Chapter 5

Chloe's POV

I was out of bed before the sun even cracked the horizon.

I had tossed and turned all night, my eyes burning red from exhaustion.

Grabbing my purse, I headed straight out the front door.

Today was the day to collect the DNA results from the clinic, and I needed to rush the paperwork to the detectives handling the missing child case. Every second was precious.

The moment the testing center unlocked its doors, I had the envelope in my hands.

The black ink on the final page was glaring: *The probability of maternity is 0.00%. Biological relationship excluded.*

Even though I already knew the truth, seeing it confirmed on cold clinical paper made my entire body shake uncontrollably.

With this document in the hands of the police, I was no longer just an hysterical wife making wild accusations at home.

I folded the paper carefully and slid it deep into my bag's interior pocket.

I had barely taken two steps out of the facility's glass lobby when footsteps rushed up behind me. Before I could even turn my head, a coarse burlap sack was slammed over my head.

I opened my mouth to scream, but a thick rag was jammed violently between my teeth. Two heavy sets of arms pinned my shoulders and dragged me toward a waiting vehicle.

I thrashed with everything I had, my knees slamming hard against the metal car frame, but their grip was ironclad.

The car sped through the streets for what felt like hours, jostling violently over rough terrain.

I was wedged onto the floorboard beneath the rear seats, bound and gagged, the deafening roar of the engine vibrating through my skull.

My purse was pinned beneath my ribs. My only thought was protecting that report from being ruined.

My mind raced, trying to figure out who was behind this. The first face that surfaced was Vivian's.

The car screeched to a halt. Rough hands hauled me out and slammed me onto the ground.

The frigid concrete scraped my skin, dust billowing into my nostrils and triggering a violent coughing fit.

The ropes binding my wrists were loosened, and the gag was yanked from my mouth.

I looked around. It was a desolate, abandoned warehouse, sections of the corrugated roof rotting away into open air.

My phone was still tucked safely in my coat pocket; they hadn't bothered to search me.

The heavy metal doors groaned open, and Vivian strutted in, flanked by four or five burly men.

She wore a striking red dress and stilettos, walking up to where I lay. Crouching down, she raised a manicured hand and lightly patted my cheek. "Chloe, darling. I'm here to return the favor for that slap yesterday."

I glared at her in stony silence.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, you're terrifying me," Vivian purred, standing up and jerking her chin toward one of her goons. "Get her phone."

A man stepped forward, fished my phone from my pocket, bypassed the lock screen, and handed it to her.

"Go ahead," Vivian mocked, crossing her arms with a sneer. "Text Alexander. Beg him to come save you. Let's see who he really chooses when the chips are down—you, or me."

Gritting my teeth, I took the phone and opened my message thread with Alexander. My fingers flew across the screen: [Vivian had me kidnapped. I'm trapped in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. Please hurry.]

I hit send, clutching the phone to my chest, staring unblinkingly at the screen.

We had been fighting over the past few days, but a human life was on the line.

Throughout our marriage, whenever I had a midnight fever, he had driven me to urgent care; whenever it rained and I was stuck without an umbrella, he would drive across the city just to bring me home.

I was gambling on that single thread of hope: no matter how much of a bastard he was, he wouldn't let me be murdered.

Ten minutes passed. Then thirty. The screen remained dead.

My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned stark white, my nails scratching deep grooves into the plastic case.

*He's probably in an executive meeting. He hasn't checked his notifications yet,* I lied to myself. *He wouldn't just abandon me.*

Finally, after forty agonizing minutes, the phone gave a single buzz.

I unlocked it instantly. A single, callous line appeared on the screen: [Stop trying to frame Vivian with your pathetic drama. When you're done throwing your tantrum, come home yourself.]

My breath caught in my throat. My trembling thumbs typed a desperate reply, pleading that I was truly in danger, that men were surrounding me in a warehouse.

The second I hit send, a red exclamation mark popped up beneath the bubble: *Message not delivered. You have been blocked by this contact.*

He had blocked me.

He had read my desperate plea for help. And after reading it, his immediate reaction was to tap his screen and shut me out completely.

I had lost the bet.

My life wasn't even worth a simple "Where are you?" to him.

Those forty minutes of waiting were the most humiliating, foolish forty minutes of my entire existence.

From that exact second, Alexander Vance ceased to be family. I was going to find my biological son and walk away forever.

Vivian bent over, shrieking with cruel laughter. She snatched the phone from my hand, showing the screen to the thugs behind her, reading the text aloud word by word. "Did you hear that? Even her own husband thinks she's trash! This woman just loves smearing innocent people. Sounds to me like she's begging for a lesson."

The men erupted into crude, mocking laughter.

"Vivian, what do you want us to do with her?" one of them asked.

Vivian tossed the phone onto the dirt, took a step back, and gave a cold wave of her hand. "Do it. Teach her a lesson she'll never forget. Let her learn who she can afford to mess with. Just remember—keep it off her face. Work on her body."

A man grabbed a fistful of my hair, pinning my face to the floor, while the rest took turns driving their heavy steel-toed boots into me.

Kicks rained down mercilessly on my stomach and ribcage.

"Get off me! Let me go!" I screamed, thrashing wildly, but my cries were instantly drowned out by the thuds of heavy blows.

At first, I could still scream and struggle, but soon, a hot, metallic copper filled my throat, the agony stealing the air from my lungs.

A sickening crunch echoed beneath my chest. Three of my ribs snapped.

I curled into a tight ball on the dirt floor, every shallow gasp sending white-hot spikes of agony ripping through my torso.

The world around me began to fade. In the haze of slipping consciousness, the image of my little boy appeared—so small, standing in the distance, weeping and calling out for his mother.

I couldn't die in this rotting warehouse. My baby was still waiting for me to rescue him.

I couldn't tell when the beating finally stopped.

The heavy thud of footsteps gradually receded, the massive warehouse doors clanging shut with a heavy rattle, plunging the space into absolute silence.

I lay crumpled in the dirt, completely unable to move.

Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth, dripping down my cheek and soaking into the cracks of the concrete.

A few feet away, my cracked phone screen still emitted a faint glow.

I tried to reach out an arm, but the muscles refused to respond.

His contact name was still visible on the shattered glass. Never again in this lifetime would I ever dial that number to beg for mercy.

My eyelids grew impossibly heavy. Clinging to life by a thread, I fixed my gaze on the pale light filtering through the hole in the ceiling.

Slowly, the light faded into absolute blackness.