---- Chapter 4 Khloe Rojas POV: | woke up smelling bleach and regret. The pain in my legs was a dull, throbbing bassline beneath the sharper symphony of grief in my heart. A familiar face swam into focus. It was my best friend, Anya. "Hey," she whispered, her eyes red and puffy. "Welcome back." "Anya," | croaked. "Leo... the funeral..." "Shh, it's okay," she said, squeezing my hand. "I took care of everything. | made sure Leo had a proper burial, a peaceful one. Without any... interruptions." She looked down at my legs, both encased in heavy plaster casts, and her expression hardened. "Those animals. | can't believe he..." "Thank you," | said, cutting her off. | didn't want to talk about him. | didn't want to think about him. Saying his name felt like swallowing glass. A nurse bustled in, her eyes widening slightly when she recognized me. Everyone knew who | was. The wife of Julian Gallegos. A few weeks ago, they would have seen me as the luckiest woman in the world. Now, they just saw a tragedy. "Mrs. Gallegos," she said, her voice dripping with misplaced ---- sympathy. "Your injuries are severe. Compound fractures in both tibias. Mr. Gallegos must be worried sick." A dry, humorless laugh escaped my lips. "Worried sick," | repeated, the words tasting like ash. "You have no idea." The nurse just smiled, oblivious. She checked my vitals and left. | stared at the ceiling, feeling nothing. The storm inside me had passed, leaving behind an eerie, silent wasteland. The passionate love was gone. The heart-wrenching grief was gone. All that remained was a cold, hard resolve. He had broken my legs, but he had forged my will into steel. Anya stayed with me through the grueling weeks of recovery. Julian never came. He never called. It was as if | had ceased to exist, and honestly, | was grateful. His absence was a balm. | didn't want his pity or his feigned remorse. The man | loved was gone, and the monster who replaced him could stay in hell where he belonged. The day the casts came off, Anya took me shopping for the first time. "You need to get out of that hospital gown," she insisted. "Even if it's just into a wheelchair for now." We were in a high-end department store, a place Julian and | used to frequent, when | saw them. Julian and Helena were standing by the jewelry counter. He was smiling down at her, a genuine, warm smile that | hadn't seen since before the accident. It was the smile he used to reserve only for me. It felt like watching a ghost. Helena was ---- laughing, holding up a diamond necklace to her throat, the same one | had seen her covet in a magazine just months ago. The pain was a sudden, sharp ambush. A memory flashed behind my eyes: Julian fastening that same necklace around my neck on my birthday. "Only the best for my queen," he'd whispered. He must have felt my stare. He looked up, his eyes meeting mine across the polished floor. For a fleeting second, his smile faltered. He rubbed his temple, a flicker of confusion and pain crossing his face. A memory, trying to break through the fog. Helena noticed his distraction and followed his gaze. When she saw me, her eyes narrowed. She leaned in and whispered something in his ear, her hand on his chest. Whatever she said, it worked. The confusion in his eyes was replaced by renewed contempt. He looked straight at me, his voice carrying across the store. "Look, Helena. It's the cripple. Still chasing after money she hasn't earned." The shoppers around us turned to stare, their whispers like the rustling of snakes. | felt my cheeks burn, but | held his gaze, my expression an unreadable mask. | refused to give him the satisfaction of my pain. | calmly wheeled myself over to the designer handbag section, my heart a block of ice in my chest. | pointed to the most expensive bag on the display. "I'll take that one," | told the salesclerk, my voice steady. ---- Helena, never one to be upstaged, immediately rushed over. "Oh, | was just about to buy that for myself!" she whined, snatching the bag from the clerk's hands. She turned to Julian, pouting. "Jules, darling, she knows | wanted this one." "Then you shall have it," Julian said, his eyes still locked on me. He pulled out his black card. "Give the lady whatever she wants." He turned back to me, his voice dripping with condescension. "Let her have the bag, Khloe. It's the least | can do for you, considering our... history. A parting gift." | met his gaze, a slow, cold smile spreading across my lips. "No need," | said, my voice clear and strong. "I'm still Mrs. Gallegos. And this card," | pulled out my own identical black card from my wallet, "is still very much active. I'll take five of them. In every color." | turned to the stunned salesclerk. "And everything else on this display. Wrap it all." Helena's jaw dropped. Julian's face hardened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He hated being challenged. He hated losing control. As the clerks scrambled to fulfill my order, he stalked over to me, leaning down until his face was inches from mine. "You think this is a game?" he hissed. "| think," | said, looking him dead in the eye, "that you made a very big mistake." My phone buzzed in my lap. It was a text from Anya. Turn on the news. NOW. ---- | pulled up a news site on my phone. The headline hit me like a physical blow. A prominent gossip blog had just published an article. My name was in the title, next to the words "Charity Auction." The feature image was a professional, lingerie-clad photo of me, a photo only Julian had ever seen. The article detailed a secret, high-end auction where wealthy men could bid on my "personal effects," including intimate apparel and private photos. The implication was clear. Julian wasn't just divorcing me. He was trying to publicly humiliate me, to sell my dignity to the highest bidder.