Something hollow opening up where something else had just been crushed.
Goosebumps rising along my arms despite the warmth of the room.
I couldn’t stay here any longer.
Not under his roof, not within reach of his decisions, his rage.
Not after everything I had endured, not after the line he had just crossed so easily.
Something in me had finally given way—not in weakness, but in clarity.
If Violet lost that child, he wouldn’t hesitate.
He would have me taken to a hospital, pinned to a table, and carved open like I had no say over my own body.
He would take my future from me—my ability to ever conceive—because he chose to believe another woman over me.
The thought settled heavily in my chest, not as panic, but as something colder.
This was where it ended.
I had stayed through too much already.
Through humiliation, through control, through the slow erosion of my own boundaries.
I had told myself I could endure it, that there was a reason to stay, that I could manage him, understand him, survive him.
But this... this was not something to survive.
It was something to leave.
I was done being patient.
Done waiting for him to see me, to choose me, to be anything other than what he had just shown himself to be.
I would leave him.
Completely. Permanently.
It didn’t matter how much power he held, how many men he commanded, how tightly guarded his world was—none of it mattered.
I would find a way out, and once I did, I would never come back.
Never.
I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the weakness still lingering in my body, and moved toward the bed.
Dropping into a crouch, I pulled my bag closer and began to pack with steady movements.
Cash, neatly bundled.
A burner phone, wiped clean of any trace.
The fake passport, still hidden in the inner lining.
A Glock, wrapped carefully in cloth, the magazine already loaded.
One change of clothes—dark, simple.
