Chapter 4

Ellie POV

Two days later, I found him at my parents' grave.

It was raining-a gray, miserable drizzle that didn't just wet the skin but seemed to seep right through my coat and into my bones. I had come to say goodbye before I left the country.

Marcus was standing there, holding a black umbrella. Chloe was next to him, clinging to his arm as if she might float away without him.

He saw me and visibly tensed. He let go of Chloe, instinctively creating distance, but he didn't move away from her completely.

"Ellie," he said, his voice tight. "I... I felt bad about the other night. I came to pay my respects."

"Liar."

"You told me you were in meetings all day," I said, my voice flat.

"I ran into Chloe," he said quickly, the excuse tumbling out too fast. "She was upset. She needed a friend."

I looked at the tombstone. My parents. The only people who had ever loved me without condition, without fine print.

"I miss you," I whispered to the cold stone. "I am so alone."

Chloe stepped forward. She put a hand on my shoulder. It felt less like comfort and more like a claw.

"Don't worry, Ellie," she said. Her voice dripped with performative sympathy. "Marcus promised he would take care of you. For the rest of your life. He is so responsible."

Responsible. As if I were a pet to be kept. Or a burden to be managed.

Marcus nodded eagerly. "Yes. Of course. I will always take care of you, Ellie."

He was saying it to her. He was promising her that he would manage his mistake so it wouldn't inconvenience their happiness.

"I won't need it," I said. "I will have a new home soon."

They didn't hear the finality in my voice. They thought I meant a new apartment.

"We should get dinner," Chloe said brightly, clapping her hands together. "Since we are all here."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to vomit. But I nodded. I needed to see how far this rot went.

We took his car. I sat in the back. Like a child. Or a chauffeur.

Chloe filled the silence with vapid chatter the whole way. Marcus watched her in the rearview mirror, his eyes soft, adoring. He didn't look at me once.

We went to a French bistro. It was crowded, filled with the hum of happy people.

Marcus sat next to Chloe. He didn't even realize he had done it until the waiter pulled out the chair for me opposite them.

He handed the menu to Chloe first.

"Order whatever you want," he said.

Chloe looked at the menu, then handed it to me. "Oh, Ellie, you look like you gained a little weight. Maybe a salad?"

She smiled. It was venomous.

"Are you pregnant?" she asked, her eyes darting pointedly to my stomach.

My heart stopped. Did she know?

"No," I said. "Just stress eating."

Marcus frowned, shaking his head. "You should watch that, Ellie. High cholesterol runs in your family."

He was lecturing me about health while sitting next to the woman carrying his child.

The waiter arrived with a heavy tray of sizzling onion soup.

Then, he stumbled.

It happened in slow motion. The waiter's shoe caught on the rug. The tray tipped. Three bowls of boiling hot soup launched into the air.

They were falling toward the center of the table.

Marcus moved instantly.

But he didn't reach for me.

He threw his body over Chloe. He shielded her completely, wrapping his arms around her head and shoulders to create a human barrier.

The soup landed on me.

It hit my left arm and chest.

Liquid fire.

I screamed. It was a raw, animal sound torn from my throat. The pain was immediate and blinding, searing the nerves as my skin blistered instantly.

Marcus didn't hear me.

"Are you okay?" he was asking Chloe, voice trembling. He was frantically checking her face, her arms. "Did it touch you?"

I fell off my chair, clutching my arm. The pain was making black spots dance in my vision.

"Marcus!" I gasped.

He looked up. He saw me on the floor. He saw the steam rising from my soaked shirt.

He looked back at Chloe.

"Stay here," he told her. "You might be in shock."

He turned to me. His face was twisted with annoyance.

"Get up, Ellie," he snapped. "Don't make a scene. It missed her, thank god."

He grabbed Chloe's hand. "We need to get you out of here. The fumes might be bad for... for you."

He helped Chloe stand. He guided her toward the door.

He left me on the floor.

I watched them go. My skin was peeling. The agony was consuming me. But the words he whispered to Chloe as they passed me hurt more.

"She is never as important as you. Never."

The waiter was kneeling beside me, shouting for ice, for an ambulance.

I lay on the dirty restaurant floor, the tears mixing with the soup on my shirt.

The physical pain was excruciating. But inside, the last thread that tethered me to Marcus snapped.

It was burned away.