Chapter 11
Kaiden Walter POV:
I stood on the edge, my hands gripping the cold concrete barrier until my knuckles turned white. My eyes were fixed on the crumpled black shape on the pavement below, a shape that was once her. Anya.
Her last look… it wasn' t hatred. It wasn' t anger. It was… release. A small, sad smile as she let go. Goodbye.
The sickening thud still echoed in my ears, a sound that would haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life. My hand was still outstretched, frozen in the air where her dress had slipped through my fingers.
My subordinate rushed to my side. "Sir, are you alright?"
I shoved him away, my legs carrying me toward the stairwell in a stumbling run. My vision blurred. My lungs burned. It wasn' t real. It couldn' t be. She wouldn' t.
When the elevator doors opened to the lobby, the scene was chaos. A crowd had gathered. The metallic scent of blood hit me like a physical blow, and I stopped dead.
The paramedics were zipping a black body bag.
I watched, paralyzed, as they loaded her onto a gurney. Anya Chambers, the fire, the fury, the ghost of a girl I once knew, reduced to a piece of evidence in a bag.
Suddenly, a primal roar ripped from my throat. I surged forward, shoving past the paramedics, my hands tearing at the zipper.
"Anya! Wake up! That' s an order!"
My men grabbed me, pulling me back as I fought like a caged animal. I didn' t feel their hands, I didn' t hear their pleas to calm down. All I saw was the black bag being loaded into the ambulance, its siren wailing a mournful dirge that cut through the city air.
Later, in the sterile silence of the county morgue, I stood over her body, the white sheet a stark, final barrier. My assistant stood nervously by the door.
"Sir… what are your instructions for… the remains?"
"Cremation," I rasped, my voice raw. "Find the best cemetery in the city. A plot with a view of this building." I wanted her to watch me. I wanted her to haunt me.
The news of my impending wedding was overshadowed by the scandal of my mistress' s suicide. Kendal was furious.
"She' s dead, Kaiden, and you' re still obsessed with her!" she shrieked, throwing a porcelain teacup against the wall of my office. "Who do you love, me or her ghost?"
I didn' t answer. I just walked out.
Meanwhile, in a secluded cabin in the far reaches of Alaska, Anya Chambers awoke from a nightmare, the image of her father' s fall replaying in her mind. Her new identity, Anna Russo, felt foreign and ill-fitting.
Her father' s last phone call had been a confession and a plan. His suicide had been a sacrifice, a final, desperate act to save her. He had found a terminally ill woman, a distant cousin she never knew she had, who was her spitting image. He had paid her family a fortune to stage the suicide, to create a believable death that would free Anya from her past. He had left her a new name, a clean passport, and access to the family' s hidden, legitimate wealth.
Live in the light, Anya.
But as she stared out at the shimmering aurora borealis, she knew she couldn' t. The light was not for her. Anya Chambers was dead, yes. But she had been killed. And Anna Russo was born for one purpose: revenge.
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