My Mother-in-Law Threw Scalding Oil Over Me Because Dinner Wasn't Ready When Her Son Walked Through the Door. The Pain Was So Intense I Collapsed Before I Could Even Cry Out. At the Hospital, My Husband Smiled at the Doctor and Said, “She's Always Been Careless. She Accidentally Poured Hot Soup on Herself.” I Stayed Silent Behind the Curtain Until the Doctor Leaned Close and Whispered, “That's Interesting... Because Those Burns Weren't Caused by an Accident, and the Police Are Waiting Downstairs.”

I ripped the IV line out of my arm, ignoring Rachel's frantic protests.

The pain in my chest was blinding, but the adrenaline pumping through my veins masked it completely.

"You cannot get up, you are severely burned!" Rachel shouted, trying to hold me down.

"He's going to kill someone else," I gritted my teeth, pushing past her.

I grabbed a heavy medical crutch from the corner of the room to support my weight.

Two FBI agents tried to stop me at the door, but I glared at them with lethal intensity.

"That is my husband on the roof," I snarled.

"I know how to talk him down, and you know you need my help."

The agents exchanged a hesitant look before finally nodding and escorting me toward the elevator.

We rode up to the top floor in suffocating silence.

When the elevator doors opened, the cold night wind hit my burned skin like a thousand icy needles.

The roof was swarming with heavily armed tactical teams hiding behind ventilation units.

A medical transport helicopter was idling on the center pad, its blades spinning loudly.

Ethan was standing near the edge of the roof, holding a stolen police pistol to the pilot's head.

"Back off or he dies right now!" Ethan screamed over the roar of the chopper blades.

I stepped out from behind the tactical shields, leaning heavily on the aluminum crutch.

"Ethan!" I yelled, my voice cutting through the wind.

He spun around, his eyes wild and bloodshot.

"You just won't die, will you?" he laughed bitterly.

"Let the pilot go," I demanded, stepping closer despite the sniper lasers dancing across Ethan's chest.

"You have nowhere to fly."

"Your offshore accounts have been frozen, and your passports are flagged globally."

Ethan's grip on the pilot wavered for a fraction of a second.

"I still have the physical gold hidden in the Swiss vault," he sneered.

I shook my head slowly, feeling a cold smile creep across my face.

"No, Ethan," I corrected him.

"I transferred that gold to a charity for burn victims three hours ago."

Ethan stared at me, the realization finally breaking the last shred of his sanity.

He had absolutely nothing left.

“Which daughter is yours?” should have been a harmless question

The first wineglass shattered at 8:07 p.m

The moment the mafia boss’s wife called me “an illiterate servant,”

With a primal scream of pure rage, Ethan turned the gun away from the pilot.

And he aimed it directly at my heart.

Chapter 8 - The Helipad