His Only Cure, Her Final Curse

In the days that followed, Killian practically moved into Jade's luxurious penthouse.

Under the guise of being "gravely ill," Jade Reed had turned Chicago's most dangerous man into her personal twenty-four-seven nurse. One day, her wound ached. The next, she couldn't sleep. The day after, she demanded he stay to watch the sunrise with her.

Killian orbited her like a besotted fool.

His rare visits home were fleeting—just long enough to grab a few fresh Tom Ford suits before he vanished again.

And Jade, like a new queen settling onto her throne, grew bolder in her provocations.

She sent me intimate photos of them together. In one, he gently lit a Cuban cigar for her, his eyes holding a tenderness I had never known.

She sent me a screenshot of a post from Killian's private social media feed.

The post was visible to every high-ranking member of the mafia—except me.

[My woman is a natural. Carries herself like a true Mamma.]

The accompanying photo, however, showed his hand, wearing the Ricci family signet ring I had given him, tightly clasping Jade's slender fingers.

She even called me in the dead of night, the line filled with her sickening moans and Killian's rough, impatient grunts.

"Joanna, I'm so sorry to call this late, I'm just... a little scared. Could you ask the Don to stay with me a little longer?"

I listened to her performance without a ripple of emotion.

I silently saved every call recording and screenshot to an encrypted file.

Then, I went alone to the private clinic my father had arranged and scheduled the abortion.

Lying on the cold operating table, I felt the sharp, invasive sting of the instruments.

I didn't shed a single tear. I just stared at the glaring surgical light overhead, a single thought echoing in my mind: This is what you owe yourself, Joanna. From now on, you live for you.

After the procedure, I dragged my weakened body back to the mansion I could no longer call home.

I began to methodically pack my things.

All the items connected to him, things I once treasured, now seemed like remnants of a colossal joke. I packed them away, one by one, ready for disposal.

A week after Jade's supposed surgery, Killian called, his voice thick with exhaustion.

"Joanna, are you free today? Could you go to the hospital? Take Jade some gifts on behalf of the family."

Holding the phone, the sheer audacity of his request left me speechless.

"There's a turf war brewing that I have to handle. I can't get away. Jade's all alone at the hospital, and I'm worried about her."

He wanted me to visit the woman who stole my serum and shattered my life?

Killian, I thought, the sheer audacity...

I paused for a beat.

Then I replied softly, "Okay."

He seemed to let out a breath of relief, thanking me profusely and rambling on with reminders about "what Jade likes" and how "she's still very weak" before hastily hanging up.

I put down the phone, met my own pale reflection in the mirror, and let a cold smile touch my lips.

Of course, I would go. How could I miss the front-row seat to such a spectacular disaster?