Chapter Twenty-Nine: Shattered Glass and Second Chances

I didn't want to go back inside that glittering prison.

Not after the acid that could have melted my throat. Not after seeing how close I'd come to dying with a smile on my killer's face. Not after realizing that someone in that ballroom had looked at my pregnant body and decided both my baby and I needed to disappear.

But I did it anyway.

Because Scarlett Blackwood didn't run anymore. She walked straight into the fire and dared it to burn her.

I glided back into that ballroom like I owned every inch of marble beneath my feet, like I hadn't just watched poison eat through stone, like my heart wasn't still hammering against my ribs so hard I could taste copper.

The chandeliers cast their golden light over hundreds of beautiful predators in designer gowns and thousand-dollar tuxedos. The air hummed with barely contained excitement—the kind that came from witnessing drama, from sensing blood in the water.

Jules materialized at my side like a guardian angel carved from shadows and steel. Dominic hovered near the security command center, his jaw so tight it looked like it might shatter, whispering something to his head of operations that made the man's face go pale.

I could feel their eyes tracking my every movement—hungry, calculating, waiting for me to break.

The Reynolds family, clustered near the champagne fountain like vultures circling fresh carrion.

Delilah, radiant in that emerald green gown that matched the poison-bearer's description, her blonde hair catching the light as she laughed at something Blake whispered in her ear.

Lydia Blackwood, regal and untouchable in midnight blue silk, her silver hair gleaming like a weapon as she held court with the city's most powerful women.

All of them smiling. All of them sipping champagne. All of them pretending tonight was just another elegant evening instead of a failed assassination attempt.

But I knew better now.

One of them had tried to kill me and my unborn child.

And next time, they might succeed.

I moved toward the bar, needing a moment to collect myself, my hand instinctively resting on my still-flat belly. The gesture had become automatic—protective, possessive, a silent promise to the life growing inside me that I would burn down the world before I let anyone hurt them.

That's when I heard it.

A voice I knew better than my own heartbeat, soft and broken and achingly familiar.

"Scarlett."

I turned slowly, my body tensing for whatever fresh hell was about to unfold.

Blake.

But this wasn't the arrogant, entitled man who'd shattered my world with his betrayal. This Blake looked... hollow. Like something vital had been carved out of him and left to rot. His perfectly styled hair was slightly mussed, his bow tie crooked, and there were dark circles under his eyes that makeup couldn't quite hide.

He wasn't posturing this time. No trademark smirk. No calculated charm.

Just desperation wearing a designer tuxedo.

And regret so thick I could smell it over his expensive cologne.

He stepped forward carefully, hands raised slightly like he was approaching a wounded animal that might bolt or attack without warning.

"I'm not here to make a scene," he said, his voice hoarse like he'd been screaming. "I just... God, Scarlett, I need to say something. Please."

I didn't speak. Couldn't speak. Every muscle in my body was coiled tight, ready to run or fight or shatter into a million pieces.

So he filled the silence himself.

"I'm miserable," he whispered, the words falling between us like broken glass. "I haven't slept in weeks. I can't eat. I can't think about anything except how badly I destroyed us."

Still, I said nothing. Let him twist in the wind he'd created.

"I know I don't deserve anything from you," he continued, his voice cracking slightly. "Not a word. Not a second of your time. Not even the air you breathe. But Delilah was—she was a mistake. The biggest mistake of my life. I was angry, and weak, and so fucking stupid—"

"And you chose her," I said, my voice flat as winter ice. "Over me. Over us. Over the family we could have built together."

His mouth opened and closed like a fish drowning in air.

I leaned in slightly, my voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carried more venom than any scream.

"You didn't lose me when I walked out that door, Blake. You lost me the day your mother told the press I faked my pregnancy for attention—and you stood there like a coward and let her destroy me."

He flinched like I'd slapped him.

"You lost me when you chose to believe Delilah's lies over my tears. When you let your family paint me as some gold-digging whore while I was carrying your child and bleeding from the inside out."

"Scarlett—"

"You let them destroy me, you watched your mistress push me down a fifteen story building with a child in my womb.” I continued, my voice getting softer and deadlier with each word. "And now you're miserable? That's not justice, Blake. That's karma finally coming to collect what you owe."

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You're different now. Harder. Colder."

I smiled, and it felt like putting on armor made of broken hearts and shattered dreams.

"I had to be. Because the version of me who loved you—who would have died for you— did die. And when she clawed her way back from that grave you dug for her, she came back as someone who could never be destroyed again."

He looked like he wanted to say more, like there were a thousand apologies clawing at his throat, desperate to escape.

But I was done listening to his regrets.

I was done caring about his pain.

I turned away from him, my spine straight and my head high, walking away from the man who'd once been my entire world.

And that's when everything shattered.

"Bitch!"

The scream tore through the ballroom like a banshee's wail, sharp enough to cut glass and silence conversations.

Crystal glasses paused halfway to lips. Dancers stopped mid-step. Every head in the room turned toward the sound.