When our love was pure, Sloane crippled the man hurting me. Though not jailed, she was disowned. We lived in a grimy basement. At our lowest, I asked if she regretted it. She smiled. “Your safety means more than my life. I’m your shield. I’d endure anything for you.” She lifted me up, clawing to the top. Everyone knew not to touch me—the one person she protected. But on our anniversary, I found hidden documents: pregnancy reports, a kindergarten letter. Years ago, after I was ambushed, she claimed to hunt those responsible—but secretly had another man’s child. Without explanation, she cut off a bodyguard’s hand. It dropped at my feet. “What use is a hand that can’t keep watch?” I threw the divorce papers. “Just sign.” She smiled coldly. “We don’t divorce till one of us is dead. Want to leave? Kill me first.” 1 Together in life, together in the grave. That was the oath we swore to each other when we were eighteen. Only today did I learn that even the purest love can turn toxic, that even the most sacred vows have an expiration date. And expired things deserve to be destroyed. I pulled the knife hidden under the sofa cushions and lunged, aiming for her throat. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even move. Instead, she leaned into the blade. At the very last second, I twisted my wrist. The knife sank deep into her shoulder. She smiled, but the hand clutching the embedded blade trembled slightly. “What’s wrong? Can’t bring yourself to do it?” she taunted. “Flynn, we’ve fought our way through hell to get here. Don’t let a little thing like this tear us apart.” “The child was an accident,” she continued, her voice softening. “If you don’t like him, I’ll have him sent abroad in a few days. He’ll disappear.” A little thing? An accident? Five years ago, her enemies came for her. I was the one who took three knife wounds meant for her. One to the chest, one in my thigh. And the third… it struck lower. I was bleeding out. To give me a transfusion, she aborted the three-month-old fetus in her womb without a second thought. When I woke up, the doctor told me I could never be a father. I didn't cry, but Sloane's eyes were bloodshot and raw. She fell to her knees at my bedside, sobbing, slamming her head against the cold tile floor until her face was swollen and bruised. “Flynn, I’m so useless,” she wept, her voice cracking. “I let this happen to you!” She clung to me, her forehead bleeding, the drops of her blood mingling with my tears on my face. Even as her body shook with pain, her grip on my hand never loosened. “Flynn, I don’t need children. I don’t need anything but you!” she vowed, her voice raw with desperation. “We will never be separated. I, Sloane Jiang, would rather die than ever betray you!” Every word was a solemn promise. But now, her casual tone shredded the last scrap of my dignity. I let out another cold laugh and pulled a photograph from my pocket, flinging it at her. “Don’t trouble yourself. I’ve already taken care of your ‘accident’.” “I paid a visit to his kindergarten. Nice place. A shame the security was so sloppy.” The photo showed her son, his face streaked with tears, a gun pressed to his temple as he knelt on the floor. I watched, stone-faced, as the veins in her forehead bulged, one by one. In ten years together, she had never, not for any reason, turned her anger on me. But today, for another man’s child, her eyes were filled with pure, unadulterated murder. She slammed me against the wall, reached up, and ripped the knife from her own shoulder. She reversed the blade, pressing the cold tip against my neck. “How dare you touch a child!” she seethed, her voice a low growl. “Flynn, have I been too good to you? Have you forgotten who you are?” “Without me, you’d be long dead! Now your wings have grown? You can’t have children of your own, so you go after someone else’s? You make me sick.” Every word was a fresh wound, a new humiliation. But my smile was unnervingly calm. “You always said the only way we’d separate is if one of us was dead, right?” “No one else has the guts to do it. So it looks like it’s up to you, Sloane.” “Go on. Kill me. Because if I walk out of here alive, I promise you, their lives are over.” The blood-slicked blade didn’t pierce my skin. She stared into my defiant eyes, and her expression softened into a chillingly gentle smile. “Flynn, I told you, it doesn’t have to end with one of us dead.” “The child… you can do whatever you want with him. I won’t