ISLAThe hospital room smelled of antiseptic and fear. My body still felt weak, as if the world had siphoned my strength while I slept. I stared at the ceiling, my mind refusing to rest, refusing to let me escape the truth that had been thrust into me. Samuel—my husband, the man I had loved with every fiber of my being—had betrayed me. Poisoned me. Killed our child. And signed my death certificate as if I were nothing more than a pawn he could discard at will.Zayne was standing across the room, his presence calm yet suffocating. The man had saved me, but he did not smile, did not offer comfort. He simply observed, measuring me, calculating. His steel-gray eyes seemed to see everything—my grief, my fury, my fear—and yet he revealed nothing of his own emotions.I wanted to scream, to cry, to collapse into the bed and let the world end. But something inside me—something cold, sharp, alive—refused. I had survived. And now, I would fight.“Why did you save me?” I asked, my voice hoarse, c
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