My Husband Planned to Harvest My Organs

The call comes at 3 a.m.

I'm awake, curled in the window seat of Jameson's penthouse library, watching Manhattan glitter below like scattered diamonds. Sleep is still a stranger. Every time I close my eyes, I see Cooper's body going limp. Feel Sabrina's breath on my face as she told me what she'd taken.

Jameson's phone buzzes on the mahogany desk. Once. Twice. He appears in the doorway, barefoot, dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His hair is mussed—he was sleeping, or trying to.

"Don't answer it," I say.

He checks the screen. His jaw tightens. "It's Jaxson."

Of course it is.

Jameson answers on speaker. Sets the phone on the desk between us like a live grenade.

"You have something that belongs to me." Jaxson's voice fills the room, sharp as broken glass.

"I have someone under my protection," Jameson corrects. His tone is water over stone—calm, immovable. "There's a difference."

"Semantics." A pause. Ice clinking in a glass. Jaxson's drinking. "Return her by morning, or I dismantle everything you've built. Every contract, every partnership, every ally you think you have—gone."

Jameson leans against the desk, arms crossed. "Go ahead."

Silence. Then: "What?"

"I said go ahead." Jameson's voice doesn't rise. Doesn't need to. "I built my empire to withstand the Hudsons, Jaxson. Not to serve them. You want to come at me? Bring everything you have. It won't be enough."

"She's mine—"

"She's a human being." Now there's steel beneath the calm. "Not a warehouse for spare parts. Not your possession. Not your property. And if you ever come near her again, I'll make sure the world knows exactly what you are."

The line goes dead.

I'm shaking. Can't stop. Jameson crosses to the window seat, sits at the far end—close enough to reach, far enough to let me breathe.

"He'll come," I whisper. "He always comes."

"Let him." Jameson's eyes find mine. "I'm not afraid of my nephew."

But I am. I'm terrified.

---

The news breaks at dawn.

Elena finds me in the kitchen, staring at cold coffee I can't bring myself to drink. She sets her tablet on the counter without a word. The headline screams in bold type:

**BILLIONAIRE'S MISTRESS IN HOSTAGE SCANDAL**

The photo is me. Younger, smiling, standing beside Jaxson at some gala I don't remember attending. Except I never attended any galas. The image is doctored—my face grafted onto someone else's body, someone else's life.

The article is worse. It paints me as unstable, manipulative, a gold-digger who seduced a married man and now demands millions to stay silent. There are quotes from "anonymous sources" describing my "erratic behavior" and "delusional claims."

Sabrina's work. Her fingerprints are all over this.

My hands go numb. The tablet slips, clatters against marble.

"Audrey—" Elena reaches for me.

I'm already running.

The guest room. Lock the door. Slide down against it until I'm folded on the floor, arms wrapped around my knees. The scar on my stomach burns like it's fresh. Like she's still cutting.

They're going to believe her. The world is going to believe I'm the monster.

Footsteps in the hallway. A soft knock.

"Audrey." Jameson's voice, gentle. "May I come in?"

I can't answer. Can't move.

The lock clicks—he has a key, of course he does—and the door opens slowly. He enters like he's approaching a wounded animal. Sits on the floor beside me, back against the wall, close enough that our shoulders almost touch.

We sit in silence. Minutes pass. Maybe hours.

"I'm angry," I finally say. My voice sounds hollow. "I should be angry. But I just feel... empty."

"You're allowed to be angry." He doesn't look at me. Doesn't push. "You're allowed to feel everything."

"She took everything from me." The words crack open something raw. "My freedom. My body. My future. And now she's taking my name, my face, turning me into—"

"A lie," Jameson finishes quietly. "She's good at those."

He pulls a leather folder from inside his jacket. Sets it on the floor between us. The Hudson family crest is embossed on the cover, but someone has scratched through it with a key.

"I've been building this for three years," he says. "Since I first learned what they were planning for you. Sabrina's offshore accounts. Money laundering through shell corporations. Bribes to hospital administrators. Every illegal deal, every dirty secret."

I stare at the folder. "Why?"

"Because someone had to." He meets my eyes. "Because I couldn't save you then, but I can help you destroy them now."

My hand moves to my stomach. Traces the scar through my shirt. The place where Sabrina carved out my future and left me hollow.

But hollow things can still hold rage.

"What do I have to do?" I ask.

Jameson's smile is sharp as a blade. "Help me burn their empire to the ground."

I pick up the folder. It's heavy. Solid. Real.

"Let's start with Sabrina," I say.

And for the first time since the glass shattered beneath me, I feel something other than fear.

I feel dangerous.