Chapter 3

The rain pounded against the concrete walls of the Midtown parking garage, creating a symphony of hollow echoes that matched the emptiness growing inside me. I checked my watch—9:47 PM. Alexander had canceled our dinner plans again, claiming an emergency board meeting that couldn't wait. Three weeks had passed since the humiliation at Emilio's, and we'd settled into an uneasy rhythm of strained conversations and avoided glances.

My heels clicked against the concrete as I made my way toward my car, the sound bouncing off the walls of the nearly deserted garage. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting strange, elongated shadows that seemed to reach for me like grasping fingers.

"Should have taken a car service," I muttered to myself, fumbling for my keys. The garage had always made me uneasy, especially at night, but I'd been so eager to escape the suffocating silence of our penthouse that I hadn't thought twice about driving myself to the charity committee meeting.

I heard it before I felt it—the soft scuff of shoes against concrete behind me. I turned, my heart hammering against my ribs, but saw only shadows.

"Hello?" My voice sounded small in the cavernous space. "Is someone there?"

Silence answered me. I quickened my pace, clutching my purse tighter against my side. My car was just ahead, the sleek black BMW Alexander had insisted on buying me for my birthday last year.

The attack came swiftly. A hard shove from behind sent me sprawling forward. My palms scraped against the rough concrete as I tried to break my fall. Before I could scream, a hand grabbed my hair, yanking my head back.

"Pretty little Montgomery," a voice hissed, unfamiliar and muffled. "Not so special now, are you?"

Pain exploded across my face as something—a fist, perhaps—connected with my cheek. I tasted blood, metallic and warm, as my lip split open. I tried to fight back, to scream, but another blow sent my head snapping sideways, and the world began to blur around the edges.

"Please," I gasped, raising my hands in a futile attempt to protect myself. "Take my purse, take anything—"

Another blow silenced me. I fell back against the cold concrete, my vision swimming. The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was a pair of expensive leather shoes stepping backward into the shadows.

I don't know how long I lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness. My phone buzzed repeatedly in my purse, which had spilled open beside me. Alexander's name flashed on the screen, but I couldn't reach it, couldn't answer his calls.

The sound of heels clicking against concrete roused me. Through swollen eyes, I made out a familiar silhouette approaching—slender, graceful, with golden hair catching the harsh fluorescent light.

"Oh my God! Isabella!" Victoria's voice, pitched high with concern, echoed through the garage. She knelt beside me, her cool hands cradling my head with surprising gentleness. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

I tried to speak, but only a pained moan escaped my bloodied lips. Victoria was already on her phone, her voice commanding as she spoke to building security.

"There's been an attack in the parking garage, level B2. Send help immediately. It's Isabella Montgomery."

The world faded in and out as Victoria held me, her expensive perfume—too sweet, too heavy—filling my nostrils. Part of me wanted to push her away, to question what she was doing here, how she had found me. But I was too weak, too disoriented.

Footsteps pounded against concrete, and suddenly Alexander was there, his face pale with shock as he took in my battered appearance.

"Bella!" He knelt beside me, his hands hovering uncertainly over my injuries. "What happened? Who did this?"

"I found her like this," Victoria said, her voice trembling with perfect distress. "I was coming to meet you for dinner and saw her lying here. If I hadn't come through this level..."

Alexander's gaze shifted from me to Victoria, his expression softening with gratitude. "Thank God you found her."

He helped me sit up, supporting my weight as pain shot through my ribs. "Bella, Victoria saved you. If she hadn't found you..."

I stared at Victoria through my one good eye, noting the concern on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes. There was something else there—satisfaction, perhaps. Triumph.

"Thank her," Alexander urged, his voice gentle but insistent. "She saved you, Bella."

My throat constricted, the words sticking like thorns. Victoria watched me expectantly, her head tilted in that perfect angle of concerned innocence.

"Thank... you," I managed, each syllable tasting like poison.

Victoria smiled, squeezing my hand. "Of course, darling. That's what family is for."

As paramedics arrived and lifted me onto a stretcher, I caught a glimpse of Victoria's hand resting possessively on Alexander's arm, her thumb tracing small circles against his skin. He didn't pull away.

* * *

Three days later, I stood in our bedroom, methodically ironing the cream silk dress I planned to wear to dinner. The bruises on my face had faded from angry purple to sickly yellow-green. My split lip had mostly healed, though it still throbbed when I spoke too much.

Alexander emerged from the bathroom, adjusting his cufflinks—not the platinum ones I'd given him, but gold ones I'd never seen before. A gift from Victoria, perhaps?

"Are you sure you're up for dinner tonight?" he asked, his eyes barely skimming over my bruised face before returning to his reflection in the mirror.

I nodded, my fingers twisting his diamond ring around my finger—a nervous habit I'd developed over the years. "The police still have no leads?"

"They're calling it a random mugging," Alexander replied, checking his watch with a small sigh. "Though why they didn't take your purse..."

"It wasn't random," I said quietly, setting down the iron. "Someone targeted me specifically."

Alexander's expression hardened. "Don't start with conspiracy theories, Bella. You've been through a trauma. It's affecting your judgment."

I bit my tender lip, tasting blood again. "Victoria just happened to be there. At that exact moment. In that exact parking garage."

"She was coming to meet me for dinner," he said, his tone clipped. "You should be grateful she found you."

"Grateful," I echoed, the word hollow in my mouth.

He glanced at his watch again, more pointedly this time. "I need to go. Victoria's waiting."

"We were supposed to have dinner together tonight," I reminded him, my heart fluttering painfully in my chest.

"I know, but she's still shaken up from finding you like that. She needs company tonight." He leaned in, pressing a perfunctory kiss to my forehead. "We'll reschedule."

As the door closed behind him, I stared at my reflection in the mirror—bruised face, hollow eyes, the diamond ring glinting on my finger like a shackle. For the first time, I allowed myself to consider a terrifying possibility: what if Victoria hadn't just found me in that garage?

What if she had orchestrated the entire attack?