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She laughs, a low, hollow sound that echoes unnaturally in the sterile room.

“Play into his hands? You don’t get it, do you?

” Her eyes glisten with something sharper than grief, something darker than despair.

“It’s not about getting out, Rafe. It’s about getting even.

And if you actually care, if you genuinely want to help, then you’ll follow my lead. ”

I stare at her, dumbfounded. Everything in me screams that something’s wrong here. Scarlett was always fierce, yes, but this? This isn’t just a woman bent on survival.

This is vengeance incarnate.

And here I am, caught like some naive fool in the middle of whatever game she’s about to start playing.

How the fuck did I not see this side of her before? How on earth did I simply dismiss her as a simpering, smiling fool?

Did she play me too? Did she play all of us?

“What’s your plan, then?” I ask, my voice guarded, unsure if I even want the answer.

She smiles, slow and deliberate, like she’s been playing this scenario in her head many times over.

“Alex thinks I’m weak, that he’s won because he’s kept me here, drugged and helpless.

But I’m not helpless anymore. I’m going to make sure he thinks I’m still under his control, right until I shatter everything he’s built around me. ”

I swallow hard, forcing my voice to remain calm even as my brain screams at me to run the hell away from whatever this is. “You don’t understand what you’re asking…”

She cuts me off, her voice cold. “Oh, I know exactly what I’m asking. I’m asking you to get in line Rafe, because I know you hate Alex just as much as I do. So help me destroy him. Help me destroy all of them.

I stare at her, feeling like the ground beneath me has shifted while I wasn’t looking.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go. I came here to save her, to give her an out, to be the one thing that Alexander wasn’t expecting, but instead, she’s flipping the entire game on its head, and I’m not sure anymore who the pawn is. Me? Alexander? Or is it her?

“I…” I start to speak, but her eyes burn into me like hot coals, and the words die in my throat.

That’s when I realize that her plan, her whole approach, isn’t just a spur-of-the-moment explosion of anger or grief.

This is deliberate. Scarlett didn’t lose herself in the wreck my brother created of her, no, she found something, something dangerous, and I’m not sure whether I should feel relieved or terrified. Maybe both.

“You don’t want help getting out?” I manage softly, poking again, sensing that she’s allowing me to grasp a sliver of understanding, but not the whole truth. Not yet.

Her smile flattens into a sharp line, the cold, unsettling look on her face softening almost imperceptibly. Not by much, just enough to imply she’s inwardly balancing her emotional calculus—and that should scare me.

“No, Rafe. I don’t want an escape. I want justice. And much more than that, I want revenge.”

The word hangs between us, thick and laden with intent. It doesn’t surprise me, exactly, not after everything she’s been through, but something about the way she says it sends a chill prickling down my spine.

I take a second, collecting my thoughts, trying to find any possible thread I can latch onto that doesn’t lead to everything burning down around me.

“Scarlett,” I whisper, my voice heavier with concern now, “if you’re planning to burn it all down, you better know what comes after. Because once you set it in motion, once you start, there’s no guarantee you’ll be standing at the end.”

Her expression falters for a moment, a brief flicker of old vulnerability, but that creeping smile, wicked and controlled, returns quickly, as if she shuts it down with a practiced ease.

“You think I’m scared to lose, Rafe?” Her tone hardens as she readjusts herself in the bed, her face locking into an unsettling mask of determination. “Think I’m afraid of dying? I’ve already lost everything. There’s nothing left for me to fear anymore.”

The weight of her words settles over me like a crushing wave. I don’t know whether it’s grief, intensity or sheer willpower dragging her forward, but I understand one thing with unsettling clarity; Scarlett is no longer fighting to survive. She’s fighting to destroy.

And when you have nothing left to lose, you become something, someone, no one can predict.

I open my mouth to protest again, to tell her this isn’t a solution, that what she’s planning will only pull her deeper into Alexander’s world, deeper into a muck none of us will crawl out of clean. But the words freeze in my throat.

Her eyes are gleaming now, glistening with a fire that refuses to die, and I can see it, the same cold, calculated glint that even now inhabits the darkest corners of my own heart.

But while my need is born out of cruelty, Scarlett’s is forged in the fires of loss, of suffering.