ask if he’s alive or dead.” “But this ends now. We never speak of it again. Do you understand?” As cold-blooded as ever. Just like me. Sloane didn’t spare me another glance. She didn’t sign the papers. She just turned and stormed out the door. For ten years, I had never seen her back. In my memories, she was always charging toward me through a storm of blood and violence, shielding me with her own body. Her back was just as resolute as I’d imagined. But I could see something else, something subtle. A flicker of panic. A mocking smile touched my lips. I turned and dialed my man. “Let the kid go. I’m not a monster who hurts children.” “But I want everything you can find on his father. On my desk in ten minutes.” 2 My team found nothing. With Sloane’s resources, making someone disappear was child’s play. Even for me, all I could uncover was a single, threadbare clue. But that one thread was enough to unravel the last of my composure. Five years ago, on the night I almost died, Sloane wasn’t there. I thought she was out there with our men, hunting down my attackers. She wasn’t. She was just a few steps away, tangled in the sheets with another man. So the betrayal had started that long ago. Even as she was swearing she would never be untrue to me, her body and her heart had already strayed. I fought back the sudden, sharp agony that seized my chest, tightened my grip on the bloody knife, and plunged it through the screen of the tablet displaying the report. If our love was dead, then all that was left between us was hate. The child hadn't even made it home before his father, losing his nerve, showed up at my door. The second I opened it, he lunged, a dagger aimed straight for my heart. “You bastard! You touched my son, I’ll kill you!” I twisted away on instinct, avoiding a fatal blow. But the blade sliced clean across my arm, opening a long, deep gash. Flesh parted, blood welled. I felt nothing. I grabbed his head and slammed it into the doorframe. Again and again. My men dragged him inside, forcing him to his knees before me. He didn't cry. He just glared at me, his eyes burning with a fierce hatred. He was handsome, I’ll give him that, with an innocence in his eyes that reminded me of myself, long ago. Even the ferocity in his gaze mirrored my own now. But he didn't understand. A little bit of grit wasn't going to get him out of this alive. I picked up the baseball bat leaning against the wall and brought it down hard on his leg. The sickening crack of bone echoed through the room, followed by his agonized scream. It stirred nothing in me. No pity, no remorse. I savored his pain, a perverse tribute to my murdered love. Just as I raised the bat for a second swing, the door was kicked open. A gust of cold wind swept in, carrying with it a wave of pure fury. The dark, round mouth of a gun was aimed squarely at my head. Sloane’s voice was as cold as ice. “Flynn, let him go. Don’t make this ugly.” She held the gun with one hand, while the other wrapped around the man, pulling him into a protective embrace. Her eyes softened, her voice a gentle murmur only he could hear. “Don’t be scared. I’m here.” The same words. Ten years ago, she had stepped over a floor slick with blood, walked toward me as I stood there, clothes torn, and said those exact same words. Tears of laughter spilled from my eyes. “And what if I say no?” She laughed too, a hollow sound. “You took his son. That’s enough. Let him go, and we can pretend this never happened. It’s the best ending for both of us.” I knew her too well. I could see the killing intent hidden behind that smile. She was actually thinking of killing me. After all these years, after we had pulled each other through hell, she had given me all her tenderness. And it had made me forget. It had made me forget how many bodies she’d stepped over to get to where she was today. I wasn’t angry anymore. I was just… humiliated. I reached out, took her hand, and pressed the muzzle of her gun against my own forehead. “Go on. Do it.” “Sloane, you know me. If I walk out of this room alive today, you’d better be ready to bury this pretty boy of yours.” The click of the safety being released was deafening. Sloane’s eyes turned crimson as she grabbed my throat. “You think I won’t?” “I can forgive what you did to the child. But him… you don’t touch him.” “Don’t push me, Flynn.” I stared back at her, my face a mask of indifference. The stalemate was broken by the sharp ring of a phone. Sloane released her grip and answered. 