Page 32 of Fallen Empire (The Fallen Trilogy #2)

Savannah

I’d thought the pain would go numb by now. That eventually my body would surrender, that my mind would slip into some kind of protective haze and block it out. But it didn’t. It clung to me—every ache, every breath, every step—as if it wanted to remind me that I was still here.

Still surviving.

I tightened my grip on the walker and pushed forward. One more step. Each movement was a battle. My legs trembled beneath me, unsteady and weak, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. There was too much at stake.

If anything could push me through this, it was the thought of another innocent soul being in danger because of me. Because of the choices I made. Because of the man I married. Because of the name I was born into.

Sinclair .

It used to mean legacy. Wealth. Prestige. Now it felt like a curse stitched into my skin, impossible to outrun.

I’d meant every word I said the day Bruce tried to take my life. Watching that little girl find strength for her younger sister lit a fuse in me I didn’t know existed. Didn’t know I needed.

When I said I was done being afraid, done with the crying, done letting someone else decide what happened in my life—I meant it.

So when Jaxson said Alex was up to something, it wasn’t fear that gripped me.

It was fury.

Not the kind that erupts all at once, but the kind that simmers. Quiet. Controlled. Dangerous. I didn’t know all the details yet, but I didn’t need to. I’d seen enough to know this wasn’t just about me anymore.

Someone else was in the crosshairs.

And if it was because of my name, because of the war my father left behind, then I wasn’t going to stay quiet. I wasn’t going to sit still and hope it passed.

Not again.

I took one step forward.

I never talked about the one case I lost as an attorney.

Diane Walker.

I’d remember her name until the day I died.

She came to me for help. Her husband was abusive. Wealthy. Connected. I remember thinking— she’s a millionaire, why doesn’t she just leave? I never said it out loud, but I’d thought it. Ironic when you think about it. But that was when I believed strength came in clean breakaways and court orders.

But Diane… she was sharp as a whip. She’d hired a private investigator. Had cold, hard evidence—the kind you pay good money for. Photos. Voice recordings. Bank statements tracing every dollar of bribery he tried to bury.

For years, she kept getting abused by the same man.

He yelled, she stayed.

He left bruises, she stayed.

He cheated, she stayed.

Everyone assumed she was after his money.

But then she looked me in the eyes and told me the truth.

She hadn’t covered up bruises all those years just to settle. She wasn’t after compromise or hush money. She wanted to destroy him. Burn everything he built down to ash.

And God, she could’ve done it. She had enough to bury him alive.

But I saw something else behind her rage.

Hurt.

Some part of her still loved him. And deep down, I think she wanted him to love her back. To change. To become the man she’d convinced herself he used to be. But people like that don’t change.

Nobody knew she’d retained me. And just before I’d had the paperwork drawn up to file for divorce, everything changed.

A video leaked. Him in a hot tub with five women. Hours later, another. This one, him in bed with three of those same women. Her bed.

Turns out, he’d owed money to the wrong man. Someone wanted him humiliated. His face was plastered across every digital billboard in the city. They didn’t think about the consequences. The scorned woman his wife would become.

And that was the moment Diane snapped.

Surveillance footage from her home showed her walk inside, grab a knife from the kitchen drawer, and head upstairs.

She stabbed him twenty-three times.

Then slit both her wrists.

I never told anyone that story. Never said her name out loud again after the funeral.

The media called her a cautionary tale. The court called it a crime of passion. But I called it what it was—a woman who finally broke. A woman who gave everything she had to be loved by someone who only knew how to destroy.

And for years, I didn’t understand why she stayed.

Until I did.

Until I looked in the mirror and saw her eyes staring back at me.

I’d survived the bruises and broken bones.

The betrayal. The sleepless nights filled with silent bargaining.

I know what it’s like to love someone who turns your world into a war zone.

I know what it’s like to think you can change them.

That if you’re good enough, quiet enough, strong enough—they’ll stop.

But they don’t. They take it all for granted—until it’s too late. Until they push someone past the point of return.

I understand now what Diane went through.

I didn’t have a passion to die. But murder? I think I was capable of that now.

Because after everything—after the bruises and the surgeries and the shattered bones—there was still someone out there.

Still chasing me. Still trying to silence me or steal what wasn’t theirs to take.

