet, lined with lights and the soft buzz of machines echoing behind closed doors. Elijah walked , every step echoing against the tiles, the hem of his coat brushing against his legs. His jaw was set, his eyes forward, but something tight lingered in the way his hand curled into a fist. His phone buzzed. Sienna. He answered without slowing down. “Talk to me.” Sienna’s voice came