Engaged To A Coldhearted Murderer

Eleanora Bryan POV:

The demand for public humiliation, for a fabricated confession of being a homewrecker and a secret mistress, ripped through me. It was a violation far deeper than any physical blow. It was an assault on my very soul.

"No," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I can't."

Brittnie's face hardened, her patience wearing thin. She grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into my flesh, and twisted it, forcing me to my knees. The pain shot through me, a sharp, searing fire.

"You think you have a choice?" she snarled, her voice a low growl. She gestured towards Gabe with her free hand. "Look at him, Eleanora. He's almost gone. One more minute, perhaps two. You want to watch him die while you cling to your... 'dignity'?"

My eyes, swimming with tears, focused on Gabe. He was barely a shadow now. His small body was utterly still. There was no more fight in him. Just the faint, terrifying absence of movement.

Despair, cold and absolute, washed over me. I had no leverage. No power. Only a dying child and a monster holding his life in her hands.

Clabe stood a few feet away, his phone still recording, his eyes predatory and cold. The guards watched with detached amusement. Their gazes, vulgar and judging, stripped me bare, even though I was still fully clothed. I felt a primal urge to cover myself, to shrink from their leering eyes. I pulled my arms tighter around myself, trying to disappear.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening.

Brittnie let out a short, sharp laugh. It was a sound of pure triumph, of unadulterated evil. "Tick-tock, Eleanora. The little bastard's time is running out."

My heart shattered. Cannon had always described Brittnie as ambitious, driven, a little high-strung, but ultimately kind, loving. He said she was misunderstood, that her intensity was just passion. Lies. All lies. This woman was pure venom, a viper disguised in scrubs. Every cell in my body recoiled from her.

"Come on, sugar mama," Clabe drawled, his voice thick with malicious amusement. "Give us a show. Make it good. Cannon's girl here will be very pleased."

Brittnie held up her phone, ready to record. "Your choice, Eleanora. Humiliation or death. For your 'son'." She emphasized the word "son" with a nasty sneer. "Thirty seconds."

The world tilted. My breath caught in my throat. I had no other option. My baby. My precious Gabe.

"Okay," I choked out, the word tearing from my broken throat. "Okay. I'll do it."

Brittnie's smile widened. "Good girl." She gestured to the floor in front of me. "Now, get on your knees. And start with the coat. We need to see that lovely emerald you stole."

My hands trembled as I fumbled with the buttons of my coat, the torn fabric where she'd ripped off the brooch flapping uselessly. I slowly peeled it off, the cold air hitting my exposed arms.

"Looking good, ma'am," Clabe snickered from behind his phone. "Looks like Cannon's got an eye for older women, after all."

My cheeks burned with shame. My eyes fell on Gabe again. His chest was motionless. No. Not yet. I had to believe there was still time.

"Save him," I begged Brittnie, my voice cracking. "Please. Just save him."

Brittnie rolled her eyes. "After the video. And make sure it's convincing. Every word." She angled her phone, making sure to get my face, my humiliation, in the frame.

"Now, the blouse," Clabe said, his voice a lewd suggestion. "Let's see what Cannon's been missing."

I flinched, instinctively pulling my arms across my chest. My mind screamed. This was too much.

Brittnie's face tightened. "Don't make me wait, Eleanora. Gabe won't." She grabbed my arm again, yanking it, forcing me to face her phone. "Show them what you are."

"Tell them you're a homewrecker," Brittnie commanded, her voice like ice. "Tell them you stole the brooch. Tell them Gabe isn't Cannon's."