Chapter 12

Victoria pushed through the iron doors, her shoulder scraping against the cold wall as she moved, step by step, into the night.

Blood still seeped from the gash along her arm, soaking the sleeve of the gray cashmere dress until it clung heavy and wet. Drops slid off her fingertips, splattering onto the black asphalt, leaving a broken trail of dark stains.

The streetlights were dim, casting long shadows. An elderly man emerged from a convenience store, a paper bag in his hand. Under the weak glow, he saw her—blood everywhere, clothes torn, her face stripped of anything that resembled life.

"Oh my God!" The bag slipped from his grasp, cans rolling across the pavement. "Miss… what happened to you? Was it a mugging?"

Victoria stopped. Her head lifted slowly, her eyes unfocused.

"I'm fine." The words were flat, her mouth twisting into something uglier than a cry.

"Fine? You're bleeding like that!" His gaze fell to her arm, panic sharpening his tone. "There's a clinic just ahead. Or I can call an ambulance. You'll die if you keep walking like this."

Die? The thought didn't scare her. It felt almost… welcome. She'd wished more than once that it had been her that night.

She shook her head and moved past him.

"Don't play games with your life!" He hurried after her, voice breaking. "My granddaughter… she hurt herself once, said it was nothing. Infection took her within days. She was only twenty."

His words caught, trembling. "Miss, don't make the people who love you grieve."

Love her? Her steps faltered. In her mind, her grandmother's gentle face surfaced, the warmth in her eyes. If she were still alive, she'd cry to see her like this.

'Grandma… I'm sorry. I killed my sister. I'm not worthy of being your granddaughter,' she thought bitterly.

The guilt pressed so hard she could barely breathe.

"Thank you." Her voice was low. She quickened her pace, almost running from his sight.

A taxi slowed when she flagged it down. The driver's eyes widened at the sight of her blood-soaked body, and his mouth opened to refuse—until he saw the wad of bills in her hand, stained red. He pressed the gas.

Half an hour later, she stepped into a private clinic. She'd been here before, when illness kept her out of sight. Discretion was guaranteed.

She climbed to the second floor, to the surgical room. The door was ajar. No one inside.

She pushed it open and sank onto the bench along the wall, her body sagging.

"How the hell did you end up like this?" The voice was bright, sharp, and female.

Victoria forced her eyes open.

A woman stood before her, wearing a tailored red suit, hair in soft waves spilling over her shoulders. Makeup flawless, her gaze confident, alive. She radiated the kind of vitality Victoria had lost long ago.

Victoria didn't know her, yet something about her felt strangely familiar.

"Casino," Victoria murmured.

"Wow." The woman's brow lifted, no surprise in her tone. "Looking for excitement? Looks like it cost you plenty."

Victoria said nothing.

"Oh, right. I'm Rose Campbell. Sorry about your bad luck." Rose's eyes dropped to the wound on Victoria's arm, her brows knitting. She sighed. "What kind of problem drives you to this? That's a steep price."

Price? For someone like her, it was nothing.

Maybe it was because Rose was a stranger, maybe because she was too tired to lie. "I killed my sister. I killed Edward's love."

"Does it hurt?" Rose crouched so their eyes met.

"No." The answer was flat. "I deserve it."

"I'm paying for it," Victoria said, staring at her blood-caked hands. "I'm giving Edward my life. It's what I owe him."

If helping the Windsor family meant bleeding herself dry, if it meant Edward's anger cooled, the wound was nothing.

Rose's sigh was soft. She reached out, wrapping her arms around Victoria's filthy body.

The embrace was warm, scented faintly with citrus. It chased the cold from Victoria's bones.

"Fool." Rose's voice was gentle, almost tender. "If this is penance, then survive it. Don't die. Dead, you can't pay anything back."

Victoria let her head rest against that warmth. For the first time in hours, the tension in her body eased. Even a stranger's arms were something. At least someone could hold the dirt-stained version of her.

The sound of a lock turning broke the moment.

"Sorry to keep you waiting—emergency case…" Dr. Andrew Powell stepped in, a chart in his hand.

Rose released her, straightening. She winked, her smile bright. "Urgent business. Take care of yourself. We'll meet again."

Her heels clicked toward the door, brushing past the doctor.

"Jesus Christ! Ms. Windsor?!" Andrew froze, the chart nearly slipping from his grasp.

He crossed the room fast, eyes falling to the mess of her arm. His face went pale. "This… this is a knife wound. Who did this? Should I call the police?"

"No. I… cut it cooking."

The lie was pathetic.

Andrew's eyes swept over the deep gash, clean-edged, the kind only a blade driven hard could make. Cooking? Not a chance.

But he was smart enough to know that in certain families, truths were dangerous.

"Hold still. I need to stitch this."

The needle pierced flesh. Victoria watched his hands work, her mind drifting back to the casino. Edward's eyes on her bleeding body—cold, disgusted.

It was what she deserved. She had no right to pity.

Andrew's frown deepened. "An inch deeper and your hand would be useless. Do you understand? You're a designer—lose that hand, your career is gone."

Designer? She looked at the wreck of her hand under the harsh light. It had already lost the ability to create beauty.

"It's fine," she whispered.

His hands paused, his eyes lifting to hers, unreadable.

When the stitching was done, his gaze shifted to her neck and shoulder. Angry red welts covered the skin, some broken and oozing. He touched her forehead.

Hot.

"You're running a fever—at least 102. Severe allergic reaction, infection. Did you eat blueberries?"

He knew she was dangerously allergic.

She didn't speak, only nodded.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" His voice rose. "You've got a knife wound, a severe allergy. Ms. Windsor, life isn't something you gamble with!"

What had happened? Retribution.

She closed her eyes, hiding the flash of despair.

"I'm fine. Just give me the meds."

His helplessness was clear. As he hooked her to strong antibiotics and anti-allergy drugs, his voice softened, cautious. "If this is… domestic violence, or if you're trapped in something you can't get out of, I can connect you with people who help. Or… maybe a therapist."

Her eyes opened slowly. She met his worried gaze. In that moment, she could still feel Rose's embrace, the phantom warmth pressing against her skin.

No one could save her.

This was Edward's punishment. She had chosen it.

She shook her head lightly. "Thank you. Just the medicine."