And knowing that? Knowing there was another threat looming, another man who thought he could play god with my life?

It opened something in me. I felt the switch flip. As soon as Jaxson said the words. My veins, still thick with pain meds, ran cold.

I took another step, drawing strength from my anger. Resilient.

The walker groaned beneath my grip as I leaned forward and dragged my leg forward. Then another. The pressure in my chest swelled with every inch I forced my body to move, but I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t.

If I had to stop Alex myself—to keep him from touching anyone else—I would.

If I had to burn down everything to make sure the next Diane Walker lived, I wouldn’t hesitate.

This time, I wouldn’t stay quiet. I wouldn’t freeze. I wouldn’t wait for anyone to save me.

Because I was done just surviving.

I was going to fight.

Before I realized how far I’d walked, I was standing in front of the window Millie had been at earlier, staring at the same AC unit. I closed my eyes and pictured her standing here, imagined the distance from the bed—and fuck .

How was I going to get back?

All this bravery had done was walk me into a place I didn’t have the strength to return from.

I glanced over at the sofa. It was closer. Safer. Millie was still beside me, silent. No one had said a word while I fought for each step.

“I want to sit there,” I told her, nodding to the open seat.

“Yeah, absolutely,” she said softly, angling herself to guide the walker toward it.

This time, I didn’t refuse her help. My body was already trembling, exhausted.

“Uh-uh,” Nurse Ruth called from behind me.

I turned my head just enough to see her without using more muscles than necessary.

“You have to come back to the bed,” she said.

“Why? I just walked all this way. I can’t take a little break?”

It was Jaxson who spoke next.

“If she wants to sit down and take a break, she can—”

“No.” Nurse Ruth cut him off sharply. “If she wants to get out of here tomorrow or the next day, she’ll come back to the bed. She’ll put in the work so I can see she’s ready.”

Their eyes locked. I saw the edge of Nurse Ruth’s eyebrow lift in challenge, and when I glanced back at Jaxson, I caught the tick in his jaw.

Neither of them was going to back down.

Then, without a word, Jaxson stomped over to the bed and yanked it forward with both hands, dragging it closer to me. Two feet less distance between me and my goal.

A low huff of laughter slipped out from the corner of the room.

Ben.

I turned my head slowly, just enough to catch the faint smile tugging at his lips.

“You think that’s funny?” I asked, breathless but grinning.

He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “You’re the one turning hospital beds into tactical assets.”

I gave him a slow, exaggerated wink. “Adapt and survive.”

Millie snorted beside me. Even Nurse Ruth looked like she was biting the inside of her cheek.

Jaxson moved around to the other side of me, his hand already on the opposite handle of the walker. He didn’t speak, just glanced at Millie, and somehow they both knew exactly what to do.

Together, they adjusted the walker’s position a few inches back, a slight angle toward the bed, and I pivoted with them, my movements slow and shaky.

Millie’s hand hovered at my waist while Jaxson kept one steady on the handle. Neither rushed me. Neither let go.

Step by step, we turned until I was finally facing the bed again.

My body was trembling, and by the time I reached the bed, I wanted to collapse.

“Millie, I’m going to hold her while you move the walker from in front of her,” Jaxson said.

When his hands gripped my waist—firm, but not unbearable—my skin caught fire.

Even through the wreckage, through the bruises and exhaustion, I still felt it. Desire. Need. Hunger. Every nerve in my body still responded to his.

As soon as Millie moved the walker aside, I angled myself just enough to let my weight drop sideways, landing hard on the mattress and ripping myself away from the one place I wanted to be most.

Inside his arms.

I didn’t feel the pain at first, clouded by pure adrenaline. But the moment I took a deep breath, it erupted through every inch of me.

It wasn’t just ache. It was wildfire.

Every cell lit up, nerves igniting like live wires under my skin. My limbs pulsed with tremors, my lungs strained against the weight in my chest, and a deep, pulsing throb bloomed in places I hadn’t even realized I’d used.

My body felt like a collapsing building—cracked beams, shifting weight, everything about to give out.

“I’m proud of you,” Nurse Ruth said softly.

But I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

I was too afraid that if I opened my mouth, the scream in my throat would tear free.

“Let’s get you back onto the bed, dear.”

At that point, I didn’t care what anyone did to my body. I just needed to be still.