A Healer's Second Chance At Life
My husband told me his true love, Francesca, was dying. As a master healer, I was the only one who could save her. For months, he drained my life force in daily rituals, leaving me a hollow shell of myself.
Then he demanded the ultimate sacrifice: a forbidden ceremony that would transfer my entire life force to her. It was a death sentence.
"It means Francesca lives," he said, his eyes empty of the love he once had for me.
He shattered the wooden bird he carved for our anniversary, forced me to sign divorce papers, and promised to remarry me after I died for his fantasy.
Finally, he tied me to an altar and set it on fire.
As I burned, my four-year-old daughter screamed the truth-that Francesca was faking her illness. But Kane pushed her away, choosing his lie over our lives. He watched me die.
But when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day he first told me Francesca was sick. This time, the only life I'll be saving is my own.
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Chapter 5
I lifted my gaze to the high, arched window of the healing chamber. The first sliver of dawn painted the sky a bruised purple. Today. The day of the Grand Healing Ceremony. The day I was meant to die. A chilling certainty settled deep in my bones.
My thin linen gown, usually white, was now mottled with dark stains. I hadn't realized how much blood I had lost, how much had seeped through the bandages during the night. The fabric clung to me, heavy and cold.
The heavy oak door creaked open. It was Maria, one of the housemaids, a kind woman who often slipped me extra food when Kane wasn't looking. Her eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth when she saw my blood-soaked gown. Her face crumpled with pity and fear.
"Oh, Mrs. Middleton," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Your dress… it's almost red."
Before Maria could say another word, a small, frantic figure burst past her. It was Cora. My little girl, her face streaked with tears, rushed to me, burying her face in my hip.
"Mommy, Mommy!" she sobbed, clutching me tightly. "Please, let's go! Let's run away! I don't want to stay here anymore! I don't want Kane! He's always mean! I want you, Mommy!"
My heart tore. My brave little girl, her spirit unbroken by this darkness. She still fought. But I was so tired. So utterly, completely drained.
I held her close, stroking her hair. "My sweet girl," I whispered, my voice rough with emotion. "It's too late for me to run. I'm too weak."
"No! It's not too late!" Cora insisted, pulling back, her eyes shining with desperate hope. "We can go back to Serenity Peak! Judson will protect us! He'll make you better!"
A faint smile touched my lips. Judson. My mentor, my rock. He would. But I wouldn' t make it.
"Cora," I said, my voice firm despite the tremor in my hands. "Listen to Mommy. You have to be strong. You have to live. For both of us."
I had to contact Judson. He was the only one I could trust to protect her, to give her a future. I had to let him know, somehow, what was happening.
"And Cora," I continued, looking deep into her eyes, trying to imprint my words onto her young mind. "When you're older, I want you to watch him. Watch Kane. Watch what happens to him. He will get what he deserves. And I want you to remember that your mother was not weak. She fought."
Cora nodded, her small face serious. I knew she would remember. She was perceptive, intelligent. She would be my eyes, my witness. She would carry my legacy.
Kane wanted my life force? He would have it. But he would also face the consequences. And Cora, my beautiful, bright Cora, would be safe. I would ensure she received what was rightfully hers, even if it meant my final breath. My death would be a weapon, not just a sacrifice.
The guards came for me then, their faces grim. Maria averted her gaze, tears silently streaming down her cheeks. Cora clung to me, but they gently pried her away, promising her that Mommy was just going to help Francesca get better. She didn't believe them. I saw the defiance in her eyes.
They led me, not back to the healing chamber, but to the mansion's expansive ballroom, now transformed. A massive, circular altar, crudely constructed from raw timber and draped in dark cloths, dominated the center of the room. It looked less like a healing space and more like a pyre. And beneath it, piled high, were stacks of dry, brittle firewood.
My breath hitched. This wasn't just symbolic. This was terrifyingly literal.
Kane stood at the foot of the altar, his arm around Francesca. She looked radiant, glowing, far from a dying woman. Her hand was intertwined with his, their fingers locked together. They laughed, a bright, joyous sound that grated against the oppressive atmosphere of the room.
"Oh, Kane, are you sure this will work?" Francesca asked, her voice light, playful. "I don't want to die."
"You won't, my love," Kane murmured, pulling her closer, kissing her hair. "You'll be completely cured. You'll live a long, beautiful life with me. I promise. No more pain, no more suffering. You'll never have to worry about anything again."
Francesca smiled, a wide, satisfied grin. "And you, my darling. You'll make sure no one ever hurts me again, won't you? No one will ever come between us."
"Never," Kane vowed, his eyes blazing with a fierce, possessive intensity. "You are mine. And I will burn the world down before I let anyone take you from me."
He gestured to his men. "Place her on the altar."
Rough hands seized me, lifting my weakened body. I was laid on the cold, hard wood, my head resting on a block of stone. My eyes swept across the faces in the room. Kane, Francesca, Chloe, the doctors, the guards. All of them complicit. All of them watching.
As they bound my wrists and ankles with thick leather straps, my mind drifted back. Our wedding day. The vows we exchanged. "To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part."
Death. It was here. But the love, the cherishing, the health parts… they had long since withered. His vows were dust. He had broken every single one. And in this moment, looking at him, a flicker of something new ignited within me. Not hope, not love, but a cold, burning clarity. He would pay. One way or another, Kane House would pay.