The heavy fog in Anastasia’s mind cleared slowly, dragging her back to consciousness with a throbbing ache at the base of her skull.
Her eyelids fluttered open, heavy and dry. The bitter, chemical taste of the sedative still coated her tongue.
She tried to lift her hands to rub her temples, but coarse hemp rope bit brutally into her wrists, binding her arms securely behind the back of a solid wooden chair. Her ankles were tied tightly to the chair legs, pinning her in place.
The air was damp, reeking of rust, engine oil, and stale seawater.
"Ana...?"
A weak, shredded whisper reached her ears from across the small pool of yellow light.
Anastasia’s head snapped up, her dark eyes focusing on the figure hanging from the rusted overhead pipe just ten feet in front of her.
"Clara!" Ana gasped, her heart fracturing in two.
Clara was chained by her wrists, barely able to keep the balls of her feet on the icy concrete floor. She was shivering violently, stripped down to only her dark tights and a torn, blood-stained undershirt.
Bruises bloomed across her ribs, her split lip was crusted with dried blood, and her right eye was swollen nearly shut.
"Clara, oh god..." Ana choked out, tears instantly burning her lashes as she strained against her ropes. "What did they do to you? I’m so sorry... I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop them..."
"Why did you come, Ana?" Clara sobbed softly, fresh tears carving clean lines through the dirt and blood on her pale cheeks. "You should have stayed behind the gates. It was a trap... she wanted you..."
"What a touching little reunion," a sharp, venomous voice cut through the damp shadows.
Heels clicked rhythmically against the concrete floor.
Vivian Stark stepped out from the darkness into the harsh glare of the halogen bulb. She looked pristine... a tailored ivory trench coat, pristine pearl earrings, and a glass of scotch swirling in her left hand.
Her red lips were curved into a triumphant, manic smile as she looked down at Anastasia bound to the chair.
"Look at you," Vivian mocked, taking a slow sip of her drink. "The delicate Mrs. Sterling, willingly walking into the slaughterhouse just to save an expendable office worker. You really are as pathetic and naive as you were two years ago, Anastasia."
Ana raised her chin, refusing to let the trembling in her chest show on her face. Her dark eyes hardened with fierce, unyielding pride.
"You’re pathetic, Vivian," Ana said, her voice steady and sharp. "You’re hiding in an abandoned basement like a rat because Damian stripped your family of everything. You lost your name, your shares, and your status. You have nothing left."
Vivian’s smile froze. Her jaw tightened, a flash of murderous fury crossing her eyes before she let out a low, hollow laugh.
"I lost nothing that I can’t take back with interest," Vivian murmured, stepping closer until she was towering right over Anastasia. "And you still think Damian did all of that because he cares about you? You really believe he burned my family down out of some noble, protective love?"
Vivian reached out, gripping Ana’s jaw with icy force, digging her painted nails deep into Ana’s skin.
"I already told you how I poisoned your mind back then, didn’t I?" Vivian whispered, her red lips curving into a sinister, triumphant smirk. "I told you how I fabricated those affairs, planted the fake hotel receipts, and fed you calculated lies every single day until you broke and demanded a divorce. You thought I was the sole monster in your tragedy."
Ana glared up at her, breathing heavily through her nose, refusing to give Vivian the satisfaction of flinching.
"You’re sick, Vivian," Ana spat out. "You ruined my life for your own twisted obsession."
"I did," Vivian purred, her eyes glittering with sick delight as she leaned down, bringing her lips right against Ana’s ear. "But do you want to know the part I left out, Anastasia? The little secret Damian has kept locked away in his cold, black heart?"
A faint, uneasy chill crept down Ana’s spine, but she kept her jaw rigid.
"Damian knew," Vivian whispered, each word dropping like liquid ice. "From the very first lie I whispered in your ear... Damian knew everything I was doing to you."
The air left Anastasia’s lungs.
Her dark eyes widened in sudden, staggering shock. "What...?"
