---- Chapter 5 Anya Warner POV: The day | was discharged from the hospital, Hamilton was waiting for me. He insisted on driving me back to the house- his house, | corrected myself internally. The air in the car was thick with unspoken words. He tried to make small talk, but | answered in monosyllables, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery. To my surprise, he didn't drive towards home. Instead, he pulled into the exclusive 'Velocity Club,' a private track for high -performance racing. "Surprise," he said, turning to me with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He held up two VIP passes to the season's final race. "| know you were disappointed about having to pull out of the championship this year because of your... injury." He couldn't even say the word. The injury he and his mistress had orchestrated. The guilt was a thin veneer on his face. He was trying to buy my forgiveness with a front-row seat to watch my own dreams play out without me. | looked out at the track. And there she was. Kacey. Dressed in sleek racing gear, laughing with a pit crew, looking every bit the rising star. The media firestorm from the simulator incident had been expertly handled. Hamilton' s PR team had ---- spun a story of corporate sabotage by a rival company, painting Kacey as the innocent victim. In a twisted turn of events, the scandal had only made her more famous. "She looks happy," | said, my voice devoid of emotion. Hamilton flinched. "Anya, it's not what you think. Grant is insisting she be the new face of our performance division. It's just business." "It's always just business with you, isn't it?" | said, unbuckling my seatbelt. | got out of the car without another word and headed for the clubhouse. | needed to splash some water on my face, to wash away the cloying scent of his lies. | pushed open the door to the ladies' lounge and found Kacey standing there, as if she had been waiting for me. "Did you enjoy the show?" she asked, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness. She leaned against a marble vanity, inspecting her perfectly manicured nails. "Hamilton is so thoughtful, isn't he? Always trying to make up for his mistakes." "What do you want, Kacey?" She looked up, her eyes hard and cold. "| want you to know your place. You were a means to an end. A useful tool. But tools can be replaced." She smiled, a cruel, sharp thing. "He was never going to marry you, you know. Not really. A girl with a criminal record? Please. The Glass family would never allow it. He told me from the very first day he hired me that he was looking for a way out." ---- Every word was a perfectly aimed dart, striking at my deepest insecurities. "He pursued me," she continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He told me he was trapped, that you were emotionally fragile. He said he stayed with you out of pity." A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Pity? Is that what he calls it?" "Oh, don't worry," she purred, stepping closer. "Your little arrangement was fragile to begin with. All it took was a little push." Her phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then held it up for me to see. The caller ID was 'My Love,' with a picture of Hamilton. She answered, putting it on speaker. "Hey, baby, where'd you go?" Hamilton's voice, warm and intimate, filled the small room. "Is everything okay?" "Everything's perfect," Kacey cooed, her eyes locked on mine. "Just freshening up. I'll be right out." "Okay. Hurry back. | miss you." He hung up. | stood frozen, my blood turning to ice in my veins. Kacey smirked, her victory absolute. She brushed past me, her shoulder deliberately knocking into mine, sending a sharp pain through my bruised ribs. "Don't be late for the race," she whispered. "You won't want to miss my victory lap." | didn't go back to the stands. | walked out of the club, hailed a cab, and went back to the house. His house. For the last ---- time. Methodically, | packed the last of my things. My clothes, my books, the framed photo of us from the early days that | had once cherished. | wiped my personal data from the home network, leaving no digital trace of my existence. Just as | was zipping up the last bag, | heard the front door open. Hamilton was home early. "Anya?" he called out, his voice sharp with an emotion | couldn't place. It wasn't concern. It was anger. He stormed into the bedroom, his eyes blazing. He saw my bags and his face darkened, but that wasn't what his anger was about. "Where is she?" he snarled, grabbing my arm. "Where is Kacey?" | stared at him, confused. "What are you talking about?" "Don't play dumb with me!" he shouted, his grip tightening. "She's missing. She left the track after the race and no one can find her. Her car is gone. Her phone is off. This has your name written all over it. Is this your revenge? Because you couldn't stand to see her succeed? Because you're so twisted by what happened in your past that you can't stand to see anyone clean and successful?" The accusation hit me with the force of a physical blow. My past. The data breach. He had always sworn he believed me, but in this moment, the truth was laid bare. He had always ---- suspected me. He had always, in the deepest part of his soul, believed | was capable of the darkness they accused me of. He thought | was dirty. Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. All the love | had ever felt for him curdled into a toxic mix of regret and disgust. "You're pathetic," | whispered, the words trembling. His face contorted with rage. "You're the pathetic one. You couldn't keep your man, so you decided to kidnap his fiancée?" He let go of my arm and pulled out his phone. "I'm done with this." | heard him speaking to his head of security. "Take her. Grant was right. She needs to be taught a lesson. Take her to the Verratti estate. A little time in their dungeon will loosen her tongue." The Verrattis. Our biggest rivals. A ruthless crime family masquerading as legitimate business. He was going to throw me to the wolves. Two guards entered the room. | fought back, a wild, desperate animal. One of them backhanded me across the face. The world exploded in a flash of white light. As my vision cleared, | saw Hamilton turn away, his jaw clenched. He couldn't even watch. The monster he was, he still couldn't stomach the sight of his own cruelty. They dragged me out of the house and threw me into a car. An hour later, we were at the gates of the Verratti fortress. They handed me over like a piece of cargo. ---- | was shoved into a lavish, cold room. A few minutes later, the door opened. And there was Kacey, perfectly fine, sipping a glass of champagne. She was being released. Hamilton stood in the doorway. He rushed to her, wrapping her in his arms, his face etched with relief and concern. He never even looked at me. My heart didn't break. It simply ceased to exist. It was a hollow cavity in my chest. Then, a new figure appeared in the room. Marco Verratti, the heir, a man | had crossed in a business deal years ago. A cruel, sadistic man. "Well, well, well," he said, circling me like a shark. "Look what the cat dragged in. Anya Alexander. Or should | say, the Ghost. Did you really think you could play in our world and not pay the price? Hamilton may be done with you, but I'm just getting started." He reached for me, a leering smile on his face. "Don't touch her." The voice was cold, powerful, and utterly unexpected. It came from the doorway. Everyone turned. And my world tilted for the third time in a week. Standing there, flanked by men in dark suits with tell-tale bulges under their jackets, was a man | recognized from every ---- newspaper and television screen in the country. My father. Fred Warner. The reclusive billionaire. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored my own. He staggered forward, his powerful composure crumbling. He fell to one knee before me, his hand trembling as he reached out, afraid to touch me, as if | might break. "My little girl," he choked out, his voice thick with twenty years of grief and searching. "My baby girl. | finally found you."