VANESSA BELMONT
Morning light cut through the white curtains like a blade, dragging me back to consciousness.
My head throbbed, my mouth felt like I'd eaten cotton balls. My phone lay where I'd left it—still dark, still silent.
No response from Nathan.
I sat up, my chest hollow. Maybe that was for the best. No excuses. No lies. Just cold, hard proof of what I'd always feared: I was nothing more than a business arrangement to him.
***|***|***|***|***
VANESSA BELMONT
I signed my discharge papers, my grip on the pen tight enough to crack it. The nurse gave me a sympathetic smile. She probably thought I was in pain.
She wasn't wrong.
I still hadn't heard from Nathan. Not a call. Not a text. Not even a damn email.
Contract marriage. Corporate cooperation. Hard-hearted husband.
The hospital's automatic doors slid open, and the morning air hit me, crisp and cold. Carver leaned against his black sedan, arms crossed, his usual smirk painted on his mouth.
"Hello, Neenie. You look horrible."
"Oh, good. Because that's how I feel."
Carver opened the front passenger door and I slid inside the car. He rounded the front of the vehicle and got into the driver's side.
As he drove out of the parking lot, he said, "I figured I would have to fight Nathan to send you home."
"Hah!"
His brows lifted, but he didn't ask. Good. I wasn't in the mood to explain the gut-punch of that photo—Nathan, shirt open, Fiona's hand splayed on his muscled chest like she owned him.
I stared out the window at the black and grey buildings of Ash City.
"The marriage contract has penalties, right?" asked Carver.
"Yes. Big ones. It's why I want Nathan to break it, and not me. My parents already want to kill me for even entertaining the idea of ending my relationship with him."
"I'll pay the penalties."
"You might be able to pay the billion dollar break-up fee, but I would still have to give up my shares in both my family's and the Jangs' companies."
"What about the lawyer Grace mentioned?"
"I'll contact him today."
Headlights flashed in the rear view mirror. A black SUV roared up behind us, swerving dangerously close.
"What the—?" Carver's grip tightened on the wheel.
The SUV rammed us.
Tires screeched as we fishtailed. I braced against the dashboard, adrenaline rushing through me. My heart felt like it would beat out of my chest.
"Hold on!" Carver jerked the wheel, but it was too late.
The SUV sideswiped us, forcing us off the road. The sedan lurched, skidding onto the shoulder before slamming into a guardrail. Metal crunched. My head snapped forward, then back.
Dazed, I lay against the airbag, trying to catch my breath.
Carver groaned beside me, blood trickling from his temple. "Vanessa … run."
The car door wrenched open.
A gloved hand grabbed my arm, yanking me out. I kicked, punched, struggled with every ounce of my being, but then my attacker clamped a wet cloth over my mouth. A sweet metallic scent suffocated me.
My vision blurred.
The last thing I saw was Carver scrabbling from the car.
Then nothing.
***|***|***|***|***
Consciousness returned in pieces.
A throbbing headache. The scent of damp concrete. The bite of zip-ties digging into my wrists.
I forced my eyes open, blinking against the dim light of a single, flickering bulb overhead. The room was small, windowless—some kind of storage basement. My stomach roiled with nausea as I struggled against my restraints, the plastic cutting deeper with every attempt to wiggle out of the bonds.
Footsteps echoed outside the door.
I stilled, holding my breath.
The door creaked open, and a man stepped inside—tall, broad-shouldered, his face obscured by a black ski mask. He studied me for a long moment before speaking, his voice low and rough.
"Awake already. Good."
"Who are you?" My voice came out hoarse. "Where's Carver? What did you do to my friend?"
"Some friend. He bailed on you." He stepped closer. "You're going to make a call."
I scoffed. "To who? The kidnapper hotline?"
A backhanded strike snapped my head to the side, pain exploding across my cheek. I tasted blood.
"To Nathaniel Jang," he said. "You tell him to give up the Eastern Sun land deal. Or he'll have to pick up the pieces of your corpse from the side of the highway."
"That's harsh," I said. "But you kidnapped the wrong woman. He won't save me."
The man laughed, a cold, humorless sound. "You're his wife. That makes you leverage."
"I'm more like in pre-wife status," I said. "Maybe you want to call my parents. They at least value me as a trade-able commodity."
"I don't have beef with the Belmonts. It's the Jangs that need to burn in hell."
The man pulled out my phone, swiping to Nathan's contact. He pressed call and held it to my ear.
One ring. Two.
Then ... female laughter. "Nathan's in the shower. He can't talk to you right now. Besides, he's exhausted."
The man pressed a knife to my throat, the blade cold against my skin. I exhaled, my mind racing. If I played along, maybe I could buy time. If I fought, that knife would slit my throat before I took my next breath.
"Please, Fiona. I need to speak with Nathan. It's important."
"You know what's really important, Vanessa? My wedding. We're going to pick out rings today."
"Congrats. Can I please speak to my ex-fiance?"
A pause. Then another evil laugh. "No, you can't."
The knife pressed harder.
Fiona disconnected the call.
I met the man's masked gaze and swallowed hard. "She ... uh, hung up."
The man's eyes narrowed. The kidnapper's voice turned deadly calm. "Call him again."
I opened my call history and picked Malone's name because, death threat or not, I refused to talk to Fiona again. What a bitch.
"Madame Jang," said Malone. "How many I help you?"
The man snatched the phone away before I could answer. "You have twenty-four hours to give up the Eastern Sun land deal," he growled. "Or Vanessa Belmont dies. You get three hours to think about it."
He hung up, and powered off the phone. Then he put it into his jacket pocket.
The man leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. "You wanna beg for your life?"
"Honestly? This is my second life and it's not going that great. Can I beg for donuts instead?"
"Smart ass." The next thing I knew he was pressing a wet cloth against my face, and that same sickly sweet chemical smell assailed me.
Then I fell into darkness.