Chapter 9

That day, Jayden had sent Agatha to the hospital and casually suggested his buddies “knock Kimberly down a peg”—maybe scare her a little, make her think twice about messing with Agatha again. He assumed they’d just force her to drink some hot sauce, embarrass her. He never imagined they’d systematically torture her—that they’d push her to the edge of human endurance while filming it like some sick trophy video.

As the footage continued playing across the massive screens, Agatha’s composure shattered. She lunged toward the control panel, frantically slapping at buttons, her voice escalating from panicked to hysterical. “Turn it OFF! Somebody fucking turn this OFF!” she screamed, fingers jabbing wildly at the console.

Her desperate attempts only made things worse as she accidentally cranked the volume, broadcasting Kimberly’s raw, choked pleas throughout the ballroom: “Please stop—I can’t breathe—” interwoven with her tormentors’ cruel laughter and obscene commentary.

The elegant engagement party imploded into chaos. Security escorted shellshocked guests out while Jayden remained frozen, his mind struggling to process what he’d just witnessed—what he’d set in motion with a few careless words.

When the ballroom finally emptied, only Agatha and the men responsible for Kimberly’s torture remained. The festive space now felt like a crime scene. Agatha trembled under Jayden’s stare, mascara streaking down her face. Gone was the confident socialite—in her place stood a cornered animal.

“I didn’t mean to frame her,” she blurted, voice breaking. “I just—you were always so protective of her at school. I was scared you actually had feelings for her…” Her chin quivered. “But the warehouse thing wasn’t me! I swear on my mother’s life!”

Tyler stepped forward, eager to shield Agatha. “She’s telling the truth, man. The after-party was our idea.”

“We were just defending your girl,” Mike added, hands raised placatingly. “After everything Kimberly did to Agatha—”

“Come on, dude,” Alex interjected, “you hated Kimberly too. We thought we were doing exactly what you wanted—”

Something cracked inside Jayden’s chest. Without warning, he seized a heavy oak chair and hurled it across the room with such force the wood splintered against the wall. In three fluid strides, he reached Tyler—who had been particularly enthusiastic about tearing Kimberly’s clothes—and clamped his hand around his throat, slamming him against the nearest surface.

“Jesus CHRIST!” Mike shouted, backing away. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s just Kimberly,” Alex protested, voice rising with panic. “The girl who tried to kill your fiancée!”

“You’re losing it over damaged goods?” someone else chimed in. “She fucked half the campus!”

Their words barely registered. A roar filled Jayden’s ears as his fist connected with Tyler’s face—once, twice, three times—each impact punctuated by the wet crunch of cartilage yielding to knuckle. Blood sprayed across the pristine white tablecloth as Tyler slumped, consciousness flickering. The room fell silent except for Jayden’s ragged breathing.

The stunned onlookers exchanged glances, a horrifying realization dawning collectively. The man before them wasn’t acting like someone who had used Kimberly as a disposable pawn in a revenge plot. This was something else—something visceral and uncontrolled that none of them had seen coming.

Jayden ground his heel into Tyler’s bloodied face, then pulled out the tactical knife he always carried. He threw it onto the floor with a metallic clatter that echoed through the silent room.

“The hands that touched her,” he said, voice eerily calm despite the storm raging behind his eyes. “Cut them off yourselves or I’ll do it for you. And I promise I won’t be precise about it.”

Collective terror swept through the room.

Agatha, unable to reconcile this version of Jayden with the man she thought she knew, collapsed in a dead faint. When consciousness returned, she found herself on a sofa, the men gone. Only her parents remained, their voices ragged with desperation as they pleaded with a stone-faced Jayden.

“After everything our families have built together,” her father begged, “you can’t throw it all away over some girl!”

“Kimberly isn’t the victim here,” her mother insisted. “She orchestrated that kidnapping! If you hadn’t paid so quickly, our Agatha might be dead in a ditch somewhere!”

“After years of Kimberly tormenting our daughter, doesn’t she deserve some consequences?”

Hearing their voices, Agatha forced herself upright, swaying as she crossed to Jayden and clutched at his sleeve like a drowning woman grabbing a lifeline.

“She played you from the beginning,” she sobbed, digging her nails into the fabric. “She even conned you out of a hundred million dollars with that fake kidnapping! What spell does she have you under?” Her voice cracked with desperation. “Look at me, Jayden. I’m the one you’ve always loved. Me!”

Jayden finally turned to her, his gaze dropping to her tear-stained face. What she saw there made her heart stop—not anger or betrayal, but something far worse: absolute nothing. His eyes were empty, as if the man she’d known had vacated his body entirely. In fifteen years together, she had never seen this expression—this total absence of humanity.

Something inside Agatha snapped. With a sudden lunge, she grabbed a heavy crystal tumbler from the table and smashed it against the marble floor. The glass exploded. She snatched up the largest shard and pressed it against the delicate skin of her wrist, her voice trembling but resolute.

“Don’t fucking push me, Jayden,” she hissed, eyes wild. “If you end our engagement over that worthless bitch, I swear to God I’ll open my veins right here.”

The glass bit into her skin, blood immediately beading along the edge. For the first time since the video played, Jayden’s expression changed. He moved toward her with deliberate calm, carefully extracting the glass from her trembling fingers. Then he pulled a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it gently around her bleeding wrist.

Hope surged through Agatha’s chest. She’d called his bluff—he couldn’t be this heartless. He still cared! Then he leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered words that turned her blood to ice: “You don’t get to die yet.” His breath was warm against her skin. “Who else would pay for what you did to Kim?”

Before she could process his words, the double doors behind them crashed open. Two men were violently shoved into the room, sprawling across the floor at Agatha’s feet like broken dolls. When she recognized their faces, the little remaining color drained immediately from her face, leaving behind the pallor of absolute terror.