Anastasia wouldn''t let Herman sleep beside her. No matter how hard she tried,
she just couldn''t ept herself—not after everything. She felt dirty, tainted in a
way that couldn''t be washed away.
She didn''t want to drag him down with her.
She forced herself to eat the food Herman brought, picking at it in silence, before
burrowing back under the covers. She didn''t want to see anyone. She didn''t want
to talk. She sent everyone away, needing to be alone.
As for those four men who died—she felt nothing. They deserved it. That was all.
A whileter, Anastasia got up and wandered into the bathroom. She undressed
and caught sight of the bruises scattered across her skin. The memories crashed
over her, threatening to break her.
She bit her lip, ran a bath as hot as she could stand, and slid into the water. She
scrubbed at her skin until it turned red and raw, but she couldn''t feel anything. Not
pain, not relief.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn''t get clean. She was too filthy.
Anastasia started to cry, silent tears slipping down her cheeks and dripping into
the bath, disappearing without a trace.
Blood began to trickle, swirling into the water and tinting it red.
Something about that color—so bright, so final—made her heart race. A strange,
desperate smile flickered on her lips.
Moving without thinking, she opened a drawer, took out Herman''s razor, and
slipped the de free.
Just one cut, and she wouldn''t have to face herself anymore.
Anastasia closed her eyes, lifting the de to her wrist. She was ready.
Suddenly, someone hammered on the door. Herman''s voice cut through the
silence, tense and frantic: "Anastasia! Anastasia, what are you doing? I''ming
in!"
He couldn''t stay away, even when she pushed him out. He''d been worried—
rightly so.
He heard nothing from inside, and panic took over. He grabbed the doorknob,
about to force it open—
But the door swung open first.
Anastasia stood there, wrapped tight in a towel, her face nk. "I''m just taking a
bath. There''s no need to panic."
It was Herman''s voice—his fear—that pulled her back from the edge.
She brushed past him, heading for the closet and changing into warm, loose
clothes.
Herman nced into the bathroom. The razor de glinted in the trash. The
water in the tub was tinged red.
She''d tried to end it.
The realization nearly dropped him to his knees. He rushed into the closet,
grabbing her wrist and checking for wounds.
Nothing. Relief washed over him. If he hadn''te in time—he didn''t want to
think about it.
Herman pulled her into a fierce hug,
at aplete loss. He''d handled
billion-dor deals without flinching,
but the idea of losing Anastasia—he
couldn''t breathe.
"You still have me. And the kids.
Anastasia, you can''t leave us. If you
go, I''m going with you." His voice
shook as he held her, tears spilling
over.
Losing her—that was his greatest fear.
Anastasia broke down, sobbing in his arms.
This fool. No matter what happened, no matter how broken she felt, he never let
her go. He never turned away.
She clung to his shirt, pain twisting in her chest. "Why are you so... stupid?"
She''d said those words before, back at the police station, when everyone
suspected her of killing Grannie Anita. Even then, he cared only about her.
Anastasia cried herself to sleep in his arms.
Herman watched her sleep, his heart tangled with guilt and helplessness.
He slipped out to the balcony, chain-smoking cigarette after cigarette, letting the
smoke dull the ache inside.
His phone rang—Dailey. "Boss, we found him."
Herman''s eyes turned cold. "Where?"
"A clinic north of the city."
He''d never stopped searching for the man who framed Anastasia. Dropping the
case was just for show—he needed to work in the shadows.
He was certain. That other man in the cave that night? It had to be Rowan.
Since Anastasia''s world fell apart,
Herman had been hunting Rowan
quietly. He knew: only by finding him
could they finally uncover the truth
of what happened that night.