Chapter 4

May POV

I stood there for a second, stunned. Invisible. Alone again.

No. Not alone. Alive.

And that had to count for something.

I turned and started running, legs aching, lungs screaming. I had no idea where I was going—just away. Away from that street. Away from those shadows.

Eventually, I found it.

A dingy old motel, its neon sign buzzing weakly overhead. I had no idea how long I’d been running—felt like hours. My clothes clung to me, soaked in sweat, fear, and desperation. But I made it.

Somehow… I made it.

I had a little cash in my pocket. Just enough.

The receptionist gave me a look. The kind that said trouble. But he didn’t ask questions. Just slid me a key and turned back to his phone.

I whispered a quiet, cracked “thank you” to whatever higher power was out there.

Because I should’ve been dead.

But I wasn’t.

And that meant I still had a chance.

I had just enough money left to pay for a room at the dingy motel. The receptionist didn’t ask any questions—just gave me this long, skeptical side-eye like I was already a problem waiting to happen. I didn’t care. I gave her the cash, took the key, and dragged my aching body into the tiny room.

The mattress was stiff. The air reeked of mildew. But it was shelter.

I collapsed onto the bed and just laid there, staring at the cracked ceiling, replaying every brutal second of the day. The assault. The betrayal. Chrissy’s name still rang in my ears like a curse.

I whispered to myself—They will all pay.

Every single one of them who made my life a living hell. There’s no forgiveness left in me. Only fire.

Somewhere far from that rundown motel, in the luxury of the Swebb mansion, Chrissy made a phone call.

I didn’t know it at the time, but she was perched on one of Smith’s expensive velvet chaises, sipping red wine like she owned the place. Like she belonged there.

She called the same thugs who tried to end me.

“Is the job done?” she asked, like she was ordering dessert.

They confirmed it. Said they were waiting for their balance.

Chrissy was quiet for a beat. Calm. Cold. Then she replied with all the warmth of an ice storm.

“That would be done.”

She ended the call and, without missing a breath, dialed another number. This time, she said something that would chill anyone to their bones:

“Finish those fools tonight.”

And just like that—her loose ends were erased.

By dawn, the same men who tried to kill me were found dead in some alley, bullet holes in their chests and their throats slit. No IDs. No traces. Just a message, loud and clear.

And what did Chrissy do when the news reached her?

She smirked. Placed a loving hand on her barely-there baby bump, and whispered, “We did it, baby. No one can stop us now.”

In her mind, she had already taken my place.

Boardrooms. Private jets. Wealth. Power. The legacy of the Swebb family under her foot. And me? I was supposed to be dead.

But I wasn’t.

The next morning, I woke up in that motel room, aching in places I didn’t even know could ache. The light crept through the cracked blinds, stinging my eyes. My throat was dry. My limbs sore. But my heart? Hardened.

There was no more room for softness.

I used my remaining cash to order a cheap breakfast and asked the front desk for something—anything—to wear. They sent me a wrinkled pair of jeans and an oversized blouse.

I cleaned myself up in that sad little bathroom. Brushed my teeth with my finger. Splashing water on my face felt like wiping off the last layer of who I used to be.

I looked at my reflection in the cracked mirror—and I barely recognized her.

But I saw something in her eyes: Resolve.

I tied my hair into a tight bun—the same way I used to when I worked long nights at the Swebb office, back when I believed hard work would earn me love. Respect. A future.

Not anymore.

This wasn’t yesterday’s May. This was a woman with a mission.

And I was starting with my mother.

"Does your reputation matter more than your own biological daughter?"

I needed answers. Real ones.

All those years of trying to be the perfect daughter. I sacrificed everything—love, peace, even a chance at motherhood—just to prove myself to her. And she sold me like livestock.

No. She wasn’t escaping this.

And Chrissy? She was going to feel the full weight of what she did.

But Chrissy…Oh, Chrissy.

My best friend. My confidant. My sister in everything but blood.

Now my greatest enemy.

I didn’t just want revenge on Chrissy.

I wanted ruin.

And Smith? That lying, manipulative excuse of a husband? I was coming for him too.

He thought a prenup would protect him? That I’d leave empty-handed?

That man built his empire on my back. My blueprints. My late nights. My sacrificed dreams.

He was going to pay.

And I wanted every single past salary, bonus, and recognition I was owed.

I had receipts—literal ones. Emails. Project drafts with my initials. Designs in my own damn handwriting.

I thought I was doing it all to build something with him. To earn my place beside him.

Turns out, I was just paving the way for Chrissy to slide into my life.

What a joke.

I laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and cold in the quiet room.

No. I wasn’t going to storm into their lives just yet. I wasn’t stupid.

Revenge without resources? That’s suicide.

First, I’d rebuild. Quietly. Patiently. Then I’d strike.

Which meant—first, I needed a job.

I had a Master’s degree in architecture, but no portfolio. All my work was for Swebb—and unpaid at that. On paper, I was invisible.

I checked job boards on a cracked motel tablet. Nothing fit.

No one hires ghosts.

So I swallowed my pride, slipped into the cheap clothes, and walked out to find whatever I could.

Waitressing. Anything.

My shoes were worn. My bag barely zipped. But my spine was straight.

I walked downtown, asking every diner, every fast food joint.

Most told me no. Some didn’t even look up.

That’s when I saw the crowd.

People clustered at the corner of a busy street, murmuring and frozen in place.

I walked closer, chest tightening.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

No one replied.

So I pushed forward, wove through the people—and my heart dropped.

A child. No older than six. Was being held at gunpoint by a trembling thief.

He held the boy by the collar, waving a rusty pistol like a lifeline. The boy's eyes were wide, brimming with silent tears.

And everyone just… stood there.

Mouths moving in prayer. Fingers frozen on phones. Nobody doing a damn thing.

I didn’t even think.

I shouted, “POLICE!” and hurled a stone from the gutter at his hand.

It hit.

The gun fell.

The boy ran.

Gasps exploded around me.

The thief looked up, eyes wild with rage. He scrambled for the weapon—and fired.

The sound cracked the air like lightning. I felt it before I heard it.

A burning heat tore through my shoulder.

My body jerked back. I hit the pavement.

Everything blurred.

People screamed. Ran. Disappeared.

And me?

Darkness swallowed me whole.