---- Chapter 9 Anya Warner POV: | woke up in a bed so soft it felt like sleeping on a cloud. Sunlight streamed through a floor-to-ceiling window, revealing a breathtaking view of the ocean. For a moment, | was disoriented, the sterile white of the hospital room replaced by the warm, elegant decor of a beautifully appointed bedroom. A soft gasp came from the doorway. A woman, her face kind and lined with worry, stood there with a breakfast tray. "You're awake!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with relief. She set the tray down and hurried out. "She's awake! Master Warner, Madam, she's awake!" Seconds later, my father rushed into the room, followed by a woman with the same warm eyes and gentle smile | only recognized from the single faded photograph my father kept by his desk. My mother, Eleanor. She hadn't died. That, too, had been a lie, a story concocted to protect her from the same enemies who had come after me. She rushed to my bedside, her hand trembling as she cupped my cheek. Tears streamed down her face, falling onto my own "Oh, my sweet girl," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "We thought we'd lost you forever." My father stood beside her, his usual iron composure gone, ---- his face a mess of joy and relief. He looked older, more vulnerable than the titan of industry the world knew. The words came out before | could think, a question from a lost child. "Dad? Mom?" My mother's sob was a raw, beautiful sound. She squeezed my hand, her touch anchoring me to this new, unbelievable teality. My father leaned down and kissed my forehead, his voice thick. "We're here, Anya. We're finally here." | looked around the room, at the opulent furniture, the priceless art on the walls. | felt like an actress who had stumbled onto the wrong set. My throat was dry. | tried to speak, but only a croak came out. My father was instantly by my side with a glass of water, holding the straw to my lips with a steady hand. As the cool water soothed my throat, the memories came rushing back. The simulator. The betrayal. The Verratti estate. Marco' s leering face. Hamilton turning his back on me. | began to tremble, a violent, uncontrollable shaking. My mother immediately wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a hug that was fierce and protective. "Shhh, it's all over," she murmured into my hair. "You're safe. It's all in the past." "Those people," my father said, his voice turning to steel. "Everyone who hurt you, everyone who touched you, will pay. | promise you that." ---- Just then, Marcus, his head of security, appeared at the door. He gave a sharp nod. "Sir. The 'gift' has been delivered to the Glass wedding." My father's face was grim. "Good. | want him to understand. | want him to feel a fraction of what she felt. | want him to know that he threw away a universe for a handful of dust." My heart gave a painful lurch. "What day is it?" | whispered. My parents exchanged a look. It was my mother who answered, her voice gentle. "It's Saturday, honey. It's Hamilton's wedding day." | closed my eyes, but a single tear escaped and traced a hot path down my temple. He'd done it. While | was bruised and terrified, fighting for my life and the life of our baby, he was standing at an altar, pledging his life to another woman. He had chosen. | wasn't a pawn in his game. | was a distraction he had cleared from the board. | curled into a ball, the sobs | had held back finally breaking free. | cried for the seven years | had wasted, for the love | had poured into a bottomless pit, for the baby who would never know its father. My mother held me, stroking my back, murmuring soothing words. "Let it out, my love. And then, we forget him. He is no longer a part of your story." ---- The physical recovery was slow, but the emotional healing was harder. My parents surrounded me with love and security. They told me stories of my childhood, showed me pictures, filling in the twenty-year gap in my life. | learned to navigate this new world of wealth and power, taking lessons in etiquette, finance, and security. Most importantly, the doctors confirmed that my baby, my little warrior, was healthy and strong, completely unharmed by the ordeal. A tiny flicker of a heartbeat on an ultrasound screen became my new north star. Weeks turned into a month, then two. The bruises faded, the ribs healed, and a small, firm bump began to show on my stomach. | started to feel like myself again. More than myself. | was no longer a ghost. | was Anya Warner. The invitation to join The Apex Club had been waiting for me. It was time. Time to step out of the shadows for good. As | walked into the club's discreet headquarters, a high-tech facility hidden in plain sight in the heart of the city, | felt a familiar thrill. This was my world. Not the world of society parties and corporate mergers, but the world of code, logic, and pure, unadulterated talent. | was home.