Bleeding On His Carpet Before Taking His Company

"The procedure is finished, Mrs. Miller."

The doctor's voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a deep well. I stared at the fluorescent lights humming above my head. My body felt hollow, a carved-out shell of the woman who had fallen down those stairs an hour ago.

"We delivered her, but the trauma was too severe," he continued, snapping off his latex gloves. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the sterile room. "You'll experience cramping and bleeding for the next few days. I've prescribed some painkillers."

"My daughter," I whispered. My throat felt like I'd swallowed crushed glass. "Where is my daughter?"

"There was nothing we could do, Chloe. By the time we got her out, her heart had already stopped."

He didn't look me in the eye. He just scribbled something on a chart and walked out a little too quickly, the door swinging shut with a soft hiss.

I was alone. The cold air of the emergency room bit at my skin, which was damp with a cold sweat that wouldn't dry. I bit my lower lip, hard, until the metallic tang of blood filled my mouth. It was the only thing that felt real.

The door clicked open again.

I expected a nurse. I expected a blanket.

Instead, Mia strolled in.

She wasn't wearing her office attire anymore. She was wearing my champagne-colored silk pajamas—the ones Julian bought me for our second anniversary. The fabric clung to her in a way it never had on me.

"You look like hell," Mia said.

She wasn't carrying flowers. She was holding a small, gray plastic box. It looked like a Tupperware container for leftovers.

"Why are you wearing my clothes?" I asked, my voice cracking.

"Julian said you wouldn't be needing them anymore," she replied. She walked to the bed and tossed the gray box onto the nightstand. It landed with a hollow thud next to my water pitcher. "Here. The hospital asked what we wanted to do with the remains. Julian didn't want to pay for a funeral, so we got the budget option."

I stared at the box. "That's my child."

"That's a medical mistake," Mia corrected. She smoothed the silk over her hip. "And honestly, it's a blessing. A kid would have just made the divorce more complicated. Julian hates complications."

"Get out," I rasped.

"Not yet."

Mia turned toward the door and beckoned someone in. A man in a sharp charcoal suit entered, carrying a leather briefcase. Behind him, standing in the hallway, was Julian.

He didn't step inside. He stood by the doorframe, leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed on his Rolex.

"Mr. Halloway is here to finalize the exit strategy," Julian said, his voice loud enough to carry into the room but devoid of any warmth.

The lawyer, Halloway, stepped toward my bed. He didn't look at the gray box. He didn't look at my pale face. He just opened his briefcase.

"Mrs. Miller, we have a supplemental agreement to the divorce papers you were served earlier this evening," Halloway said.

"I haven't even been discharged," I said. "I just lost my daughter."

"Which is why we should settle this now while the details are fresh," Julian called out from the hall. He tapped the face of his watch. "I have a flight to catch at six. Let's move this along."

Halloway placed a single sheet of paper on my lap. "Given that the child did not survive, Clause 4B of your prenuptial agreement is no longer applicable. However, Julian is requesting that you vacate and transfer the deed to the apartment on 5th Street."

I froze. "That's my father's apartment. It was in my name before we even met."

"It was used as collateral for a business loan Julian took out for your boutique last year," Halloway said smoothly. "Technically, the holding company owns it now. Julian is willing to waive the repayment of that loan if you sign over the remaining equity today."

"You're stealing my home?" I looked past the lawyer, trying to find Julian's eyes. He finally looked up from his watch, but his expression was as flat as a stone.

"It's just property, Chloe," Julian said. "You're not using it. You're living in the villa—or you were. Mia likes the 5th Street place. It's closer to the office."

Mia giggled, leaning her head against the doorframe near Julian. "It has much better light for my morning yoga, too."

The blood in my veins turned to ice. I looked at the gray plastic box on the nightstand. I looked at Mia wearing my silk pajamas. Then I looked at the man I had loved for three years, who couldn't even be bothered to step into my hospital room while I bled out the loss of our child.

"You want the apartment?" I asked.

"Sign the paper, Chloe," Julian said. "Don't make this a scene. You've already ruined enough tonight."

I reached out, my hand trembling. I didn't grab the pen Halloway was holding.

I grabbed the gray plastic box.

With a sudden, violent shove, I swept my arm across the nightstand. The box flew off the edge, hitting the corner of Mia's designer heels. The lid popped open.

A small cloud of gray-white ash and grit exploded across the floor, coating Mia's shoes and the hem of my silk pajamas.

"Ugh! Oh my god!" Mia shrieked, jumping back. "It's on me! Julian, it's on me!"

"You said it was trash, Mia," I said, my voice suddenly steady. "I'm just taking out the garbage."

Julian finally stepped into the room, his face contorted with disgust. "Are you insane? That's disgusting, Chloe."

