Too Late: The Don Begs Forgiveness

Harlow POV

The muzzle of the gun pressed against my forehead, the steel biting cold against my feverish skin.

Kaden's finger hovered over the trigger, trembling with restrained violence.

His eyes were wild, the pupils dilated, swimming with a rage that bordered on absolute madness.

"I didn't put needles in anything," I whispered, my voice cracking as I stared up at him, pleading for sanity.

"Don't you dare lie to me!" he roared, the sound ricocheting off the sterile white walls like a physical blow.

"She put the dress on! She was bleeding!"

"I didn't do it, Kaden. I washed the clothes myself. I would have felt them."

But he didn't want logic.

He wanted a villain.

"Get her up," he barked to the guards stationed at the door.

"Mr. Barnes, please-she's critically ill," the nurse stammered, stepping forward with trembling hands. "She has sepsis from infected wounds on her back. Moving her could kill-"

"Get out!" Kaden bellowed, turning his fury on her.

The nurse didn't wait to be told twice; she fled the room.

The guards moved in like vultures.

They didn't bother to be gentle. With a savage jerk, they ripped the IV from my arm.

Blood sprayed in a hot arc across the pristine white sheets.

I screamed as they hauled me out of the bed, my body screaming in protest.

My legs gave way instantly, useless beneath me, but they didn't let me fall.

They dragged me through the hospital corridors, my bare feet scuffing the linoleum, out the back exit, and threw me into the rear of a waiting black SUV.

Kaden took the wheel.

He drove like a demon possessed, a heavy, suffocating silence filling the car.

Back at the estate, they didn't take me to the main house.

They took me to the cellar.

The air down there was thick with dampness and rot, hitting my lungs and forcing a jagged cough from my chest.

They chained my wrists to the wooden crossbeam-a fixture I knew was used for interrogating rival cartel members.

My feet barely brushed the dirty floor.

The strain on my shoulders was immediate agony, a fire spreading through my joints.

Kaden stood in the shadows, the flare of a lighter illuminating his hard face as he lit a cigarette.

"Confess," he said, smoke curling from his lips.

"I have nothing to confess."

He nodded once to a figure lurking in the corner.

The Enforcer.

A giant of a man with dead, shark-like eyes.

In his massive hands, he held a pair of pliers and a long, thin sewing needle.

"Harlow," the Enforcer said, his voice flat, devoid of humanity. "Just say you did it."

"No."

He stepped forward.

He took my hand in a grip of iron.

With agonizing slowness, he slid the needle under my fingernail.

The scream that tore from my throat didn't sound human.

It was a primal, jagged sound of pure, white-hot torture.

"Confess," Kaden commanded from the dark.

"I didn't... do it!" I sobbed, gasping for air, my vision blurring.

Another needle.

Another scream.

My world went black.

I floated in a sea of pain, untethered from time.

I don't know how long it lasted.

Hours?

Days?

I woke up in my own bed.

Soft sheets. The scent of lavender.

Lily, my private maid, was sitting by the bedside, weeping softly as she carefully bandaged my mangled fingers.

"Lily?" I croaked, my throat like sandpaper.

"Oh, Miss Harlow," she cried, jumping up. "You're awake."

She leaned in close, her voice a terrified whisper. "She's lying. I saw Brittaney putting the needles in the dress herself. I saw her do it!"

"Tell him," I rasped, desperate. "Tell Kaden."

She stood up, her face pale but set with determination.

"I will."

She went to the door.

Just then, a scream echoed from the courtyard below.

A man's scream.

Lily froze.

She cracked the door open, peered out, and then slammed it shut, her face draining of all color.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's the Enforcer," she whispered, trembling violently. "The Don is whipping him."

"Why?"

"Because he touched you," she said, looking at me with wide, fearful eyes.

Hope fluttered in my chest, fragile and weak.

"He knows I'm innocent?"

"No," Lily said, her expression shifting to pity.

"He's shouting that you are the Don's wife. That you are Family Property."

"He's saying no other man has the right to mark his possessions."

The hope died instantly.

He wasn't protecting me.

He was protecting his ego.

I was just a vase that someone else had dared to chip.

I lay there for a week.

Lily fed me broth.

My fingers throbbed with every heartbeat. My back ached from the old wounds.

But the silence was the worst part.

Kaden never came.

Not once.

On the seventh day, the door swung open.

Kaden walked in.

He was dressed in an impeccable tuxedo, looking like a prince from a dark fairytale.

"Get up," he said.

I looked down at my bandaged hands.

"We have a gala tonight. The Senator is expecting us."

"I can't hold a glass, Kaden."

"Wear gloves," he said, tossing a velvet box onto the bed with careless disregard.

"And stop sulking."

"Brittaney is willing to forgive you."

"Forgive me?" I laughed, a dry, cracked sound. "For what she did to herself?"

"Drop it, Harlow."

He walked to the mirror, adjusting his tie with practiced ease.

"We are a united front tonight."

"You will smile."

"You will stand by my side."

"And you will look like the Queen of this city."

"Or what?" I asked softly.

He met my eyes in the reflection, his gaze cold enough to freeze hell.

"Or I will let the Enforcer finish what he started."