Left For Dead, I Returned A Queen

Annis POV:

I stared out the window of the Gulfstream jet, watching the glittering grid of New York City shrink into a meaningless blur.

My fingers dug into the leather armrest until my knuckles turned white. My chest tightened, every breath a struggle against the invisible collar Dominick had kept around my neck for nine years. I was finally leaving, but the fear was a physical weight crushing my lungs. I had been stripped of my autonomy for so long that the vast, empty sky outside felt terrifying.

The plane hit a pocket of turbulence. It jolted violently.

I gasped, my body reacting before my brain could. I curled into a tight ball in the wide leather seat, throwing my arms over my head to protect myself. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Soft footsteps approached. They were incredibly light, barely making a sound on the plush carpet.

I flinched and snapped my head up, my eyes wide and wild.

Haven stopped a good five feet away. He didn't step into my personal space. He knew exactly what kind of psychological damage I carried. He slowly lowered a porcelain cup onto the small table beside me, making sure his hands were visible.

"Chamomile," he said, his voice low and calm.

He took two steps back. He didn't push. He didn't loom over me.

I stared at the steam rising from the cup. My hands were shaking as I reached out. I wrapped my cold fingers around the warm porcelain and took a small sip. The hot liquid slid down my throat, and the painful knot in my stomach loosened just a fraction.

Haven reached into his leather briefcase. He pulled out a thick manila envelope and slid it across the table toward me. The rough paper made a soft scratching sound against the polished wood.

I stared at the heavy wax seal. My hand hovered in the air, trembling. I couldn't bring myself to touch it. This was it. The point of no return.

"That is the file for Aria Sterling," Haven said quietly. "Your new identity. Every trace of Annis has been erased. You are a ghost to the world now."

I sucked in a sharp breath. I grabbed the edge of the envelope and ripped the seal open.

I pulled out a crisp, new passport. I opened it. A completely stranger's name stared back at me. Aria Sterling.

My vision blurred. A hot tear slipped down my cheek and splashed onto the thick paper, warping the ink. I remembered my mother lying in her hospital bed, her breathing shallow, whispering that she wanted me to fly free. She died before she could see me escape the cage.

I wiped my face aggressively and looked up at Haven. I stared right into his eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" I demanded, my voice raspy. "You are risking your life. Dominick will kill anyone who crosses him. Why help me?"

Haven avoided my gaze. He picked up his coffee cup and took a slow sip, masking whatever emotion flickered in his eyes.

"I am just fulfilling a promise to someone," he said flatly. "I do what I am asked to do."

I watched him for a long moment. He was hiding something, but I didn't have the energy to pry. I pulled the passport to my chest and hugged it tightly against my racing heart.

I stood up. My legs felt like jelly, but with each step toward the back of the cabin, they grew steadier.

I walked into the small, brightly lit bathroom and locked the door. I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was pale. And my hair... my hair fell all the way down to my waist.

A wave of pure disgust rolled through my stomach. Dominick loved my long hair. He used to wrap his fist in it when he dragged me into bed. He called it his favorite trophy. It was a physical manifestation of his ownership.

I opened the drawer under the sink and found a pair of sharp medical scissors.

I didn't hesitate. I didn't let my hands shake.

I grabbed a thick handful of black hair right at my jawline. I opened the heavy metal blades and squeezed. The scissors crunched through the thick strands.

A heavy chunk of black hair fell to the white tile floor.

I grabbed another handful. And another. I hacked away at the heavy curtain that had weighed me down for nine years. The black strands piled up around my feet like dead snakes.

I looked in the mirror again. My hair was chopped into a jagged, chin-length bob. My neck felt cold, but my head felt incredibly light.

The corners of my mouth twitched. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, and for the first time in years, a genuine, relieved smile broke across my face.

***

Captain Reynolds POV:

The stench of burnt plastic and charred meat was suffocating.

I adjusted the strap of my gas mask and shined my heavy-duty flashlight through the thick, settling smoke. The top floor of the Manhattan penthouse was completely gutted. The roof of the walk-in closet had collapsed, leaving a pile of blackened concrete and twisted metal.

I swept the beam of light over the rubble. My eyes caught an unnatural lump buried beneath a large slab of concrete.

"Over here!" I yelled, waving my arm.

Three of my men rushed over. We dug our heavy boots into the ash, grabbed the edges of the concrete slab, and heaved. The concrete shifted and flipped over, sending up a choking cloud of gray dust.

When the dust cleared, my men gasped and stumbled back.

A body lay curled in a tight fetal position. It was completely charred, the skin blackened and split open from the intense heat. The smell was enough to make my stomach turn over.

I crouched down, ignoring the heat radiating from the floorboards. I pulled a pair of metal tweezers from my belt. I carefully prodded the blackened wrist of the corpse, pushing aside a layer of flaking ash.

Metal glinted in the flashlight beam.

A thick silver bracelet was deeply embedded into the burnt flesh. The heat had warped it, but it was still intact. I used my gloved thumb to wipe the soot off the center plate.

A single, deeply engraved letter 'A' stared back at me.

My heart dropped into my stomach. I grabbed the walkie-talkie from my shoulder strap. My thumb slipped on the button because my hands were suddenly sweating.

"Command, this is Reynolds," I said, my voice shaking. "We found a body in the master closet. Confirmed female. Over."

"Copy that, Reynolds," the operator's voice crackled, sounding panicked. "Seal the scene immediately. Do not touch anything else. The medical examiner is on the way."

I stood up and pulled a roll of yellow tape from my belt. I started roping off the charred closet.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a young rookie pull out his phone and point the camera at the corpse.

"Hey!" I roared, lunging forward. I snatched the phone right out of his hand.

"What the hell are you doing?" I snarled, shoving the phone into my pocket. "Do you have a death wish? This is the Olsen family's property. If one picture of this leaks to the press, they will gut you and your entire family. Not a word to anyone. Understood?"

The rookie turned pale and nodded frantically.

Ten minutes later, the medics pushed a stretcher through the debris. They unrolled a thick black body bag. We carefully lifted the stiff, charred remains and placed it inside.

I grabbed the heavy metal zipper. I pulled it up. The teeth locked together with a loud, final grinding noise, swallowing the gruesome sight completely.

I walked out to the balcony and looked down at the street. The rain was washing the ash off the pavement. I watched the ambulance load the stretcher and turn on its flashing red lights.

"Notify the Olsen family to come and identify the body."