The company holding my life insurance policy. And, according to the letter my mother left me before she died, my biological father.
He knelt beside me, his expression breaking when he saw my face. “Elena?” he said.
I tried to answer, but only blood came out. His gloved hand covered mine over my belly. “You are not dying here.”
At the hospital, they cut my clothes from my frozen body. My cheek was torn. My wrist broken. My ribs cracked.
My son’s heartbeat flickered on the monitor like a candle refusing to go out.
Adrian stood beside my bed while I drifted between pain and darkness.
“Victor filed the claim already,” he said quietly. “He says you slipped. He says both you and the baby froze to de//ath.”
My mouth was too dry to speak. Adrian leaned closer. “He also requested fast settlement approval.”
That made my eyes open.
Victor thought I was dea/d. Victor thought my baby was dea//d. Victor thought grief had a signature and fifty million dollars had no memory.
I touched my scarred cheek. Then I smiled….
“He requested that the final, fifty-million-dollar settlement check be hand-delivered to him at the memorial service,” Adrian sneered, his hands balling into fists.
“He wants the payout quickly before any thorough investigation can be launched. He genuinely thinks he’s untouchable.”
I didn’t cry.
The fear that had once chained me to Victor, the constant anxiety of pleasing an abusive narcissist, was entirely eradicated.
