Dying, I Left His Ruthless Bed

Kade POV

The glass shards bit into my palm, a sharp, grounding pain that failed to distract me from the carnage unfolding in my chest. Blood mixed with the spilled whiskey, dripping onto the velvet railing, but I didn't look down. I couldn't look away from her.

Isabelle.

My wife, who was supposed to be withering away in a dark room, mourning the withdrawal of my presence. My mother had promised me a broken woman. Instead, I was staring at a queen in blood-red silk, holding court in the center of my territory.

"Stay here," I growled at Marco. My voice was a low rumble, vibrating with a violence that made my seasoned soldier take a step back.

"Boss, if you go down there in this state—"

"I said, stay."

I didn't wait for his acknowledgment. I turned and strode toward the exit of the private box, the heavy door slamming shut behind me. The corridor was empty, the muffled sounds of the orchestra filtering through the walls like a funeral march.

I descended the grand staircase, my hand sliding down the marble banister, leaving a faint smear of crimson in my wake. Every step was a calculation. Every breath was fuel for the inferno. She thought she could play games? She thought she could wear that dress—a dress that clung to her like a second skin, exposing the spine I had traced with my tongue a thousand times—and smile at another man?

She was a Cameron. She was mine. And tonight, I would remind her that freedom was just an illusion I allowed her to keep.

At the bottom of the stairs, a figure stepped into my path, blocking my line of sight to the dance floor.

"You look like you're about to murder someone, Kade."

Carla Shaw stood there, a vision of calculated innocence in a shimmering silver gown. As the daughter of a rival family, she should have been an enemy, but my mother had always favored her. She had the kind of cold, sharp beauty that fit our world—predictable, ambitious, and ruthless.

Unlike the chaos currently spinning in the center of the room.

"Move, Carla," I said, my eyes flicking over her shoulder, searching for that splash of red.

"She's making a fool of you, you know," Carla said softly, stepping closer. Her voice was low, intimate, designed to slide under my defenses. "Everyone is whispering. The Underboss's wife, running around like a single woman, laughing with strangers. It makes you look... weak."

The word struck me like a physical blow. Weak.

I looked down at her, my jaw tightening until my teeth ached. "Careful."

"I'm only looking out for you," she purred, placing a hand on my arm. Her touch was light, but her eyes were predatory. "Don't storm over there and cause a scene. That's what a brute would do. Show them you don't care. Show her she's replaceable."

She extended her hand toward the dance floor. "Dance with me."

I looked past her, locking my gaze on the fountain. Isabelle was there. And she wasn't alone.

A man—tall, with sandy hair and a smile that was too wide, too friendly—was bowing to her. Devon Walter. A nobody from a family that dealt in scraps. I watched as Isabelle hesitated, then placed her hand in his.

The sight of her skin against his suit jacket made my vision blur with red.

"Kade?" Carla pressed, sensing my volatility.

A cruel, cold clarity washed over me. Carla was right. Dragging Isabelle out by her hair would only prove I was affected. But replacing her? Ignoring her while I paraded another woman in front of her face? That was a blade that would cut deeper.

"Fine," I said, my voice devoid of warmth.

I grabbed Carla's hand, my grip tight enough to bruise. A flicker of pain crossed her face, but she smiled, triumphant.

We moved toward the dance floor, cutting through the crowd like a shark through water. The sea of black tuxedos and polite conversation parted for us. I didn't look at the people bowing their heads or murmuring my name. My focus was singular.

As we stepped onto the polished wood, the orchestra swelled into a waltz. I pulled Carla against me, but my eyes were fixed on the couple a few yards away.

Isabelle was moving with a grace I hadn't seen in years. She looked radiant, alive... and completely detached from the misery she should have been feeling. Devon Walter said something, and she laughed again. Then, he did the unthinkable.

He placed his hand on the small of her back. Right on the bare skin exposed by the low cut of her dress.

My steps faltered for a fraction of a second.

"Look at him," Carla whispered in my ear, her voice dripping with poison. "He touches her as if she's free property. As if the Cameron name means nothing."

The beast inside me roared, tearing at its chains. That hand. That filth was touching what belonged to me.

"He's a dead man," I murmured, the promise tasting like iron on my tongue.

"Then let's make sure he enjoys his last dance," Carla replied, tightening her hold on my shoulder.

I spun Carla around, maneuvering us closer, stalking my prey to the rhythm of the music. Isabelle hadn't seen me yet. She was too busy smiling at the corpse walking next to her.

Enjoy it while you can, tesoro (treasure). Because when the music stops, I'm going to burn this whole world down to get you back.