Chapter 2

Icy rainwater dripped through a crack in the basement ceiling and splashed onto Alexis's forehead. The memory resurfaced.

Bertrand flicked cigar ash off his suit jacket, pulled a yellowed contract from his briefcase, and unfolded it in front of her. The notary stamp had faded. He pointed at the signature line and laughed.

"You really thought we registered a marriage certificate at City Hall twenty years ago?"

Alexis's chest heaved violently. She stared at the paper, eyes burning.

Bertrand sneered and shoved it closer.

"It's an unpaid domestic labor agreement. Legally, you were never my wife."

Christy giggled beside him.

"And the old Ashley Manor? Bertrand had you sign it over years ago to cover your living expenses. All that's left is the notary's confirmation once you're gone."

A ringing filled Alexis's ears. Twenty-five years a free slave—and she'd signed away her family estate for nothing.

Bertrand bent down, lips near her ear.

"Your grandfather's heart attack? I swapped his blood pressure pills."

Alexis's eyes flew wide. The blood vessels in her eyes burst on the spot. Cary Ashley—the only family who'd poured everything into teaching her medicine—murdered by these two beasts.

A hoarse roar tore from her throat. She lunged for Bertrand's collar with the last of her strength, nails digging in. His shirt ripped open, leaving bloody scratches across his collarbone.

Bertrand hissed. His face darkened, and he slapped her hard across the face.

"Crazy bitch, you have a death wish!"

Alexis was knocked flat onto the wooden planks. Her forehead slammed against the rusty iron bed rail. Warm blood trickled down her hairline.

Christy shrieked and rushed over, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at Bertrand's scratches.

"Don't get mad at a dying woman. She'll dirty your hands."

Bertrand shook his hand in disgust and kicked the water basin away.

"The doctor will be here in ten minutes. I don't want to hear another sound out of her."

Alexis lay face down on the freezing wood, vision swimming red. The fake contract lay on the floor, smeared with her bloody thumbprint. If she got another life, she'd make them pay in blood.

Thunder crashed. Lightning flashed through the vent, casting the couple's twisted shadows on the peeling wall.

Christy walked to the head of the bed, bent down, and yanked out the oxygen tube keeping Alexis alive. She smiled sweetly.

"Goodbye, dear sister."

Suffocation hit like a wave. Her lungs burned. Her eyes stayed fixed on the two figures. Bertrand watched her body stop twitching, then turned toward the exit.

"Lock the door. Wait for the medical examiner."

High heels and leather shoes faded. The heavy lock clicked shut, cutting off the last light. Darkness swallowed the room. Her heart stopped. Her muscles stiffened.

Then the memory broke off.

Alexis gasped and came back to herself. The basement, the blood, those two faces—gone. She was still sitting on the edge of the bed, her heart pounding against her ribs.

She looked down at her hands. No blood. No scars. A pair of young hands.

She was alive. She was twenty. And every last drop of blood debt from those twenty-five years was carved into her bones, one by one.