Chapter 136 The Final Card
Victoria: POV
As Adrian's grip tightened on my arm, something primal and desperate surged through me. I couldn't let this end like this. I couldn't just walk out of here and into a prison cell, not when I still had cards to play.
I wrenched myself free from Adrian's grasp and dropped to my knees, ignoring the searing pain that shot through my broken hand as I hit the floor. My fingers found the hem of Julian's perfectly pressed trousers, clutching at the fabric like a lifeline.
"Julian, please!" I gasped, looking up at him through my tears. "I am your savior—that's a fact that can't be denied! Whatever else happened, whatever mistakes I made, I saved your life when we were children!"
He stared down at me with disgust and disbelief, but I pressed on, desperation making my voice crack.
"You can't send me to prison," I sobbed, my grip tightening on his pants leg. "Not after what I did for you. I saved you, Julian. I saved your life, and now you're going to destroy mine?"
"Let go of me," he said coldly, trying to step back, but I held on with the strength of the truly desperate.
"I can't go to prison," I continued, my voice rising. "I won't survive it. You don't understand—I'm not strong like Elena. I'm fragile. I'm sick."
Something shifted in my mind then, a memory of all those times Julian had rushed to my side when I'd called him in tears, claiming I couldn't get out of bed, couldn't face the world. He'd always come. Always felt responsible for my wellbeing.
"My depression," I whispered, letting my voice break completely. This lie had worked so perfectly before. Three years ago, after he'd ended up in bed with that bitch instead of me, this same fabricated breakdown had filled him with guilt, made him feel responsible for my pain. "Julian, it's coming back. It's worse than ever. If you send me to prison—if you abandon me now—I don't know what I'll do to myself."
I saw it then—the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. The old guilt surfacing despite everything he'd learned about me. The memory of Paris flashed through my mind—how I'd played the heartbroken victim so convincingly, how his grandfather's forced engagement dissolution had given me the perfect cover story.
"You're lying," he said, but his voice lacked conviction.
"I'm not!" I cried, releasing his pants to press my hands to my face. "I can feel it happening again. The darkness, the hopelessness." The words tasted bitter, knowing how I'd manipulated his guilt before, how I'd used his sense of responsibility to drive wedges between him and Elena.
"If you force me into prison," I continued, my voice dropping to a whisper, "if you take away everything I have left, I swear to God, Julian, I'll find a way to end it. I'd rather jump from the roof of this building than spend the rest of my life in a cage."
The room went silent except for my ragged breathing. I'd played the suicide card, the one trump I'd been saving for the very end.
Julian's face was a mask of conflicted emotions. I could see the war playing out behind his eyes—his disgust at my manipulation battling against years of conditioned guilt.
"You're not depressed," he said finally, but his voice was uncertain. "You're just desperate."
"How can you say that?" I sobbed, looking up at him with what I hoped was convincing anguish. "You've seen me at my lowest points. And now, with everything falling apart, with you abandoning me—"
"I'm not abandoning you," he said automatically, then caught himself, his jaw tightening with anger at his own response.
"You are!" I pressed, seeing the crack in his armor. "You're sending me to prison to rot. You're taking away my freedom, my dignity, my life."
I struggled to my feet, swaying slightly, making sure to look as fragile and broken as possible.
"I saved your life once," I whispered, moving closer to him. "And now you're going to be responsible for ending mine."
"Stop," Julian said sharply, but I could hear the uncertainty beneath his anger.
For a moment, I thought I had him. I could see the old Julian surfacing—the one who'd felt responsible for my wellbeing, who'd dropped everything to rush to my side whenever I'd claimed to be in crisis.
But then his expression hardened again, and when he spoke, his voice was ice-cold.
"You know what, Victoria?" he said, taking a step back from me. "You're right about one thing. You're definitely not well."
Hope fluttered in my chest. "Julian—"
"But it's not depression," he continued, his eyes boring into mine. "It's something much worse. You're not sad or hopeless—you're delusional. Manipulative. Completely disconnected from reality."
The hope died as quickly as it had been born.
"If you don't want to go to prison," Julian said, his voice taking on a mocking tone, "then I suppose there is another option that might be more... suitable for your condition."
He paused, and I saw something cruel flicker in his eyes.
"You're not suffering from depression, Victoria. You've clearly developed some kind of psychotic disorder. So instead of prison, maybe I should have you committed to a psychiatric facility."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "What?"
"Think about it," Julian continued. "A woman who hires thugs to attack pregnant women, who manipulates and schemes and threatens suicide when she doesn't get her way—that's not the behavior of a sane person, is it?"
"Julian, no—" I started, but he cut me off.
"Adrian," he said, not taking his eyes off me, "contact Bellevue. I think Ms. Ashford needs a psychiatric evaluation. Immediately."
"You can't do this to me!" I shrieked, lunging toward him with my good hand outstretched, ready to claw at his face.
But Adrian was faster. His arms wrapped around me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides as I thrashed against him.
"Let me go!" I screamed. "Julian, you can't do this! I'm not crazy!"
"The woman who just threatened to jump off a building rather than face the consequences of her actions?" Julian interrupted, his voice deadly calm. "I think a psychiatric hold is exactly what you need."
"I saved your life!" I screamed, struggling against Adrian's grip. "I saved you, and this is how you repay me?"
"You're a sick woman who needs help," Julian said flatly. "And you're going to get it, whether you want it or not."
I could feel my carefully constructed facade crumbling completely, all pretense of dignity abandoned as pure panic took over.
"Please," I sobbed, my struggles growing weaker. "Please don't do this to me. I'll do anything. I'll disappear. Just don't—"
"Adrian," Julian said, his voice cutting through my pleas like a blade. "Get her out of here."
As Adrian began dragging me toward the door, I made one last desperate attempt.
"Julian!" I cried, my voice breaking completely. "I loved you! Everything I did, I did because I loved you! Doesn't that mean anything?"
He looked at me then, and for just a moment, I saw a flicker of the old Julian—the one who'd cared about me.
But then it was gone, replaced by cold finality.
"No," he said quietly. "It doesn't mean anything at all."