---- Chapter 4 Ivy Farley POV: The sleet was coming down harder now, a relentless, stinging curtain of ice. Kaela' s sobs were carried on the wind, thin and desperate pleas that Holden seemed to feel like physical blows. "You've gone too far, Ivy," he said, his voice a low, dangerous tumble. He took a step closer, his eyes burning with a cold fire | hadn't seen directed at me since we were rivals on the street, long before we were lovers. "Too far?" | let out a humorless laugh. My fingers tightened on the hilt of the small, wickedly sharp blade | always kept strapped to my thigh. "You brought your pregnant mistress to our son's memorial. Tell me again about lines being crossed." In a flash, | moved. The blade was in my hand, its tip pressing against the side of his neck, right over the pulsing carotid artery. He didn't even flinch. His stillness was more unnerving than any defense he could have mounted. A single drop of his blood welled up around the tip of the knife, a perfect crimson sphere against his skin. It rolled down his neck, a stark red trail against the pale canvas of his throat, and seeped into the collar of his white shirt. ---- "Do you remember what it cost us to get here, Holden?" | whispered, my lips close to his ear. "Do you remember the brothers we lost? The blood we spilled? Our son?" My voice broke on the last word. "You're willing to throw it all away for her?" He still didn't move, didn't speak. His eyes were locked on mine, and in their depths, | saw a flicker of the man | used to know. The man who would have burned the world down for me. "This isn't you, Ivy," he said, his voice impossibly soft. It was a calculated move, an attempt to reach the woman he knew, the woman he thought he could still control. "You don't know me anymore," | breathed, pressing the blade just a fraction deeper. "Stop this," he commanded, not with anger, but with a weary authority. "Tell your men to let her down." My hand trembled. The knife in my hand felt heavy, foreign. My stomach clenched, a familiar, phantom pain radiating from the old scar on my abdomen-a permanent reminder of the ambush that had taken our son. | remembered Holden, after the attack, forcing me to eat, spoonful by spoonful, when | had lost the will to live. He had sat by my bed for days, his hand never leaving mine, whispering promises of a future he would build for us, a future where we would be safe. He had lied. ---- With a choked sob, | pulled the knife away. It clattered to the wet concrete of the pier. My strength was gone. | was so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of hurting. Holden saw his chance. He moved past me, his focus entirely on the girl. "It's okay, Kaela," he called up to her. "I'm here. I'll get you down." He began barking orders at my men, who looked uncertainly towards me. | just shook my head, giving them a slight nod of permission. | had lost. He had won. He had chosen her, and he would always choose her. They lowered the crane. The moment her feet touched the ground, Kaela launched herself into Holden's arms, sobbing hysterically. He held her tight, murmuring comforting words into her hair. Then, she pulled back, her face a mask of tear-streaked fury. "She tried to kill our baby, Holden!" she shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at me. "My stomach hurts! | think I'm bleeding! She killed our baby!" Holden's head snapped towards me, his expression hardening into pure, unadulterated rage. But then he looked back at Kaela, and a strange, cold calm settled over his features. He smoothed her hair back from her face. "Hush now," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "It's just a baby. We can make another one." ---- Kaela stared at him, her mouth falling open in disbelief. Even | was stunned by his casual cruelty. For a moment, she looked as broken as | felt. | saw it then, with a clarity that cut through my own pain. She was just a pawn. A naive little girl who thought she held the king, when in reality, she was just another piece on Holden's board. She thought a child was her crown, her security. In our world, a child was a liability, a weakness. Power was the only thing that kept you on the throne. The shock was too much for her. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she crumpled, fainting into Holden's arms. He caught her easily, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. He held his new life, his new future, and looked down at me, his gaze unreadable. He walked past me without another word, the divorce papers on the crate fluttering in the wind, forgotten. He had stepped on them as he passed, leaving a muddy footprint right over the line for his signature. He was never going to let me go. Not because he loved me, but because he couldn't afford to. A queen, even a deposed one, was still a threat. As his car disappeared into the sleet and the gloom, my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. It was a photo. The little silver locket | had made for our son, the one | kept in a memorial box at the cabin. It was in Kaela's hand, her manicured nails a stark contrast to the simple, heartfelt token. ---- The message beneath it read: He gave this to me. He said it was time to let go of the past. You should too.