CHAPTER 3: ALONE AND COLD

Vespera's POV 

The heavy brass doors of the gala venue didn't just open—they slammed into my back as two security guards shoved me out onto the concrete.

My knees hit the wet, freezing sidewalk first. The sharp pain flared up my legs, but it was nothing compared to the violent tearing sound of my emerald dress ripping down the side.

"Stay out," the lead guard barked down at me, his face stiff and devoid of pity.

   "Mr. Kane’s orders. You step one foot back inside, and we call the police for trespassing."

"Wait! Please!" I scrambled to my feet on trembling legs, my bare shoulders shaking as the bitter autumn wind sliced right through my thin fabric. "My coat! My purse is inside! My phone—everything I own is in that coat room!"

"Not anymore," the guard said flatly. He tossed a small plastic bag onto the wet ground. It bounced near my ruined heels. Inside was nothing but my worn leather wallet—empty of cash—and my keys. 

"Consider yourself lucky Mr. Kane didn't have you handcuffed right on that stage."

"I didn't steal his money!" I choked out, taking a frantic step toward the glass doors.

 "Listen to me! I am his wife! You know me!"

"You're nobody now, lady," he said, stepping back inside and pulling the massive glass doors shut. The heavy iron lock clicked into place with a sound that felt like a bullet hitting my heart.

I stood there in the freezing darkness, staring at my own reflection in the tinted glass.

I looked like a ghost. My black hair was plastered against my pale cheeks, soaked by the rain that had started pouring down from the dark Manhattan sky. My mascara was running in dark streaks down my face, and my arm was bruised blue where Everett’s hand had clamped down on me earlier.

"How could you?" I whispered to the empty glass. "How could you do this to me, Everett?"

There was no answer. Just the muted sound of high-society laughter and clinking champagne glasses echoing faintly from deep inside the warm, brightly lit building.

I bent down with numb, shivering fingers and picked up my plastic bag. I opened my wallet. My driver's license was there, along with a picture of me and my foster sister, Maren, taken three years ago when we lived in a cramped attic room eating boiled eggs for dinner. But every single credit card Everett had given me had been pulled out. I had zero cash. No phone. No coat. Nothing.

The rain turned heavier, pounding against my bare neck and shoulders like icy needles.

I turned around and started walking. I didn't know where I was going. My high heels made a hollow, sickening * sound against the rain-slicked pavement. Every step sent a shot of pain up my spine, but I couldn't feel my feet anymore anyway. My skin was turning a ghostly shade of purple.

Why? my mind kept screaming over and over again

Why did he frame me?

I thought back to six months ago. I remembered the way Everett had held my hand in front of the judge on our wedding day. He had looked into my eyes with so much tenderness. He had said,

*"Vespera, you will never have to worry about cold nights or empty pockets ever again. I’ll protect you."*

It had all been a lie. Every word. Every touch. Every smile.

He hadn't married me because he loved me. He had married me because I was an easy target. I was an orphan with no powerful family to defend me, no lawyers on retainer, no public voice. If twelve million dollars went missing from his company, who better to throw to the wolves than the charity case wife he picked up off the street?

A sob tore out of my throat, sharp and raw. I pressed my hand against my mouth to muffle the sound, but tears kept spilling over my eyelashes, burning hot against my freezing cheeks.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, lady!" a stranger yelled, bumping hard into my shoulder as he hurried past under a large black umbrella.

I stumbled sideways, grabbing onto a rusty lamppost to keep from falling into the gutter.

"I'm sorry," I choked out softly, my voice raspy and broken. "I'm sorry..."

The man didn't even turn around. He just kept walking, swallowed up by the crowded sidewalks of Midtown Manhattan. Hundreds of people were rushing past me, heading into warm subway stations, ducking into cozy delis, getting into yellow taxis with their loved ones. And there I was, surrounded by millions of people in the biggest city in the world, completely and utterly alone.

My body began to shake uncontrollably. Hypothermia was setting in. I couldn't feel my fingers anymore. My lips were so stiff I could barely press them together.

‘I need to find Maren,’ I thought, clutching my arms around my chest to hold in whatever tiny bit of body heat I had left. ‘Maren will help me. Maren knows I would never steal a dime. She knows who I am.’

I forced my legs to keep moving, turning down a darker, quieter side street toward a small diner three blocks away where I knew there was a public payphone. I just needed to call Maren. If I could hear her voice, if she could come pick me up, I could survive this night.

Suddenly, a loud screech of tires shattered the silence of the alleyway.

SWOOSH!

A yellow cab sped past the corner, hitting a massive puddle in the broken asphalt right next to me. A wave of dirty, ice-cold street water crashed over my entire body.

The freezing water soaked straight through my dress, entering my eyes and mouth, leaving me dripping wet from head to toe. The sheer shock of the cold knocked the breath out of my lungs. I gasped, dropping to my knees right in the filthy gutter water, shivering so hard my teeth rattled together like stones.

"Please..." I whimpered into the dark, rain-soaked night, burying my face in my numb hands. "Please, somebody... help me."

No one came. No one stopped. The rain kept falling, washing away my tears as fast as they came.

I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, wiping the dirty water from my eyes. I was so exhausted. My body felt heavy. I just wanted to close my eyes and sleep right there on the pavement.

That was when I noticed the lights.

Two blinding, narrow beams of white LED light cut through the dark rain behind me. They didn't pass by like the other cars. They slowed down.

I turned my head slowly, squinting through the downpour.

A massive, midnight-black sedan was creeping along the curb, moving at a walking pace right beside me. Its dark, sleek body reflected the wet neon signs of the city like a quiet predator gliding through the shadows. There were no license plate frames, no taxi signs—just pure, intimidating luxury.

My heart gave a sudden, panicked thud against my ribs.

The black sedan rolled to a complete stop just two feet from where I was kneeling in the gutter. The engine purred with a low, deep rumble that vibrated through the wet ground under my palms.

For three terrifying seconds, nothing happened. The headlights beamed into the rain, casting long, dark shadows down the alley.

Then, with a soft, mechanical hiss, the rear heavily tinted window began to roll down.