EverAfter Romance-87

"Sign the divorce papers, or the rat dies," Garrick sneered, his shoe grinding my hand while Evadne smirked at my dying daughter's medical files. The artificial heart application tore under his heel, scattering my four-year-old's only chance at survival. I knew Lyra's failing heart gave us exactly sixty days. My knees slammed against the floor. A stack of metal cases rattled from the impact. "Garrick, please." Evadne shrank back against his tailored suit. She smoothed her designer dress. "She's scaring me." She adjusted the diamond necklace resting on her collarbone. My mother's necklace. Garrick claimed he lost it during our move last year. I reached for the scattered application papers. My daughter's life depended on those pages. Garrick's leather shoe stepped squarely onto my right hand. He drove his heel into my knuckles. The bones ground together. I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper. "You made her cry, Xylia," Garrick said. His voice carried that polished CEO tone. "Apologize." "Lyra is dying." I kept my eyes on his expensive shoes. "She needs the Vanguard prototype heart. You own the patent. Sign the consent form." He removed his foot. He didn't offer a hand. Instead, he reached inside his jacket. He pulled out a folded document and tossed it. It hit my cheek and dropped to the floor. The logo belonged to the city's top genetics lab. The red text caught the dim light. *Probability of Paternity: 0.0%* My breath stopped. I stared at the numbers. "What is this?" "Proof," Garrick said. He adjusted his gold cufflinks. "Did you really think I'd fund a bastard's surgery?" "You falsified this." I grabbed the paper. "She has your eyes. You know she's yours." "She's a leech." Garrick looked down at me. "Just like you." Evadne rested a manicured hand on her flat stomach. She offered a sweet, pitying smile. "Don't upset him, Xylia. The stress isn't good for our baby." My ears rang. The backstage noise faded. Our baby. I looked at the man I spent five years supporting. I wrote the foundational code for his first startup. I cooked his meals. I slept on a cot in the pediatric ward while he claimed to be on business trips. He was with her. "I don't care about the divorce," I whispered. "I don't care about her. Just sign the medical release. I will disappear." Garrick reached down. He picked up the Vanguard application I had dropped. "Garrick, don't." I pushed myself up to my knees. "She has two months left." He grabbed the top of the thick packet. He tore it straight down the middle. The sharp sound cut right through me. He stacked the halves and tore them again. His face remained perfectly blank. He opened his hand. The shredded pieces fluttered down. They landed on my hair and my cheap sweater. "Security," Garrick called out. Two men in black tactical uniforms stepped from the shadows. "Escort my ex-wife out," Garrick ordered. "She gets nothing. Cancel her access cards. Throw her belongings into the street." "Garrick!" I lunged forward. A guard caught my arm, twisting it behind my back. The other grabbed my shoulder, hauling me up. "Get her out of my sight," Garrick said. He wrapped an arm around Evadne's waist. "Come on, darling. The press is waiting." They walked away. Evadne glanced over her shoulder, offering one last triumphant smile before the doors closed. The guards dragged me down the hallway. The metal service doors flew open. They tossed me forward. I hit the damp pavement of the back alley. My palms scraped against the rough asphalt. The metal doors slammed shut. The deadbolt engaged with a loud clack. Rain started to fall. Cold drops soaked my sweater in seconds. I sat up slowly. I picked a sharp piece of gravel out of my bleeding palm. Garrick wanted to play God with my daughter's life. He thought he held all the cards. He thought he discarded the quiet housewife he kept hidden in the suburbs. He forgot where his underlying code came from. He forgot who built the architecture of his empire. I stood up. I wiped the dirt onto my jeans. The cold wind bit into my skin. My hands were completely steady. Lyra's failing heart gave us sixty days. Time was a luxury I lacked. I pulled my phone from my pocket. The screen was shattered. Dead. I needed a secure terminal. I walked out of the alley, ignoring the bleeding. I pulled my wet hair back into a knot. I headed three blocks east, down the narrow steps into the basement of a neon-lit cybercafe. The air smelled of stale energy drinks. I dropped a crumpled fifty-dollar bill onto the sticky counter. "Booth seven. No interruptions," I told the teenager behind the register. He took the money without looking up. I walked to the back corner and locked the door. The old monitor glowed a heavy blue. My fingers hovered over the greasy mechanical keyboard. Seven years ago, I buried this identity. I walked away from the family trust. I chose love over the empire. Love nearly killed my daughter. I typed a string of numeric IP addresses. I bypassed the standard firewalls with muscle memory. A black command prompt window opened. I entered the master sequence. The screen flashed a blinding green. *Welcome back, Zero.*