The Scar He Gave, The Queen I Became

Cadence dragged her heavy, numb legs into the master bathroom.She pushed the frosted glass door shut and locked it, severing the suffocating luxury of the penthouse from her sight.Her trembling fingers gripped the shower dial, twisting it hard to the left.

The second the hot water blasted from the overhead rainfall shower, the memory hit her like a physical blow.

The freezing, bone-crushing currents of the Hudson River swallowed her whole.

Her breath stopped completely.A raw, agonizing hiss tore from her throat as her knees hit the anti-slip tiles.

She collapsed, her hands flying up to claw at her own neck.

The severe PTSD triggered a massive panic attack, blackening the edges of her vision.The metallic taste of blood and the rotting stench of river weeds flooded her senses.

Down the hallway, Franklin was pacing back toward the master suite, his phone pressed to his ear.His deep, soothing voice murmured into the receiver, calming a supposedly traumatized Isabelle.

The penthouse walls were heavily soundproofed.

He had just reached the master bedroom door, his hand hovering inches from the brass handle. Suddenly, a sharp, piercing sound of a glass bottle shattering against tiles bled through the heavy wood, followed immediately by a dull, heavy thud.

Franklin stopped completely.His dark brows pulled together. He lowered the phone, his pulse inexplicably spiking as he stared at the door.

He heard a muffled, desperate gasp. The sound of someone fighting for oxygen.

He grabbed the brass door handle and pushed.

It was locked.

A sudden, sharp spike of irritation flared in his chest, followed immediately by an unexplainable, microscopic prick of panic.

"Franklin?" Isabelle's weak voice drifted from the phone speaker. "My head is spinning so badly..."

The sound snapped his attention back.

"I'm coming right now," Franklin said into the phone.

He shot one last, cold glare at the locked bathroom door.

He convinced himself it was just another pathetic, manipulative performance to steal his attention back.

He turned on his heel and walked away.

Inside the bathroom, Cadence heard the heavy footsteps fade down the hall.

The sound of his retreat was a blunt knife, sawing through the very last thread of her weakness.

She bit down violently on her lower lip.

The sharp sting of pain and the sudden taste of copper grounded her, dragging her out of the hallucination.

She reached up and slammed the shower dial off.

Gripping the edge of the marble sink, she hauled herself to her feet.

The mirror reflected a ghost. Her skin was translucent, her lips bruised, a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

She grabbed a dry towel and wrapped it tightly around her shivering body.

The last ounce of warmth in her chest turned to ice.

Half an hour later, Franklin pushed open the door to the master suite.

The room was pitch black, save for the moonlight spilling across the carpet.

Cadence sat dead center on the single armchair.She had changed into a sharp, black silk pajama set, blending perfectly into the shadows.

Franklin felt a muscle tick in his jaw. Her unnatural stillness unsettled him.

He ripped his tie off, his voice hard. "You will formally apologize to Isabelle tomorrow morning."

Cadence didn't cry. She didn't argue.She simply picked up a thick document from the glass coffee table and slid it across the surface.

Franklin's eyes dropped to the bold legal jargon at the top of the page.

His pupils contracted violently.

It was a Declaration of Intent to Divorce. Already signed.

A massive wave of shock slammed into his brain.

He snatched the papers off the table, his voice rising into a dangerous snarl. "What kind of sick game are you playing now?"

Cadence looked up.Her eyes were so calm, so utterly devoid of him, it was like looking at a stranger.

"I am leaving with nothing," she said, her voice flat. "I just want to terminate this disgusting arrangement immediately."

Leaving with nothing.

The words felt like a physical slap across Franklin's face.

His absolute control, his immense wealth-the things he used to keep her in line-were suddenly rendered entirely useless.

He slammed the document back onto the table.The papers scattered across the floor.

He leaned over, planting both hands on the armrests of her chair, using his massive frame to trap her.

"If you walk out that door," he ground out, his breath hot against her face, "Dr. Alistair Chase's medical research center loses all funding by tomorrow noon."

Cadence held his gaze without blinking.The corner of her mouth twitched upward into a mocking smirk.

"The survival of the Chase family is none of your concern," she replied softly.

Franklin stared into her eyes.He saw something terrifying. An absolute, unshakable sense of control.It was as if she was the one looking down on him.

He straightened up abruptly, his chest heaving.

"You are out of your mind," he barked. "If you walk out of this apartment, don't you ever think about crawling back."

Cadence stood up smoothly.She picked up her black trench coat from the bed.

She didn't even look at him.

"As you wish," she said.

Her heels clicked sharply against the hardwood floor.

She walked right past him, leaving him frozen in the dark, and headed straight for the front door.