His Unwanted Wife, My New Dawn

AVA DODSON POV:

The world slowly sharpened into focus. I was in a hospital bed, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling my nostrils. My ankle was throbbing, a dull, insistent ache beneath the pristine white cast. A kind-faced nurse peered at me.

"You' re awake, Mrs. Rutledge," she said gently. "You have a fractured ankle and a concussion. It' s going to be a long recovery."

My mouth felt dry. "How long?"

"At least six to eight weeks before you can bear weight. And therapy after that."

Just as she finished speaking, the door burst open. Two burly men in dark suits, Killian' s security detail, stormed in. Their faces were grim, their eyes cold.

"Mrs. Rutledge, Mr. Rutledge requires your immediate presence," one of them stated, his voice devoid of empathy.

"I can' t," I said, wincing as I tried to sit up. "I' m injured. And I just woke up."

"Mr. Rutledge' s orders are clear," the second guard grunted. He reached for me, his large hands grabbing my arm.

The nurse gasped, stepping forward. "You can' t just remove a patient! She' s just had a concussion and a fracture!"

The first guard fixed her with a hard stare. "This is a private matter. Stay out of it." The nurse, intimidated, retreated, her face pale.

They hoisted me from the bed, ignoring my cries of pain, my fractured ankle screaming in protest. It was a grotesque, humiliating march through the hospital corridors. They dragged me, a broken doll, past curious stares and hushed whispers, until we reached the VIP wing.

My stomach clenched. I knew exactly whose VIP suite this would be. And as they half-carried, half-dragged me towards a luxurious, flower-filled room, my suspicions were confirmed. Through the slightly ajar door, I saw Killian, his arm around Isabel, who was perched on a plush sofa, a delicate bandage on her forehead. He was stroking her hair, murmuring reassurances.

"Get in here, Ava," Killian' s voice, sharp and cold, sliced through the air. He hadn' t even turned to look at me, his gaze fixed on Isabel.

I tried to straighten, to salvage a shred of dignity, but my leg buckled. I leaned heavily on one of the guards, my face flushed with pain and shame.

Killian finally turned, his eyes narrowing. "You have some explaining to do."

"Explaining?" I managed, my voice raspy. "I fell. We both fell. You saw it."

"I saw you push Isabel," he countered, his words a venomous hiss. "You deliberately attacked her, trying to hurt her out of jealousy. It' s despicable, Ava. Truly despicable."

Isabel whimpered, burying her face in Killian' s shoulder. "She hates me, Killian. She always has."

The injustice burned, a fiery inferno in my chest. "I didn' t push her! She tripped me! She faked it!"

Killian let out a scoff, laced with contempt. "Fake? Look at her! She has a concussion, a sprained wrist. All thanks to your psychotic rage. You' re lucky I' m not pressing charges." He stood up, his towering frame casting a long shadow over me. "You will apologize to her, Ava. Now. Kneel down and tell her you' re sorry for what you did."

My breath hitched. Kneel? Apologize for something I didn' t do, to the woman who constantly tormented me? The words stuck in my throat, choked by years of silent suffering. This was a new low, even for him.

"I won' t," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. The anger, the humiliation, finally broke through the wall of my despair. "I didn' t do anything wrong. I won' t apologize for her lies."

Killian' s face darkened, a storm cloud gathering behind his eyes. "So, you deny it? You deny hurting Isabel, the woman who saved my life?" He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "You think you can get away with this? You think your family name, your 'old money' status, protects you from my wrath?"

He leaned in, his lips barely moving. "Fine. If you won' t apologize to Isabel, perhaps you' ll apologize to me. For the damage you cause, for the embarrassment you bring. You broke my vase. You stained my reputation." He straightened, his gaze cold as ice. "Guards. Take her to the private hunting grounds. The hounds need their exercise."

My blood ran cold. The hunting grounds. He kept a pack of highly trained, vicious hunting dogs there. They were rarely, if ever, used for actual hunting. Their primary purpose was… intimidation.

"No!" I gasped, my eyes wide with terror. "Killian, please! You know I have a fear of dogs! Please, don' t do this!" My voice cracked, raw with a primal fear I hadn' t felt since childhood.

He simply watched me, his face impassive. "Then apologize. To Isabel. Now."

"I can' t!" I cried, tears streaming down my face. "I can' t, Killian, don' t you understand? I am injured. My ankle is broken!"

He merely nodded to the guards. They dragged me out, roughly, away from the luxurious suite, down the back stairs, and into a waiting black SUV. The world became a blur of motion and pain. My fractured ankle jolted with every bump, every turn.

They threw me out into a vast, enclosed field, surrounded by towering fences. The air was crisp, pungent with the smell of pine and damp earth. My injured foot buckled, and I fell to my knees, scraping my palms on the gravel.

Then I heard it. The baying. Deep, guttural, terrifying. The hounds.

Panic seized me, a suffocating grip around my throat. My childhood trauma, a forgotten memory of a vicious dog attack, resurfaced with horrifying clarity. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum. I tried to run, to scramble away, but my ankle screamed in protest. The hounds were closer now, their barks echoing, their dark forms visible through the mist.

I collapsed, a whimpering mess on the cold ground, my body shaking uncontrollably. The fear, raw and absolute, consumed me. "I' m sorry! I' m sorry!" I shrieked, the words torn from my throat. "I apologize! I' m sorry, Isabel! I' m sorry, Killian! Please! Make them stop! Please!"

The barking subsided. The guards, impassive, hauled me back to the SUV, my body a trembling wreck. My fear reaction, the full-blown phobia, left me gasping for air, clutching my chest.

They dragged me back, not to my original sterile room, but directly to Isabel' s VIP suite. My head thumped against the doorframe as they pushed me in.

Killian stood by the window, his back to me. Isabel, looking smug, was reclining on the sofa, sipping tea.

"She' s ready to apologize," one guard announced, his voice flat.

Isabel raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Good. Let' s hear it."

They forced me to my knees, the pain in my ankle excruciating, shooting up my leg like white-hot lightning. My head swam. I looked at Isabel, her face triumphant, then at Killian' s rigid back. My voice was a raw, broken whisper.

"Isabel," I choked out, tears streaming down my face, not from sorrow, but from humiliation and terror. "I… I' m so sorry. I' m sorry for… for pushing you. I' m sorry I hurt you." Each word was a fresh blade twisting in my soul. "Please… please forgive me."

Isabel smiled, a slow, cruel curve of her lips. "That' s not enough, Ava. You need to show you' re truly repentant." She looked at Killian, a silent request passing between them.

Killian slowly turned. His eyes were cold, assessing. He made a minute gesture with his hand.

The guard behind me nudged my shoulder. "Keep going."

I clenched my jaw, gritting my teeth against the fire in my ankle. "I' m sorry," I repeated, my voice barely audible, then again, bowing my head until my forehead touched the cold marble floor. "I' m sorry. I' m so sorry." I kept repeating it, my voice growing weaker, until my head spun. I felt the sharp sting of my forehead hitting the floor, again and again.

"That' s enough," Killian finally said, his voice flat, after what felt like an eternity. "Get her out of here. And get her to the emergency room. Make sure she' s treated." A flicker, a momentary twitch of his lips, a ghost of something I couldn't place. Was it pity? Disgust?

They dragged me out again, my head throbbing, my forehead bleeding, my ankle screaming. As I lay on the gurney in the emergency room, the white ceiling spinning above me, a profound clarity washed over me. This was it. This was the end. The final, brutal extinction of any hope, any love, any lingering connection I had to Killian Rutledge. My heart, once a fragile, fluttering thing, was now a stone. And that stone was finally free.