While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her

As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole. I begged him for help, my vision blurring. But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background. "Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again." He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm. I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube. Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry. Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled. "You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up." He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research. I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym. They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive. They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity. I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding. I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it. Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house. The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born.

Chapters

Chapter 6

The sales office for the Billionaires' Row luxury condominiums smelled of expensive espresso and arrogance.

The real estate agent, a man with too much hair gel and a sharp suit, looked June up and down. He took in her plain black coat and lack of visible designer logos. His smile was tight and dismissive.

"Ladies," the agent said slowly, as if speaking to children. "The entry-level units in this building start at twenty million dollars. Perhaps you're looking for something in a different neighborhood?"

Vera bristled, stepping forward to yell at him, but June simply reached into her purse.

She pulled out the titanium Centurion card and dropped it onto the glass desk. It landed with a heavy, metallic clink.

The agent's eyes snapped to the card. The color drained from his face, replaced instantly by a flushed, eager red.

"I want to see the penthouse," June said, her voice flat. "Right now."

"Of course! Right this way, ma'am!" The agent practically tripped over his own feet rushing to the private elevator.

The elevator shot up to the 90th floor. When the doors opened, the view hit them like a physical blow.

Floor-to-ceiling glass wrapped around the entire apartment, offering an unobstructed, god-like view of Central Park and the Manhattan skyline.

June walked slowly to the glass. Far in the distance, she could see the faint outline of the neighborhood where the Compton estate sat. From up here, it looked like a tiny, insignificant speck.

"This unit is forty-five million," the agent babbled nervously behind her. "It includes a private infinity pool, a dedicated elevator..."

"I'll take it," June interrupted, not turning around. "The purchase will be made through a private LLC. I need the transaction to be discreet."

Vera choked on her spit. The agent gripped the back of a chair to keep from falling over.

"But I have one condition," June added, finally turning to look at him. "I move in today. Get the paperwork done now."

"I will have my legal team draft it within the hour!" the agent gasped, sprinting back to the elevator.

As they waited in the empty, echoing penthouse, June's phone vibrated in her pocket.

It was an unknown number.

June answered. "Hello?"

"Miss June?" a raspy, trembling voice came through the speaker. "It's Arthur. Your father's old driver."

June's hand gripped the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her heart skipped a beat. "Arthur? You've been missing for ten years."

"I've been hiding," Arthur wheezed. "I saw the news about your divorce. You're no longer under the Compton roof. I think it's time I told you the truth."

June walked out onto the massive terrace, the wind howling around her. "What truth?"

"The car crash that killed your parents... it wasn't an accident," Arthur said, his voice dropping to a terrified whisper. "I checked the car the day before. The brake lines were cut."

A wave of dizziness hit June. She grabbed the glass railing to steady herself. "Who did it?"

"I saw your uncle, Richard Erickson, in the garage that night," Arthur said. "And... he was meeting with someone from a powerful family. I couldn't see his face, but he drove a car with the Compton emblem."

The blood froze in June's veins. A Compton car?

"I have proof," Arthur continued frantically. "But they found me. I need money to disappear."

"How much?" June demanded instantly. "I'll give you whatever you want."

"One hundred thousand. Cash. Meet me at the abandoned Brooklyn Navy Yard docks at midnight tonight."

The line went dead.

June stood on the balcony, the cold seeping into her bones. Her marriage hadn't just been a lie; it might have been a cage built by the people who murdered her parents.

Vera walked out onto the terrace. "Everything okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

June slowly lowered the phone. Her eyes, staring out at the city, were darker than the impending night.

"This isn't just a divorce anymore, Vera," June said, her voice vibrating with a dangerous energy. "This is a war."

The agent rushed back onto the terrace, holding a thick leather folder. "Congratulations, Miss Erickson. Welcome to your new home."

June took the heavy metal keys. They felt like weapons in her hand.

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