Chapter 6

UNBROKEN

Kristen woke up to the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor beside her bed. The hospital room was cold and sterile, yet somehow it felt more peaceful than the mansion she was forced to call home. Her eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the soft light filtering through the blinds. Her body ached, her ankle was wrapped tightly and elevated, and her mouth was dry.

She tried to sit up, but pain shot up her leg and into her spine, forcing a strangled gasp from her lips.

The door clicked open.

A doctor in a white coat stepped inside, clipboard in hand. He looked calm and collected, clearly used to delivering updates to patients who didn’t want to be there. “Mrs. Moretti ,” he said with a polite nod, as if the name belonged to her. As if it had ever been hers to claim.

Kristen’s jaw tensed at the title. She didn't correct him.

“I’ve reviewed your scans and labs,” he continued. “Your vitals have stabilized, and with rest and medication, your sprain should heal in a few weeks. We’ll be discharging you today.”

Kristen gave a faint nod, silent and unmoved. Every word about therapy, follow-ups, and prescriptions washed over her. None of it mattered. Her body might’ve been mending, but her soul—her spirit—was shattered in pieces too sharp to touch.

She dressed slowly, awkwardly, biting down on her lip each time pain lanced through her swollen ankle. A nurse brought crutches and a bag with her discharge paperwork. The moment the hospital wristband was snipped away, she felt liberated.

Like she was being released from one prison only to return to another.

Outside, the sun was low in the sky, casting golden rays across the sidewalk. A sleek black car waited outside for her, guards stationed on either side like statues carved in stone. As she was wheeled down in the chair, a chill settled in her bones despite the warmth of the day.

The security guard opened the door for her. “Mrs. Moretti.”

Again with that name.

She climbed in without a word, her jaw clenched, her movements stiff. As the door shut behind her with a firm click, she stared out the window, arms folded tightly across her chest.

The ride back to the estate was silent, suffocatingly so. She watched the city blur past, but her mind wasn’t on the streets or the buildings. It was trapped in the memories, the betrayal, the forced marriage, the cold marble floor of the mansion where she had collapsed alone.

She remembered how her father had pleaded with her to go through with it. “Do it for our family.” But there was no family anymore. Only the wreckage they left behind.

Kristen thought of the hospital’s safety, of waking up to strangers who treated her with more dignity than her husband ever had. And now she was going back. Back to the man who saw her as a property, not a partner.

Her hands curled into fists.

By the time they reached the mansion gates, her shoulders were stiff with tension. The car eased through the iron entrance and up the long stone driveway. That house loomed in the distance, as grand and soulless as ever.

The doors opened.

Two guards stepped forward to assist her, but she waved them off and gripped the crutches herself. Her pride wouldn’t let her lean on anyone—not here, not in his house.

Each tap of the crutch on the polished marble floor echoed like a declaration: I’m still standing. You didn’t break me completely.

The halls were quiet, the lights dimmed. There was no sign of Carlo. No one waiting. No husband pretending to care. He hadn’t visited. He hadn’t called. He had simply ordered her return, like she was a package being dropped off.

She paused at the staircase, staring up the winding steps.

“You’ll be taken to a room in the east wing,” one of the staff said quietly. “It’s been arranged for your recovery. Doctor’s orders.”

Kristen didn’t look at him. Didn’t speak.

Instead, she let her crutches hit the stairs one by one, her ankle screaming in protest. Sweat dotted her brow, but she refused to ask for help. She needed the pain. She needed it to remind her that she was alive and still breathing.

still fighting.

Once upstairs, she was shown into a sunlit room. It was large, clean, and unfamiliar. Far from the dark, cold bedroom where she’d first been locked up. A fresh bed awaited her, the sheets crisp. There was even a vase of white lilies by the window.

It was all a deceptive appearance.

As she settled onto the bed with effort, she finally allowed herself to lie back and exhale. The silence around her was thick with memory.

She thought of her father, screaming outside the hospital room.

She thought of the way he had looked at her with guilt, with regret.

But not with courage.

He hadn't saved her. He’d handed her over like a bargaining chip. Like she was nothing.

And Carlo... Carlo hadn’t spared her a single visit. Not even a glance. He’d made it clear: she was only alive because he allowed it. He didn’t love her. He didn’t even hate her in the way that could spark passion. She was a burden he was determined to bear—because of a debt, not a bond.

Kristen stared at the ceiling, eyes wide and unblinking.

They think I’m broken, she thought. But they have no idea what I’m becoming.

And for the first time in weeks, something flickered inside her.

Not hope. Not yet.

But determination.