3 After she hung up, Sloane’s smile was gentle again. She ruffled the other man’s hair, her eyes full of affection. “The boy’s fine. You’ve made your point. Go now. Don’t come back here again.” His name was Brown. He stared at me, his eyes red-rimmed, and limped toward the door. To end this whole farce with a few soft words? It wasn’t going to be that easy. I tilted my chin, and my bodyguard immediately blocked Brown’s path. Sloane shot me a cold look. We had been together so long, we could read each other’s minds with a single glance. A faint smile played on her lips. She beckoned to Brown. “Come here. Apologize to Flynn before you leave.” He froze, his face a mixture of disbelief and wounded pride. But he obeyed. He shuffled back in front of me and bowed stiffly. “Mr. Hayes. I was reckless. I came here without knowing the full story.” “It was my fault for hurting you. But… you’ve lost a child, too. Surely you can understand how I feel?” “A father who can’t even protect his own son… what is he but a waste of space?” He called it an apology, but every word was a needle. I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. “The last person who spoke to me like that,” I said, my voice dangerously low, “is probably nothing but dust by now.” “How many lives do you have to spare, that you feel brave enough to provoke me?” Brown clutched his cheek, his eyes welling up with tears like a cornered animal. I sneered and swung my hand back for another blow. The sharp crack of a slap echoed in the room. But it wasn't Brown who felt it. I was the one who went down, sprawling on the floor. Sloane stood over me, her heel pressing down on my hand, her expression so cold it made her a stranger. “I told you,” she said, her voice like chips of ice. “Don’t touch him.” “Flynn, why do you have to keep dragging innocent people into this?” My face throbbed, my mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. My smile was stained red. Over the years, dozens, maybe hundreds, had died by my hand. She knew I wasn't the type to let things go. But she also knew I would never harm a truly innocent person. Sloane didn’t give me a chance to speak. She kicked me aside and scooped Brown into her arms, carrying him out. When my bodyguard rushed over to help me up, my entire body was shaking with pain. He looked at me, confused. I just gave him a weary smile. It was only when I turned that he saw the handle of the dagger protruding from my back. A single slap wouldn’t have felled me. Of course not. But when I fell, I had landed right on the dagger that had been knocked to the floor. The doctor said the wound was inches from my heart. A little closer, and I would have died right there, in front of her. After they stitched me up, I refused their recommendation to stay in the hospital. I’d survived three stabbings before; living on the edge of a blade was second nature to me. When I returned to the villa, Sloane was waiting for me on the living room sofa. She lit a cigarette and motioned for me to sit opposite her. After a long drag, she looked at me with a humorless smile. “My son came home with three broken fingers.” I glanced at my bodyguard. He lowered his head, unable to meet my eyes. I laughed, a sound devoid of any emotion. “My men can be careless. What, does the great Sloane Jiang want me to pay him back with three of my own fingers?” Sloane smiled back, but her eyes were sharp as daggers. “Brown was so distraught he tried to jump off a building. While I was stopping him, I fell down the stairs. The baby’s gone.” “Flynn, that was my second child. You killed him. Don’t you think you owe Brown an apology?” I snatched the cigarette from her fingers and lit one for myself. Through the swirling smoke, my smile held no trace of remorse. “You should know that the fact I didn’t do it myself was me showing mercy.” “It was just a bastard child. It’s gone. So what? Don't tell me you want my life in return?” I had my man bring the divorce papers again and placed them in front of her. “Either you sign these.” “Or one of you dies. You or him. Your choice, Sloane. I don’t think I need to tell you what to do.” Sloane laughed as she ripped the papers to shreds. She then took out her phone and tossed it onto the table in front of me. “I knew you wouldn’t apologize.” “It’s fine. I’ve prepared a gift for you, too.” “Flynn… I had someone pull the plug on your brother.”
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