Too Late To Beg: My Cold Ex-Husband

Annis POV

Dominick had ordered a ginger tonic for me.

The chef placed it on the kitchen island-a sweating glass of ice and false consideration.

Dominick was in the living room, pouring Chastity a glass of sparkling water, his back to me.

"Drink up, Annis," he called out. "You'll need your strength."

I left the glass sweating on the marble.

I slipped into the guest room. Time was bleeding away.

I needed the documents from the hidden safe behind the hallway painting, and I needed my passport.

I threw open the closet door.

And froze.

My clothes-my silk blouses, my winter coats, the few dresses I actually loved-were shredded.

They hung in tatters, dripping with dark red wine. The smell was suffocating, as if a vineyard had been slaughtered in the dark.

"Well, that's unfortunate."

I turned.

Chastity leaned against the doorframe, a bottle of acetone nail polish remover in one hand and a lit candle in the other.

"You did this," I said.

She shrugged. "I needed the closet space. And honestly? Your taste is so... depressing."

She sauntered into the room, kicking a sodden piece of silk with her heel.

"You know," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. "Dom told me about your grandmother. How she died alone because he was 'stuck in traffic.'"

I went rigid. My grandmother had raised me. When she was on her deathbed three years ago, I had begged Dominick to drive me to the hospice. He said he was delayed. I missed her last breath by ten minutes.

"He wasn't in traffic, Annis," Chastity smiled, cruel and bright.

"He was with me. We were at that little bistro on 4th. He turned off his phone because I didn't want him distracted."

A roar filled my ears-not sound, but pure, white-hot rage.

"You lie," I whispered.

"Ask him," she laughed.

I didn't think. I moved. I lunged.

Chastity shrieked. She stumbled back, the acetone bottle slipping from her grip.

It shattered on the floor, splashing clear accelerant over the wine-soaked silks and the carpet.

The candle in her other hand wobbled.

She threw it at me.

It missed, but it found the puddle.

Whoosh.

The room didn't just catch fire; it inhaled.

Flames roared up the curtains, gorging on the alcohol and chemicals.

Chastity screamed, backing into the hallway.

"Dominick!"

I fell to my knees, coughing as black smoke choked the small room instantly.

My chest tightened. My heart stuttered.

Dominick appeared in the doorway. His eyes went wide.

He looked at the inferno. He looked at me, on my knees, fighting for air.

He looked at Chastity, safe in the hallway, fake tears streaming down her face.

"She tried to burn me!" Chastity screamed. "She's crazy, Dom! Save the baby!"

Dominick didn't hesitate.

He didn't step into the room to help me. He didn't reach for me.

He grabbed Chastity, wrapped his arm around her, and turned his back.

"Let's go," he said to her.

He left me.

He left me to burn.

I watched his back disappear around the corner.

The heat was blistering. The smoke was a physical weight, crushing my lungs.

I crawled. I stayed low, beneath the billowing heat.

I made it to the servants' exit in the kitchen, shoved the door open, and collapsed into the cool stairwell.

I didn't stop. I couldn't.

I ran down twenty flights. My legs felt like lead. My heart screamed against my ribs.

I burst into the alley and hailed a cab.

"The airport," I wheezed.

I had the passport. I had the documents tucked into my waistband.

At the terminal, I bought an envelope.

I shoved my wedding ring inside.

I added the medical records from the clinic-the ones I had swiped from the nurse's station while Dominick was holding Chastity's hand.

I addressed it to Don Carl Olsen.

Then I walked to the trash can.

I took out my phone and snapped the SIM card in half.

I dropped it into the garbage.

I boarded the plane to London.

As the wheels left the tarmac, I looked down at the glittering city lights.

Annis Myers had died in that fire.

The woman sitting in seat 4A was someone else entirely.

And she was coming for blood.