Bought with Millions, Paid with Death Chapter 07

Bought with Millions, Paid with Death Chapter 07

The metallic tang of blood instantly choked the air of the cramped apartment. 

The blade missed her vitals, sinking viciously deep 

into Riley’s shoulder instead. She unleashed a bloodcurdling shriek, the piercing sound threatening to shatter the ceiling. 

Noah moved like a marionette with severed strings. He ripped the blade free, leaving a grotesque trail of 

rimson across the face that had once held him utterly spellbound. 

Riley’s agonizing shriek must have jolted the neighbors awake. 

Minutes later, the harsh wail of sirens pierced the night. The front door was violently kicked open by responding police officers.. 

They swarmed inside, pinning Noah–now nothing more than a rabid, thrashing beast–to the blood- slicked floorboards. 

The icy bite of steel cuffs clicked shut, chaining the wrists he had once been so fiercely proud of. 

He didn’t struggle. He didn’t cry out for help. Pinned against the cold laminate, his bloodshot eyes stared into the abyss, utterly hollow. 

His lips moved in a feverish, endless loop, whispering a single name: “Miranda… Miranda…” 

With his own hands, he had buried his stardom, his freedom, and his dignity–along with that belated, sickeningly twisted guilt toward me–right here in this handcrafted hell. 

Suspended in the air, I watched the bitter end of this absurd, grisly farce with absolute calm. 

There was no rush of sweet vengeance, nor a shred of 

heartache. The world that belonged to “Miranda and Noah” was thoroughly rotted away, reduced to ash. 

An unprecedented lightness washed over me. It was the absolute liberation that comes from severing a prolonged obsession. 

My spirit grew translucent, dissolving into countless motes of light, drifting toward the endless void. 

I closed my eyes, letting my consciousness sink into a tranquil, pure white slumber. 

Miranda? Miranda, are you alright?” 

A biting gust of wind, laced with the scent of swirling snow and roasted coffee, violently flooded my lungs. 

My eyes snapped open. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs. 

I wasn’t staring at a sterile hospital ceiling, nor the blood–soaked floor of a crime scene. 

Instead, thick flakes of pure white snow drifted past a familiar, hazy amber glow–an antique streetlamp on the streets of Paris. 

After a suffocating moment of vertigo, reality anchored me. I was wrapped tightly in a heavy cashmere coat, standing at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley. 

It was Paris, five years ago. Ground zero. 

From the depths of the shadows came the sickening thud of fists meeting flesh, accompanied by the harsh, cursing French of street thugs aggressively demanding their money. 

My breath hitched. The gears of fate had miraculously reversed across parallel timelines, thrusting me back to this exact, pivotal crossroads. 

I didn’t hesitate. Crunching through the thick snow, I strode briskly toward the shadows. 

Just as I had once before, I pulled out a thick wad of cash and easily bought off the thugs. 

As dead silence reclaimed the air, the young, bruised boy remained curled in the freezing slush. 

He struggled to lift his head. Wet blood smeared his cheek, but his eyes–clear as a stray pup’s yet brimming with fierce defensiveness–locked onto mine. 

This was Noah. Nineteen years old. Untainted by vanity, unversed in betrayal, his soul not yet mangled by the toxic meat grinder of fame and fortune. 

In my past life, I had stood right here and condescendingly tossed him a cold, hard contract, dooming our relationship from day one to a twisted transaction of money and power. 

I had hoisted him onto a pedestal built on my own manic craving for control, dragging us both down into the abyss. 

But this time, I didn’t reach for any documents. 

Drawing in a deep breath of the crisp Parisian air, I slowly knelt in the snow until we were eye–to–eye. slipping the still–warm scarf from my own neck, I gently wound it around his freezing throat. 

“You’re safe now,” I murmured, my voice soft but unwavering. 

Noah froze. He stared at me, the thick walls of his defenses crumbling away in an instant. In their place emerged the desperate, fragile intensity of a drowning man clinging to his only piece of driftwood. 

I offered no ultimatums. I simply extended my hand. If you want to… get up, and come home with me.” 

He gazed at my outstretched hand. A tremor of utter disbelief wracked his frame before he reached up, 

without a second of hesitation, and gripped my palm with every ounce of strength he had left. 

The grip was so visceral, so warm, brimming with an absolute, unguarded trust. 

In this parallel universe, fate had pivoted onto an entirely different axis. 

I never pushed him into the alluring, deceitful pit of the modeling industry. 

Free to explore, he revealed an extraordinary artistic Vision. He stayed at my firm, grinding his way up from a green junior designer to the most sought–after creative director in the industry. 

$tripped of the toxic shadow of a “kept man” arrangement, our love took root in pure equality and mutual salvation. 

And perhaps the greatest blessing of all–in this reality, that devastating terminal diagnosis never arrived. 

Five years later. New York, The gentle rays of the morning sun filtered through the massive floor–to–ceiling windows, casting a warm glow across the sprawling bed. 

I drifted lazily out of my dreams. The side of the bed beside me wasn’t cold and desolate; instead, the rich aroma of fresh coffee and sizzling eggs wafted into the room. 

A tall, broad–shouldered man in comfortable loungewear walked in, balancing a breakfast tray. 

When he looked at me, his gaze was just as devoted and searing as it had been on that snowy night in 

Paris–only now, the battered desperation was entirely gone. 

Noah leaned over, pressing a kiss as delicate as a feather against my forehead. 

“Good morning, beautiful,” he murmured with a slow smile. 

On the ring finger of his left hand, a simple platinum band caught the morning light, shimmering softly, silent proof of the vows we shared. 

reached up, looping my arms around his neck. 

Grounded by the steady, vital rhythm of his beating heart, I took the nightmarish memories of my past ife and sealed them away into the deepest, most unreachable recesses of my mind. 

“Good morning, Noah.” 

Outside the glass, it was the perfect dawn of a beautiful spring. 

THE END