The reinforced glass doors of the penthouse didn’t open fast enough, so Michael kicked them off their tracks.
They shattered across the Italian marble in a glittering, violent wave of noise. He didn't care. He was already moving across the vast, dimly lit room, carrying Jane's convulsing body against his chest.
The fire in her veins was absolute. It felt like swallowing battery acid. Jane looked down at her arm, watching the thick, necrotic black lines crawl beneath her pale skin. The venom wasn’t just poisoning her; it was eating her old DNA, violently overwriting the quiet, submissive bloodline her father had so carefully curated.
She choked, coughing up a mouthful of dark blood that splattered across Michael’s pristine white collar.
"Stay awake," Michael snarled.
He didn't take her
