The woman my husband has always loved appeared in tears with hardly a scratch, and he didn't even hear my explanation before stabbing me twice: "You will never lay a hand on her again." I woke up in the hospital three days later and kept my silence. When he came to apologize with a bouquet of roses, the doctor pointed to my twins' medical records, and his expression changed forever.
The silence inside Room 402 of Chicago General Hospital was thicker than concrete. Flynn stood frozen, his eyes glued to the white roses scattered like broken snow across the dull linoleum floor. The man who managed billions of dollars in international assets looked small, hollowed out, and completely paralyzed by the horror of his own creation.
"Mabel... please," Flynn choked out, taking a staggered step forward. His hand trembled as he reached toward the edge of my bed. "Look at me. You can't mean that. We can fix this. I'll get the best doctors in the world, I'll—"
"Get out," I said.
My voice was not a scream. It carried no hysterical pitch or bitter tears. It was flat, ice-cold, and entirely devoid of the warmth I had spent three years offering him. The emotional thread that held me to Flynn Vance hadn't just frayed; it had been surgically severed by the same steel blade he drove into my torso.
Dr. Marcus Reed placed a firm hand on Flynn’s shoulder. "Mr. Vance, your presence is elevating the patient's heart rate. The stabs missed her hepatic artery by millimeters. The stress alone could cause internal re-bleeding. Step outside, now, or I will have hospital security remove you."
Flynn’s eyes darted frantically between Dr. Reed and me. He was waiting for a flicker of recognition, a familiar trace of the submissive, loving wife who used to warm his dinner at 10:00 PM and fold his handkerchiefs. He found nothing.
"I’m not leaving you, Mabel," Flynn whispered, his voice cracking with desperation. "I'll be right outside. I’m going to clear this up. Selina... Selina lied to me. I'll make it right."
"You can't bring two heartbeats back, Flynn," I said, turning my gaze toward the rain-streaked window overlooking Michigan Avenue. "You can only leave."
When the door clicked shut behind him, the stiff posture I had maintained collapsed. A single hot tear escaped my right eye, tracing down my hollow cheek.
Dr. Reed adjusted my IV line with gentle precision. "You were very brave, Mrs. Vance."
"It's not bravery, Doctor," I murmured softly. "It's survival."
Ten minutes later, the door creaked open again. It wasn't Flynn.
My older brother, Julian Vance-Hayes—who had kept our mother's maiden name to build his own independent legal empire in New York—walked into the room. Behind him were two heavy-set men in dark tailored suits carrying thick leather briefcases. Julian’s face looked as though it had been carved out of granite.
"Julian," I whispered, my vision blurring.
In three strides, my brother was beside my bed. He didn't say a word at first; he simply leaned down, placed his forehead against mine, and breathed out a shaky sigh. His hands, usually so steady in front of federal judges, were shaking violently.
"I came as soon as Marcus called me," Julian said, his voice deep with suppressed fury. "When I heard what that monster did to you..."
"The babies are gone, Julian," I choked out, the reality finally breaking through my cold armor. "He killed them. He didn't even listen to me."
Julian pulled back, his dark eyes ablaze with a terrifyingly calm light. "I know, Mabel. Marcus sent me the surgical report and the pathology files an hour ago. You don't have to shed another tear for that bastard. From this second onward, Flynn Vance does not exist to you. I am taking over."
Julian signaled to the two men behind him. They were top-tier white-collar investigators and forensic accountants from Manhattan.
"Mabel," Julian said softly, sitting on the edge of the mattress. "Flynn thinks you’re an ordinary woman who gave up her career to play housewife. He forgot that before you married him, you managed the risk assessment portfolio at Blackwood Capital. He forgot who built the financial architecture behind Vance Global’s initial public offering."
I looked at my brother, the fog of pain in my brain beginning to clear.
"He thinks he destroyed you," Julian continued. "He thinks he can buy his way out of a double homicide and aggravated assault with an apology and a bouquet of flowers. But he made a fatal mistake. He forgot that thirty percent of Vance Global’s founder shares are registered under your personal trust—the trust our father set up before he died."
A cold, sharp clarity swept over me.
Three years ago, when Flynn was battling his uncle for control of Vance Global, I had quietly funneled my entire inheritance into his voting block to give him the fifty-one percent majority he needed. I had done it out of love. I had done it because I believed in him. I had kept my name off the press releases to let him shine as the lone corporate prodigy of Chicago.
"He doesn't know I still hold the voting proxy, does he?" I asked quietly.
"He has no idea," Julian smiled grimly. "He assumed you dissolved the trust after the wedding. Tomorrow morning, Flynn Vance faces two battles: a criminal investigation for attempted murder, and a hostile corporate takeover led by the very woman he tried to bury."
"What about Selina?" I asked, my voice hardening.
Julian’s smile vanished, replaced by an expression of absolute malice. "Selina Cole thinks she played a clever game. She staged a scratch, relied on a foolish man's obsession, and eliminated her rival. She doesn't realize that every security camera on your street—including the neighbor's Ring doorbell three houses down—captured her arriving at your house in a taxi, calm and unbothered, cutting her own arm with a razor blade in the driveway before pressing your doorbell."
May you like
My breath hitched. "You have the footage?"
"I bought the entire server's footage two hours ago," Julian said softly. "Flynn stabbed you based on a lie fabricated by a psychopath. And tomorrow, the entire world is going to see it."
