Chapter 11

Susan Thompson curled up on the cold concrete floor, blood seeping through her torn clothes, spreading into a dark crimson pool beneath her. The sharp click of high heels echoed, growing louder with each step.

Nicole Capra stood before her in limited-edition red-soled shoes, tilting Susan's chin up with the tip of her stiletto. "Well, well, if it isn't the high-and-mighty Miss Thompson?" Her laughter was sickly sweet. "Andrew specifically asked me to... take good care of you."

Susan's lashes trembled. Him again.

"Don't believe me?" Nicole pulled a scalpel from her clutch, its blade glinting coldly under the light. "He said these hands of yours touched what they shouldn't have. They need to be... dealt with."

Susan jerked her head up, meeting Nicole's mocking gaze. "You're lying!" Her voice was hoarse. "Andrew would never—"

"Never what?" Nicole leaned down, dragging the blade across Susan's wrist. A thin red line appeared instantly. "Never send you to prison? Never have your ribs broken?" She pressed harder. "Susan, wake up. The dream's over."

Two black-suited bodyguards pinned Susan's shoulders, crushing her against the floor. Nicole raised the scalpel, its gleam reflecting her twisted smile. "Don't worry, I'm skilled. Ever heard of an ancient punishment called 'human swine'? We'll take it slow..."

"Enough."

The icy command froze everyone in place. Andrew Lucas stood at the doorway, his tailored suit sharp as knives, his gaze colder.

Nicole's eyes welled up instantly. "Andrew, I just—I couldn't bear it. What she did to Mother—"

"I know." He took the scalpel from her, running his thumb along the blade. "This isn't for your hands to dirty."

He crouched, meeting Susan at eye level. The same hands that once shielded her from storms now gripped her wrist. "Susan," he murmured, "what gave you the right to lay a finger on Nicole's mother?"

Susan stared into the frost in his eyes and suddenly laughed. "Andrew Lucas, are you really going to destroy my last chance to play piano?" She lifted her mangled right hand. "These fingers played 'A Wedding in Dreams' for you 999 times."

Andrew's gaze darkened, but the blade pressed against her knuckles. "The moment you killed Grandma, you lost the right to speak of the past."

As agony tore through her, Susan's vision blurred. For a heartbeat, she saw eighteen-year-old Andrew—the boy who once cradled her hands, whispering, "Susan's hands create miracles. I'll treasure them forever."

The warmth of memory clashed with the cold reality. At last, she broke into wrenching sobs.