The Heiress He Left to Die

Chapter 2

Avery's POV:

The entire hall fell silent in an instant.

Every gaze in the room snapped toward the two of us.

Almost at the same moment, my father, my mother, and Caleb Rivers all moved.

My father grabbed the back of my neck and shoved me forward hard. I staggered, nearly crashing onto the cold tile floor. Mrs. Whitmore pointed a trembling finger at me, her voice cracking as she declared, "Her! She's the real Whitmore heir!"

Caleb turned his face away, his fingertips gripping his cuff so tightly his knuckles went white. He said nothing, but his shoulder slammed into mine as he passed.

One of the kidnappers let out a mocking laugh, seized me by the collar, and dragged me toward the exit. The cold flat edge of a blade scraped across my neck, stinging my skin. He jerked his chin at his men, signaling them to bring Sylvia along as well. "Take both of them. That way you can't pull any tricks."

A hand clamped over my mouth as they hauled me out of the banquet hall. Something struck the back of my head hard, and everything went black.

When I came to, I was suspended high in the air. Below me stretched a murky pool, its surface teeming with crocodiles. I couldn't stop shaking. If I fell, I wouldn't survive.

I forced myself to stay calm and shouted at the kidnappers, "Whatever you want, money or the project, we can work it out. I'll give you everything."

The man holding the rope hesitated, blade poised to cut. I was about to stall further when Sylvia, lying on the ground by the pool's edge, spoke up. "Exactly! You lowlifes better let my sister go. She's connected to people in high places and people you really don't want to cross."

"She's wearing a tracking device. The police will be here any second. Let her go now and she might spare your life!"

The thin thread of composure in my mind snapped.

Before I could deny it, the kidnapper's face twisted with rage. He slashed through the rope. The next second, I plunged into the water.

The foul-smelling liquid surged into my throat, choking my lungs. Dark shapes, starved and frenzied, lunged at me from every direction. Sharp teeth clamped down on my leg. A searing pain shot through my left thigh, as if steel jaws had pierced straight through bone.

I clawed desperately toward the edge, my fingertips scraping raw and bloody against the concrete. Just before I lost consciousness, I heard the wail of police sirens.

When I woke on the gravel shore, the scene was nearly empty. A few officers lingered among the scattered debris. Under a nearby tree, Sylvia leaned against Mrs. Whitmore, a faint red mark barely more than a scratch from a branch showing on her arm.

Caleb crouched in front of her, gently blowing on the scratch while Mr. Whitmore stood beside them, asking over and over if she was frightened. The family huddled around her, their attention entirely on Sylvia, and from start to finish, not one of them glanced my way.

I braced my hands on the ground and dragged myself upright, my shattered left leg trailing uselessly behind me. Step by agonizing step, I made my way toward the hospital. The asphalt tore open my palms and knees, leaving a trail of blood in my wake.

The hospital corridor was packed with visitors. Sylvia's room was the most crowded, overflowing with flowers and gift baskets stacked like small mountains. Through the glass window, I saw Caleb sitting at her bedside, peeling an apple. His wrist moved steadily, the peel spiraling off in one long, unbroken ribbon.

I slid down against the wall at the far end of the hall, trembling with cold. It was a passing nurse who finally noticed me and screamed for a doctor. The doctor frowned and said that if I'd come half an hour later, they wouldn't have been able to save my leg.

While they cleaned and dressed the wound, I bit down hard and didn't make a sound. But tears fell silently onto the cotton swabs. The sharp scent of disinfectant filled my nostrils.

I suddenly remembered what Caleb had been like before Sylvia came back from studying abroad. He used to remember that I hated cilantro. He'd leave a light on when I worked late. He'd tuck a hot water bottle into my arms and promise I'd never be alone again. He'd pull me against his chest and tell me we'd build a good life together.

Everything had changed from the day Sylvia walked through the door of the Whitmore family home.

Late that night, I limped back to the villa, my leg encased in a cast. Caleb was just stepping out of Sylvia's room, pulling the door shut behind him. When he saw me, he froze.

Before he could speak, I looked up. My voice was quiet, but steady. "Caleb, let's get a divorce."