chapter 8
Genevieve
The nanny’s words echoed in my ears. “See, it was good that I stopped you. Otherwise, you would be dead at her place.”
Dead. Someone else was dead in my place. How could I possibly be grateful for that?
For over two hours, the children had been starving. Their thin cries cut through me, each wail heavier than the last. I’d been told to sit still, to do nothing—even if it meant watching my own children suffer.
But how could I? How could I turn away when their hollow eyes begged for help?
I couldn’t. Not anymore.
If anyone could stop this madness, it was him. And I had one thing left to use—his debt to me.
My legs trembled as I stood, every step toward him heavy. Alonzo’s eyes locked onto me the moment I moved. For a heartbeat, he seemed stunned. As if even he couldn’t understand why fate kept throwing me in his path.
I forced a smile. My lips shook, but I had to hide the fear clawing at me. “Hi…”
“Doctor.” His voice was sharp, mocking. His face was carved from ice. He didn’t soften, not even for a second.
Did he remember? Did he remember the night I kept him alive with shaking hands and desperate stitches?
“Do you remember? I saved your life that night. Without me, you would have died of infection,” I whispered, my eyes flicking nervously to the gun resting at his side.
He watched me, unreadable. “Yeah. I remember.”
“You said you owe me. You offered me money, property, even a blank check.” My voice cracked. I hated asking. Begging. But lives were at stake.
“I remember,” he said again, folding one leg over the other, like a king amused by a peasant’s plea.
“I don’t want money.” My hands pressed together. “I want you to spare these children. Please… leave the orphanage.”
He waved me off with a flick of his hand. “No compromise with work.”
The words hit me like ice water. My chest burned, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
“I saved your life. You owe me!” My voice rose, trembling with both anger and desperation.
His eyes hardened. “I already paid you. I left the money at your clinic. I owe you nothing.”
Hopelessness crushed me. My knees buckled, and I sank back down.
Then the cries pierced me again. Food… food…Children’s voices, weak, hungry, breaking.
I couldn’t take it anymore. My gaze darted around the room—and then I saw it. A platter of chicken, sitting untouched in front of him. Enough to keep them alive. Enough to stop the crying.
Before I realized it, I was moving. My hands shook as I reached for a few pieces, hiding them against my chest, ready to run.
“Don’t you DARE!”
His voice thundered, freezing me in place. My body went cold. The food slipped from my hands, scattering across the floor. Tears filled my eyes—not from fear, but from the unbearable cries still echoing from the hall.
I turned to face him, my chest heaving. “It was just a few pieces of chicken. You can’t eat it all yourself!”
He didn’t even look at me. “Not your problem. But if you want trouble, say it clearly—I’ll give it to you.” His hands glided over his shotgun, calm, deliberate.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to shake him until he understood. “Can’t you see? They’re starving! Please!”
Finally, his eyes slid to mine. They were colder than death itself. He set the shotgun beside the plate and began eating slowly, methodically—like he was performing for me. Each bite was deliberate. Each piece he dropped to the floor was a knife in my chest.
“So delicious,” he murmured, licking grease from his fingers.
Rage boiled in me. My heart hammered. The children’s cries filled my ears. And still—he mocked.
One of the staff couldn’t take it anymore. She stood, her voice shaking with anger. “You cannot do this! You—”
The crack of the gun split the air before she finished.
I froze.
Blood sprayed. Her body crumpled.
“Leena…” My scream tore through me as I fell beside her, grabbing her face in my hands. Her eyes were wide, unblinking. Her blood smeared across my palms. She was gone.
“No! No, no, no…” My cries shook the walls.
Then his hand was in my hair, yanking me back. Pain shot through my scalp. He forced my arms behind me, his grip brutal.
“This could’ve been you. But you saved me.”
His voice was cold. Flat. As if he hadn’t just ended a life. As if murder meant nothing.
I stared up at him, tears blurring my vision. My hatred burned hot through the grief.
“You think taking lives is a joke? You’re the worst man I’ve ever met. I regret saving you.”
For the first time, his eyes flared with fury.
“What did you just say?”
He had heard me clearly. He was giving me one last chance to take it back.
But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Even if it cost me my life.