After His Mistress Framed Me for Killing Her Baby

The penthouse was white.

White walls. White furniture. White light coming through floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over Manhattan like the city was something you could own just by looking at it long enough.

I sat on the edge of a bed I didn't remember getting into. My ribs were wrapped. My left arm was in a sling I didn't need but the doctor — a woman with gray hair and steady hands — had insisted on anyway.

"Precautionary," she'd said. "You're going to want to use it before it's ready."

She was right. I wanted to use everything before it was ready. I wanted to stand. I wanted to walk. I wanted to go back to that warehouse and pull Thomas out of that bag before the rod came down.

I pressed my thumb against my left wrist. The skin was smooth. No scar. The chip was buried deep enough that you'd never know it was there unless you were looking.

I'd activated it eleven minutes before Kylian Howard came through the door.

Eleven minutes.

If I'd pressed it an hour earlier. If I'd pressed it the night before. If I'd pressed it the day Estella walked into my house with her soft voice and her lies folded inside her purse.

If.

The door opened. No knock. Kylian stepped inside with a tray. Coffee. Toast. Something that looked like eggs but probably wasn't.

"You don't have to eat it," he said. "But the doctors want you to try."

I looked at him. Really looked. He was wearing a different shirt than the one from last night. This one was gray. Pressed. His hair was damp like he'd just showered. But his eyes were the same. Steady. Careful. Like he was watching me the way you watch something that might break if you move too fast.

"Why did you come for me?" I asked.

He set the tray on the table beside the bed. Sat down in the chair across from me. Not close. Not far. Just there.

"Because you sent the signal," he said. "And I was already watching."

"Why?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned forward. Elbows on his knees. Hands folded.

"Three years ago," he said. "Charity gala at the Waldorf. A waitress was being harassed by a guest. Everyone saw it. No one moved. You did."

I didn't remember.

"You walked over," he continued. "Quiet. No scene. You said something to the man. He left. You asked the waitress if she was alright. Then you went back to your table like nothing happened."

I stared at him.

"I started watching after that," he said simply. "Not because I wanted something from you. Because I thought someone should. Your world was closing in. I could see it. So I built a network. Just in case."

"Just in case I needed rescuing."

"Just in case you asked."

I looked down at my hands. They were clean now. Someone had washed them. But I could still feel it. The blood. The warmth of it. The way it had soaked through my shirt and into my skin.

Thomas's blood.

"He's gone," I whispered.

Kylian didn't answer. He didn't tell me it would be okay. He didn't tell me time would heal it. He just sat there. Present. Still.

After a long time, I looked up.

"Estella," I said. "And Raiden. They're getting married."

"Ten days," Kylian said. "The Plaza. My team has the details."

I pressed my thumb harder against my wrist. Felt the chip under the skin. The thing that had saved me. The thing that hadn't saved Thomas.

"I want to destroy her," I said.

Kylian's face didn't change. "Alright."

"Not just ruin her. Not just expose her. I want to take everything she's built and burn it in front of her."

"Alright," he said again.

I met his eyes. "You don't want to know why?"

"I know why," he said quietly. "And I have what you need."

He stood. Walked to the door. Came back with a tablet. Set it on the bed beside me.

I picked it up. The screen lit.

Footage. Dark. Grainy. A concrete room. A woman on the floor. Men standing over her.

Me.

I watched for ten seconds. Then I stopped it.

"Estella recorded this," Kylian said. "She kept it on a private server. A trophy. My team found it two days ago."

I stared at the frozen image. My own face. Unrecognizable.

"We also have her communications with Victor Hale," he continued. "Payment records. Metadata. Everything."

"Can you broadcast it?"

"Yes."

"At the wedding?"

"During the reception. During the toast. Every screen in the ballroom. Simultaneously."

I looked up at him. "Do it."

He nodded once. "Consider it done."

He turned to leave. I stopped him.

"Kylian."

He looked back.

"Thank you," I said. "For coming."

Something crossed his face. Just for a second. Then it was gone.

"Eleven minutes," he said quietly. "I wish it had been faster."

He left. The door closed.

I looked back at the tablet. At the frozen image of myself. At the woman I used to be.

Then I pressed play.

I watched all of it.

Every second.

When it was over, I set the tablet down. Stood. Walked to the window.

Manhattan stretched out below me. Endless. Indifferent. Beautiful.

I pressed my thumb against my wrist one more time.

Then I let go.

Ten days.

Estella Chapman had ten days left.