Chapter 4- The Final Betrayal

Biting her lip seductively, Tasha threw herself into Andre's arms, blushing as she playfully hit his chest with mock indignation.

"You scared me when you rushed out of the hospital room so suddenly," she purred against his neck.

Andre chuckled and apologized, blaming everything on business calls—yet his eyes subtly shifted, watching my reaction from where I lay restrained on the hospital bed.

But when he saw that I wasn't breaking down into tears like before, the same restlessness he'd felt during our confrontation crept back into his chest, inexplicably heavy.

"Lara," he said coldly, his voice cutting through the sterile air, "you've been staring at that phone ever since Tasha arrived."

His tone carried a note of suspicious jealousy that made my heart race with anticipation.

"Texting your pathetic friends? Or someone else I should know about?"

I had just finished confirming the final details of the hostile takeover and locked the stolen phone's screen, sliding it back under my pillow.

"Just reading the news," I replied calmly, meeting his gaze without flinching.

But rather than easing his paranoia, my composed answer only deepened the frown between his dark brows.

Catching me off guard, he snatched the phone from beneath my pillow before I could stop him.

"What's your password?" he demanded, his grip tight enough to leave marks on the device.

"My birthday," I said, watching his face carefully.

Ten years of marriage.

A six-digit password that simple—and yet, he still failed to unlock the phone before it disabled itself from too many incorrect attempts.

He'd forgotten the day I was born.

The rest of his visit passed in tense silence, Tasha clinging to his arm while shooting me venomous looks.

When they finally left the hospital, Andre immediately helped Tasha—who was supposedly exhausted from caring for baby Dylan during his recovery—into his Mercedes with exaggerated concern.

Then he instructed his driver to take them to the city's most expensive restaurant for a celebration dinner.

Coming back to glance through my hospital room window, he caught sight of me lying alone under the harsh fluorescent lights. Something about my isolated figure made him pause.

After a moment's hesitation, he called the head nurse.

"Make sure Mrs. Castellano gets proper meals. She's still my wife, after all."

But the dismissive way he said it made clear I was now nothing more than a legal obligation.

In my hospital room, I carefully opened the small overnight bag someone had brought from our penthouse—only to find all my personal belongings had been destroyed.

My mother's jewelry, shattered. My favorite books, pages torn out. Even my childhood photos with my father had been defaced with cruel words scrawled in red ink.

Thankfully, the important documents I'd hidden years ago in a safety deposit box were untouched.

Just as I gathered the ruined remnants of my old life and prepared to throw them away, I found

Tasha blocking my doorway.

She held a small bottle of bleach in her manicured hand, eyeing me with predatory satisfaction as she scanned me from head to toe.

"Wow, Lara. You've got some nerve," she sneered, her perfectly white teeth gleaming.

"Even after I waltzed into your marriage and made you the laughingstock of the entire social circle, you're still shamelessly clinging to the Castellano name like some desperate gold-digger."

"Oh right, your father died five years ago, didn't he?" Her tone was syrupy sweet and venomous.

"Now that your precious daddy is gone and can't protect you anymore, I guess you've got no choice but to cling to Andre like he's your meal ticket."

She suddenly remembered something, laughing as she brought her phone screen up to my face with malicious glee.

"Oh right, remember the night you begged Andre to help you arrange your father's funeral and settle his estate?"

"Want to know why he refused to help with any of the arrangements?"

"Because he had promised to take me to the charity gala at the Metropolitan Opera. Look—this photo of us dancing was taken that very night while you were grieving alone."

The image showed Andre spinning Tasha across the marble floor, both of them radiant with joy while I mourned my father's death in solitude.

Unable to endure the sight any longer, I slapped the phone out of her hand and grabbed her by the throat with strength I didn't know I still possessed.

The bleach bottle in her other hand slipped and shattered against the floor.

The sharp, acrid stench of chemicals instantly filled the air, burning our eyes and throats.

In the chaos, Tasha hastily kicked over the medical cart, sending IV stands and oxygen tanks crashing everywhere.

Thick smoke filled the air as cleaning chemicals mixed with electrical sparks from damaged equipment.

Having just undergone major surgery, I quickly succumbed to the toxic fumes, my body growing weak as I collapsed to the cold hospital floor.

Through the haze of pain, I heard Andre's voice roaring down the hallway—

"LARA!"

Then came the sounds of nurses trying to stop him.

"Sir, it's too dangerous! The chemical contamination—"

"Move! My wife is still inside!"

In the end, he ignored their warnings and rushed into the toxic cloud, his protective instincts overriding his hatred.

What he didn't expect... was to find Tasha collapsed inside too, her perfect skin already reddening from chemical exposure.

"Andre... help me..." she gasped, reaching out with a trembling hand.

She hadn't even finished her plea before he scooped her up in his powerful arms—never once glancing at me as I lay unconscious on the floor.

Without hesitation, he turned and carried her to safety.

---

Thirty minutes later, after ensuring Tasha received the best medical care, he returned to search the contaminated room.

But I was nowhere to be found.

Late that night, at JFK International Airport, I limped through security with a new passport and the last of my hidden resources.

After mailing a package containing evidence of Andre's financial crimes to the Alpha Financial Crimes Bureau, I boarded a red-eye flight to London, coughing from chemical exposure as I made my way down the aisle.

Just before the plane took off, my burner phone buzzed with a text from Andre.

*[Stop this childish tantrum and come home.]*

He had no idea that the broken wife he'd left for dead was about to become his worst nightmare.