Chapter 1: The Price of Eight Broken Ribs
"My husband had bodyguards break 8 of my ribs for his mistress, then tossed me $40M: ""$5M per bone."" Next day, his assistant trembled: ""Boss... we're doomed. Madam's back in New York—the sole heiress of...""
Just seconds earlier, my sister-in-law Cassandra had smiled venomously before deliberately throwing herself down the marble stairs. The heavy oak doors burst open, and Julian Croft—my husband—stormed in.
""Julian, please don't blame her,"" Cassandra sobbed, clutching his shirt. ""She probably just holds a grudge because you took me to the gala.""
A clumsy lie easily unraveled by security footage.
But Julian wouldn't check.
He glared at me, eyes that once whispered sweet nothings now filled with absolute disgust.
""I didn't touch her...""
""Security,"" Julian barked coldly. ""Since you cannot control your hands, I will teach you the exact weight of the Croft family rules.""
Before I could process it, a bodyguard's steel-toed boot drove viciously into my side.
Then the second kick.
And the third.
Crack.
The horrifying percussion of my own ribs giving way echoed through the hall.
An overwhelming wave of agony swallowed me.
I curled up on the Persian rug, the metallic taste of blood flooding my throat, while Julian watched the slaughter with an arrogant, bored expression.
When the brutes finally stopped, Julian casually withdrew his checkbook.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the check at my bruised face like a soiled coin to a beggar.
""One broken bone, five million dollars,"" Julian dictated, his voice a death summons. ""That was eight kicks. Eight broken ribs. This forty million is to purchase your absolute silence. If I hear so much as a whisper against Cassandra... I will take your life.""
Hurled out of the wrought-iron gates, I lay in the freezing mud under the merciless Denver rain.
Forty million.
The price tag on my squandered youth—the years I spent sealing away my own global empire to play his submissive wife.
When despair breaches its peak, what remains is a cold, terrifying clarity.
A bone-chilling smile slowly stitched itself across my bloodied lips.
Good, Julian. The rules of power you just taught me... I’ve learned them flawlessly.
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