Chapter 1No Forgiveness, Only Payback

I was kidnapped by Lana Hill—the ex-wife Damian Thorne claimed to despise.

With Damian forced to watch, she took a steel pipe and beat the three-month-old child out of my womb.

"This is the price you pay for choosing her, Damian!" she screamed, her face a mask of pure hatred. He had once told me, "If you want revenge, Lana, you'll have to kill me in my own bed."

After I was rescued, Damian drove a blade through her womb and had her stripped bare, then cast her into the Warrens, the city's most lawless slum.

From that day on, everyone in the city of Crestfall knew: I, Ava Reed, was Damian Thorne's reason for living.

But one week before our wedding, in the hushed quiet of a bridal boutique's fitting room, I saw him press her against the wall. He was kissing the scarred landscape of her back with a reverence that felt like a punch to my gut.

Lana bit his Adam's apple, her voice a low growl. "You owe me for every one of these scars. How are you going to pay me back?"

"How do you want to be paid?"

"The same slum you threw me in? I want Ava to experience it, too."

Damian was silent for a beat, then a slow, dark smile spread across his face. "Fine. As you wish."

* * *

Noticing his slight hesitation, Lana pushed, her voice sharp and demanding. "What? Feeling sorry for her now? Weren't you just saying you'd die for a chance to be inside me again?"

Damian scoffed. "She's my wife. If I don't feel for her, am I supposed to feel for you?" He pulled on his shirt, ready to leave.

A flicker of desperation crossed Lana's eyes. She wrapped her arms around his neck and crushed her mouth to his.

He recoiled slightly. "What are you, a rabid dog?"

"For you? I'd be anything."

Damian took a deep, ragged breath, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "Pregnant, and you still can't keep your hands to yourself. Christ, I ought to put you down."

Lana’s laugh was triumphant. "You'd never."

"Shut up."

I couldn't listen to another word.

Pregnant?

So, her womb was fine. Damian had lied to me.

I raised a trembling hand to my own stomach. Three months ago, the child she had beaten out of me felt like it had dissolved into a pool of warm blood that now clung to my skin, sticky and damning.

The memory of Damian's face, contorted with rage, was seared into my mind. "You killed my son. You'll never have a child of your own again."

Eight stabs. He’d left Lana with just a breath of life before having her stripped naked and thrown into the Warrens. I’d watched in the rearview mirror as countless grimy hands dragged her into a squalid hovel.

It was all a show. A grand, grotesque performance just for me.

I wiped away a tear, not of sorrow, but of pure, unadulterated rage, and a bitter smile touched my lips. He’d gotten so used to the good girl, so comfortable with my devotion. Damian had forgotten I was raised on wolf's blood.

Stepping out of the fitting room, a sales associate noticed my pale face. "Miss Reed, are you alright? Can I help you with anything?"

My eyes lifted to the centerpiece of the grand hall: the wedding gown Damian had commissioned for me, a one-of-a-kind creation. An hour ago, seeing it had filled me with visions of a lifetime of happiness. Now, it looked like a blade, sharp and cold, plunged into my heart and churning through flesh and bone. The pain was so intense I bit my lip until I tasted blood.

I pointed at the dress. "Burn it."

Without a glance at her stunned expression, I pushed open the heavy glass doors and walked out into the cold air.

It was late when Damian came home.

He wrapped his arms around me from behind just as I closed the files on my phone—five gigabytes of videos and photos sent from an anonymous source.

"You didn't like the dress? Why did you have them burn it?" he murmured into my hair.

"It was dirty."

He stiffened, his senses instantly on alert. His grip tightened. "Alright. If you don't like it, we'll get rid of it. I'll have an even better one made for you, my love."

He leaned in to kiss me. But as his face drew near, the images from the video—their bodies entwined, their passionate cries—flashed in my mind. I saw the faint lipstick smudge on his neck, caught the scent of lily of the valley clinging to his clothes—her scent.

A wave of nausea crashed over me. I shoved him away and bolted for the bathroom, vomiting until my body convulsed.

When I emerged, the entire household staff was lined up in the living room, trembling.

Damian sat on the sofa, flicking a lighter open and closed. The dancing flame cast sinister shadows on his grim face. "I pay you a fortune to look after my wife, and this is the care she receives?"

These people had been handpicked by Damian himself, their loyalty bought with a price that bound them to him, life and death. If something happened to me, they would pay for it.

A young maid fell to her knees, terrified. "Mr. Thorne, we all know Miss Reed is your life. We would never be careless! We've been meticulous with everything, from her food to her safety."

A bodyguard entered, ignoring her pleas. He dragged her out, her screams echoing down the hall. A moment later, a sickening thud silenced them.

The room was frozen in terror. No one dared to breathe.

"Still no one can figure it out?" Damian's voice was dangerously calm. "Then you'll all have your hands broken."

My lips tightened. I stepped forward. "It has nothing to do with them. It was my own issue. Let them go."

Damian pulled me into his arms, using his expensive sleeve to gently wipe the moisture from my face. "Since my wife has spoken, we'll let it go. For today."

But the next morning, every single member of the staff had been replaced.