"What's disgusting is you," I said. I grabbed the pen from the lawyer's hand. My fingers were white-knuckled. I scrawled my signature across the bottom of the document so hard the nib tore through the paper.

I shoved the paper into Halloway's chest.

"There," I spat. "Take the apartment. Take the clothes. Take him."

I turned my gaze to Julian. He was busy brushing a stray speck of ash off his sleeve, looking at me like I was a stain he couldn't wait to bleach away.

"Get out," I said.

"Gladly," Julian replied. He grabbed Mia's arm, pulling her away from the mess on the floor. "We're done here, Halloway. Let's go."

They turned to leave, Mia still whining about her ruined shoes.

"Julian," I called out.

He stopped in the doorway, not turning around. "What now? You want more money?"

"Take your apartment," I said, my voice dropping to a low, jagged whisper that made Halloway flinch. "But you'd better start praying."

Julian turned his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Praying for what?"

"Pray that you never see my name on a Vanger Group investment list," I said. "Because the day you do is the day I buy your life just to set it on fire."

Julian let out a short, mocking laugh. "The Vanger Group? You've been a housewife for three years, Chloe. You can't even manage a checkbook without my accountant. Good luck with your delusions."

He walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

I sat in the silence of the hospital room, staring at the white powder scattered across the floor. I reached down, my fingers touching the cold tile, pressing into the dust that was all that remained of my future.

I didn't cry. The tears had dried up somewhere between the porch and the operating table.

Instead, I reached for my phone on the far side of the bed. My fingers hovered over a contact I hadn't called in years. A contact my father told me to use only if the world was ending.

The phone rang twice.

"Vanger," a deep voice answered.

"It's Chloe," I said. "I'm ready to come home."

"I've been waiting for this call," the voice replied. "Where are you?"

"In a trash heap," I said, looking at the empty gray box. "But I'm getting out."

I hung up and stared at the door. Julian thought he had stripped me bare. He thought he had taken everything. He forgot one thing.

I wasn't just a Miller.

And the Vanger Group didn't just invest in companies. They invested in blood.

I leaned back against the thin hospital pillow, the pain in my abdomen flaring up again. I welcomed it. It was a reminder of what they owed me.

Tomorrow, the world would know that Chloe Miller was dead.

And Chloe Vanger was just getting started.

***

The nurse entered ten minutes later, gasping at the mess on the floor. "Oh honey, what happened?"

"Nothing," I said, watching the rain streak against the window. "Just a little spring cleaning."

"Do you have someone to pick you up tomorrow?" she asked, her voice full of pity.

"Yes," I said. "The only person who matters."

As she started to sweep up the ashes, I closed my eyes. I could still smell Julian's expensive cologne lingering in the air. It was the smell of a man who thought he had won.

He had no idea that he had just handed me the match.

"Wait," I told the nurse.

She stopped, the broom poised over the dust.

"Don't throw that away," I said, pointing to the ashes. "Put it back in the box. I want to keep it."

"Are you sure, dear? It's... it's a bit of a mess now."

"I'm sure," I said. "I need it to remind me of what I'm going to bury him with."

The nurse looked at me with wide, frightened eyes, but she did as she was told. She didn't realize that the woman in the bed wasn't the same woman who had arrived in the ambulance.

That woman had died on the stairs.

I looked at the gray box as she placed it back on the nightstand.

"Sleep well, Julian," I whispered to the empty room. "This is the last night you'll ever feel safe."

***

The next morning, a black SUV with tinted windows pulled up to the hospital entrance.

A man in a suit that cost more than Julian's car stepped out. He didn't check his watch. He didn't look at his phone. He stood at attention, waiting.

I walked out of the sliding doors, clutching the gray plastic box to my chest.

"Miss Vanger," the man said, bowing his head. "The Chairman is expecting you."

"Let's not keep him waiting," I said.

As I climbed into the back seat, I saw a familiar car driving past—Julian's silver Porsche. He was laughing at something Mia was saying, his hand resting on her thigh.

He didn't even see me.

"Drive," I commanded.

The SUV pulled away, merging into the morning traffic.

My phone buzzed in my lap. A text from an unknown number.

*The 5th Street apartment has been cleared. Mia moved in an hour ago. Do you want the photos?*

I deleted the message without replying. I didn't need photos. I was going to see it all in person soon enough.

But first, I had a kingdom to reclaim.

And a grave to dig.

The city skyline loomed ahead, the tall glass towers of the Vanger District gleaming like knives in the rising sun.

"Is the list ready?" I asked.

"Yes, Miss Vanger," the driver replied. "Every asset Julian Miller owns is highlighted."

"Good," I said, opening the gray box one last time. "Let's start with his heart."