Do I really want her to go down this path, to sully her soul in such a permanent and irrevocable way?

A part of me tells me to grab her and get the hell out of here.

That if I play the hero for a few short moments longer, I could carve out a narrow window and whisk her away to escape the hell Alex built for her.

But another part, one I hate for existing, realizes Scarlett doesn’t need saving anymore. Not in the way normal people do.

Because the woman in that hospital bed isn’t some broken puppet begging for freedom.

She’s something far more dangerous.

I stand, the urge to step away from this carefully spinning web thrumming through me, but her gaze keeps me rooted.

In the dim light of the hospital room, Scarlett’s figure is hauntingly vivid and achingly sharp against the sterile backdrop.

Her frailty is deceptive, misleading. And something tells me she’s counting on that.

“You’re serious,” I murmur, though it’s not really a question. “You’ll do whatever it takes, won’t you?”

Her smile remains, thinner now, more reserved, as if she’s offering me one final chance to back out gracefully. “Whatever it takes.”

And she means every word.

“Scarlett...” I drag a hand through my hair, pausing by the door, the familiar rush of panic making my chest feel too tight “...this isn’t a game.”

Her eyes follow me, unblinking, as if she’s waiting for me to make a move—or a mistake. “No, Rafe. It is not.” Her voice drops to a near-whisper, seething with cold certainty. “It’s war.”

And she’s right. This is war. It’s just not one I ever planned on fighting. At least, not like this.

I rub a hand over my jaw, buying myself a moment. I’ve spent enough years of my life dealing with my brother’s demons to know when a situation is spiralling out of control. And right now? We’re well past that point. There’s no stopping what’s coming.

Turning toward the door, I start to leave, knowing that staying here longer is risking too much.

Scarlett’s plan runs deeper than I thought it could, and no matter how much she means to me, no matter how much I might want to save her, I can’t be here when Alexander returns.

He’d smell the betrayal on me from a mile away.

But then, just as my fingers reach the cold metallic handle, I hear her voice again. Quiet, steady, but loaded with a challenge.

“You’ll keep your mouth shut, won’t you? About all this.”

I freeze, my fingers clenched around the handle like a vice.

I don’t respond immediately, because I don’t know how.

Everything in me screams that this is wrong, that staying silent, playing a part in whatever hell she’s about to unleash would make me complicit in a darkness too deep for any redemption.

But when I look back into her eyes, those hardened, hollowed eyes, part of me understands; silence might be the only currency I have left to bargain with in this twisted game.

“Rafe?” There’s a softness to her words now, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of the woman I thought I knew before this nightmare began.

The pause drags on between us, heavy and strained, filled with the weight of all the unsaid things, all the unspoken truths. Then I give her the only answer I can.

“I’ll do what I can, Scarlett. But don’t ask for more than I’m willing to give.”

Her eyes search mine, softening briefly before the steeliness returns, as though some part of her wanted to grasp that fleeting vulnerability, but ultimately chose against it. Neither of us is ready to expose too much; the stakes are simply too high.

“Good.” She settles back against the pillows, her body visibly relaxing for the first time since I came into the room. “For now, that’s enough.”

I don’t move. Not immediately. I know Alexander could return at any minute, though I had arranged everything to give me more time.

The clock is ticking nonetheless. Still, something holds me, like there’s some invisible tether strung too tight between us.

I silently marvel at how this situation has unravelled so far from the original thread I’d hoped to tug.

There’s a subtle power shift, an eerie calm in Scarlett’s voice now contrasted starkly against the heartbreaking despondency I’d expected when the truth about Sebastian came out.

“I better go,” I say. “He’ll be back soon. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Scarlett meets my eyes one last time, that sly smile lurking at the corner of her lips, delicate and dangerous all at once. Her voice drops to a whisper, soft enough to make the room feel unbearably small and intimate.

“Don’t worry about me, Rafe,” she says, her words sinking deeper than I think she intends. “I’m stronger than I look.”

I don’t doubt that. Not anymore.

With one final look at her, small, broken, but infinitely more dangerous than anyone will give her credit for, I pull open the door.

The sterile fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor greet me, their harsh glow making reality feel painfully immediate after all the quiet, dark tension in her room.