The Scars Behind My Golden Dress

Chapter 6 6

Word Count: 705 | Released on: 20/01/2026

t was 2:00 AM. Cristina sat in a booth in the b

corner, a news anchor was talki

Enterprises will finally reveal the fa

couldn't do this alone. Jackson had the lawyers, the mon

as a card. It was thick, matte black, with no name.

Surg

hing for a price. She had offered her own kidney, but she wasn't a match. The man-Columbus Mcleod-had found one anyway. He hadn't asked for money. He had asked for something far mo

called him sin

one near the restrooms.

ang

p, distorted v

code name he gave her because she was folding

tortion gone. It was a rich, baritone voi

need into Fashion Week. The Flo

ul man," the voice said. "

ina said. "But I have the t

an said. "I've

he phone receiver.

in, you belong to the organization. You

n the dirty mirror of the cigarette

," sh

our booth," h

ne wen

into the diner. He carried a silver box. He p

rd with no limit, a burner phone, and an invitat

ossier of the Gala's guest list. One name was highlighted in red: Marcus Thorne, Editor-in-Chie

ge appeared

be late. A car

sed the box.

o a salon in Chelsea that stayed open late for

she told t

sho

t I can't hide be

ace was a sharp, angled bob, dyed a deep, raven black. Her eyes

ght the dress she had designed three years ago but Jackson

Liquid gold.

b. A long black sedan with tinted windo

ather seat. She smoothed

n Center,"

Chapter End

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The Scars Behind My Golden Dress

Catherine Modern

“I spent four hours preparing a five-course meal for our fifth anniversary. When Jackson finally walked into the penthouse an hour late, he didn't even look at the table. He just dropped a thick Manila envelope in front of me and told me he was done. He said his stepsister, Davida, was getting worse and needed "stability." I wasn't his wife; I was a placeholder, a temporary fix he used until the woman he actually loved was ready to take my place. Jackson didn't just want a divorce; he wanted to erase me. He called me a "proprietary asset," claiming that every design I had created to save his empire belonged to him. He froze my bank accounts, cut off my phone, and told me I'd be nothing without his name. Davida even called me from her hospital bed to flaunt the family heirloom ring Jackson claimed was lost, mocking me for being "baggage" that was finally being cleared out. I stood in our empty home, realizing I had spent five years being a martyr for a man who saw me as a transaction. I couldn't understand how he could be so blind to the monster he was protecting, or how he could discard me so coldly after I had given him everything. I grabbed my hidden sketchbook, shredded our wedding portrait, and walked out into the rain. I dialed a number I hadn't touched in years-a dangerous man known as The Surgeon who dealt in debts and shadows. I told him I was ready to pay his price. Jackson and Davida wanted to steal my identity, but I was about to show the world the literal scars they had left behind.”