"He knew every single scheme," Vivian laughed softly, stepping back to savor the sheer, devastating horror spreading across Ana’s pale face. "He knew the photos were staged. He knew the mistress rumors were fake. He watched me systematically carve you to pieces, dismantle your sanity, and break your spirit into dust. And do you know what your beloved husband did, Ana? Nothing. Absolutely nothing."
"No..." Ana’s voice cracked, a violent tremor tearing through her chest. "You’re lying..."
"Why would I lie about that?"
Vivian smiled, taking a slow sip of her scotch as she watched Ana’s entire reality shatter.
"He hated your father. He despised the Vance name for everything your family stood for, and he used you as his personal scapegoat. Letting me torture you was his favorite spectator sport. He stood back, folded his arms, and enjoyed watching you suffer every single day because he believed you deserved to pay for your family’s sins."
Vivian tilted her head, her gaze dripping with mocking pity.
"He never tried to save you from me back then, Anastasia. He relished every tear you cried. You were never his cherished wife... you were just his favorite prisoner to punish."
Anastasia felt as though the floor had given out beneath her.
The damp, frigid air burned in her lungs. Every hollow memory of her first marriage... the nights she had wept alone in the master suite, the sick feeling of clutching fake hotel receipts while Damian met her tears with cold, impassive silence... slammed into her all at once.
He hadn’t just been indifferent. He had known. He had watched her drown in organised agony and found satisfaction in her destruction.
A suffocating lump lodged in her throat, but when her eyes flicked to Clara’s battered, trembling form, Ana forcefully locked the agony away behind her teeth.
She couldn’t fall apart. Not now. Clara’s life hung by a thread.
"Is that all you have, Vivian?" Ana’s voice came out cold, razor-sharp, cutting through the heavy silence. "You dredged up two-year-old history just to feel powerful? You’re still the same desperate woman begging for Damian’s scraps."
Vivian’s smug grin vanished, replaced by a sudden, ugly sneer.
She set her crystal glass down on a rusted barrel with a sharp clatter, reaching into her trench coat to pull out a sleek, black semi-automatic pistol.
"You think you’re clever, don’t you?" Vivian hissed, stepping around the chair to stand directly behind Clara.
Vivian pressed the cold, steel barrel hard against Clara’s bruised temple. Clara whimpered, her breath coming in shallow, terrified hitches as the metal bit into her skin.
"No! Vivian, stop!" Ana lunged forward instinctively, the coarse ropes tearing painfully into her wrists as the wooden chair scraped loudly against the concrete.
"Shut up and listen," Vivian snapped, pulling a second burner phone from her pocket and tapping the screen. "You are going to record a live voice transmission directly to Damian Sterling. You will tell him that you walked out of Northwood willingly. You will tell him to transfer the full voting equity of the Stark portfolio to an offshore holding account and sign over the deep-water shipping lanes at the harbor."
Vivian leaned over Clara’s shoulder, her manic eyes locking onto Ana with unhinged malice.
"You have sixty seconds to read the text on this screen, Anastasia. If you hesitate, if you stutter, or if you try to send a hidden code... I pull this trigger, and your little marketing friend’s brains will decorate this wall."
Clara lifted her swollen, bloodied face, her voice a ragged, desperate sob. "Don’t... don’t do it, Ana... she’s going to kill us both anyway..."
Vivian struck Clara across the face with the butt of the gun. Clara’s head whipped back, a fresh line of crimson splitting across her cheekbone as she groaned in agony.
"Next one is a bullet," Vivian warned, holding the phone inches from Anastasia’s face, the red record button pulsing like a heartbeat. "Start talking, Mrs. Sterling."
Ana stared at the illuminated screen, her chest heaving. Across the small circle of light, she caught Clara’s swollen gaze. Behind the terror, Clara was subtly shifting her weight, her chained hands working against a loose, rusted bracket on the overhead pipe.
Ana needed to buy time. She raised her chin, looking past the gun directly into the camera lens.
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