Chapter 5

“Revenge?” I echoed, feeling my heartbeat hammering wildly in my chest.

Ken leaned back slightly, his presence radiating calm control. “That’s right. Revenge. Think about it, Gloria. The man who betrayed you, who took everything from you—doesn’t he deserve to pay?”

I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails nearly dug into my flesh. It hurt—but not as much as the pain inside me.

I didn’t have the strength for something as meaningless as revenge, but I was genuinely curious about Ken’s plan… and perhaps, deep down, I just needed something—anything—to pull me away from the agony.

I straightened slowly, ignoring the ache in my body. “So you want revenge too. Against Ava.”

His lips curved into a smile, but it wasn’t warm. It was a predator’s smile. “I gave her everything—power, protection, the Knowles name. And she repaid me by dragging my family’s honor through the mud. Yes, I want her to pay.”

He paused, his gray eyes glinting like a blade. “She may be your sister, but—”

“She’s not my sister.” I cut him off before he could finish. My voice was sharp, steady. “Not anymore.”

His gaze deepened, approving somehow. “Then we understand each other.”

“Why me?” I asked, searching his face. “You’re one of the most powerful men in the Mafia. You don’t need me.”

He smiled again—cold, deliberate. “Because a show this grand shouldn’t be watched alone. And because…” His gaze locked with mine. “You’ll play a critical role in my plan.”

A shiver ran through me. “What plan?”

“Marry me.”

Two words. Calmly spoken. But they detonated in the air between us.

After I was discharged, I took a cab back to the Webster mansion. My phone was still empty—no calls, no messages. Oscar hadn’t even noticed I’d been gone.

I’d fought for my life in that hospital, and he hadn’t so much as checked in.

I looked out the window at the glittering city racing past, my reflection fractured in the glass. Ken’s offer haunted me. Marry him? Trade one gilded cage for another? No. I had sworn never again.

Before leaving, he’d handed me a card. “If you change your mind,” he’d said.

At the time, I thought I never would.

But fate is crueler than conviction.

The taxi stopped at the gates. The first thing I saw was Ava’s bright red sports car parked arrogantly in the driveway.

Of course.

I stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of her perfume—sweet, cloying, unmistakable. Then I heard it: muffled sounds, rhythmic, breathy, coming from upstairs.

My blood ran cold.

Moving silently, I climbed the stairs one by one, until I reached the bedroom that used to be ours. The door was ajar, just enough for me to see.

And what I saw shattered the last remnants of my soul.

Oscar. Ava. Tangled in each other’s arms on my bed, lost in feverish lust. Clothes scattered across the floor like casualties. His lips devoured her skin, her laughter filled the room that once held my vows.

I’d suspected it for so long, but suspicion was nothing compared to the brutality of sight.

Pain lanced through me, raw and blinding.

“Tell me,” Ava gasped between breaths, her voice dripping with mockery, “did my naïve little sister ever make you feel like this?”

Oscar groaned, gripping her harder. “She was never more than a prop—a wife for the family’s image. You’re the only one who makes me lose control. When I take full control of the Webster empire, everything will be yours, my queen.”

Something inside me snapped.

My hands no longer trembled. I pulled out my phone, opened the camera, and through the narrow gap, took several clear photos—faces, angles, evidence.

When I was done, I turned and walked away. Silent. Calm. Empty.

Downstairs, I grabbed Oscar’s car keys from the entry table, stepped out into the night, and slid into his car.

For a moment, I stared at the photos. Then I attached them to a message addressed to Ken Knowles.

“I accept your proposal.”

The reply came within seconds.

“Good. Stay in touch. The game begins now, Gloria. And we’ll enjoy every moment.”

I leaned back in the leather seat, a bitter smile curling my lips.

The phone slipped from my hand and hit the floor, as if announcing the beginning of this “game.”

The car engine roared to life, slicing through the night. I turned the wheel, heading toward the address Ken had given me: a law firm connected to the Knowles family.

Inside, the receptionist greeted me with a polite smile. “Good afternoon, ma’am. Do you have an appointment?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Chad Castillo,” I said calmly. “Tell him Ken Knowles sent me.”

Her expression changed instantly. Respect replaced politeness. “Of course, ma’am. Right this way.”

Minutes later, I was seated across from a man in a tailored suit and gold-rimmed glasses.

“Mrs. Hanson,” he said, extending a hand, “I’m Chad Castillo. How may I assist you today?”

I straightened my back, meeting his gaze squarely.

“My name,” I said clearly, “is Gloria Webster. And I want to file for divorce—from my husband, Oscar Webster.”