My smile felt brittle, glued to my face, a grotesque mask of composure. The muscles in my cheeks ached with the effort. I needed air. I needed out. Excusing myself, I navigated the throng of smiling faces, each one a silent accuser, their whispers echoing Collin's betrayal.

I found refuge in the master bathroom, a sanctuary of marble and polished chrome. The heavy door clicked shut behind me, muffling the festive sounds. I leaned against it, my chest heaving, fighting to fill my lungs with clean air. My reflection stared back from the ornate mirror – a woman with bloodshot eyes, a ghost of her former self, the bandages on her arm a stark reminder of her recent trauma, and Collin's callous abandonment.

I splashed cold water on my face, trying to erase the humiliation, to calm the frantic pounding in my chest. My hands trembled, the cold water doing little to quell the rising tide of nausea.

Then, from the adjoining master bedroom, muffled voices. Collin's, then Casey's, their tones hushed, intimate.

My heart seized. No. Not here. Not now. I pressed my ear against the wall, every nerve ending screaming.

"You were amazing tonight, Collin," Casey purred, her voice a low caress. "They all believed us."

"Of course they did." Collin's laugh, that same self-satisfied chuckle. "They always do. Especially Emma. She's so wrapped up in her kitchens, she barely notices anything else."

A wave of icy fury, sharp and sudden, cut through my despair. He was still doing it. Still gaslighting me, even to Casey.

"But what about when Eldridge pulls the trigger on the Golden Spoon?," Casey asked, a hint of steel beneath her seductive tone. "Will she just... disappear then? Let you set me up in Europe?"

"Eventually." Collin's voice was dismissive. "Once she' s secured our legacy. She'll get a very generous settlement. She owes me that much."

"Owes you?" Casey scoffed. "She practically built this place with her bare hands, Collin. You just put the name on the door."

"And the money in the bank," he retorted, his voice hardening. "Don't forget that, little bird. Without me, she'd just be another talented chef slaving away in some hole-in-the-wall. I gave her the platform. I gave her everything."

My stomach lurched. His words, so casually cruel, twisted the knife deeper. This wasn't just about sex. It was about power, about ownership. He saw me, saw my talent, as something he owned, something he could exploit and then discard.

I remembered the early days, the whispered promises in the quiet of dawn, the way he'd trace patterns on my skin as he described our future. You're my muse, Emma. My inspiration. We'll build an empire together. Those were the same words he was now twisting to justify his betrayal. The same words he used to manipulate me into believing I owed him.

I heard the rustle of clothes, the soft thud of bodies on the bed. A wave of disgust washed over me, a physical revulsion that choked me. I wanted to scream, to break down the door and expose him, but my body felt frozen, paralyzed by the sheer audacity of his perfidy.

He had always been so careful, so discreet. Text messages deleted, late-night "meetings" with Eldridge. But now, with the Golden Spoon in sight and my spirit broken, he was shedding his caution, feeling emboldened, invincible. He thought he had already won.

I heard Casey's soft moans, Collin's deep murmurs. The sounds, once reserved for me, were now being shared with a younger, sharper version of myself. He was recreating our intimacy, our history, with someone else. He was erasing me.

A cold, hard resolve began to crystallize within me. This wasn't just humiliation; it was psychological warfare. And I was done being the victim.

I pushed myself away from the wall, my hand shaking as I reached for the doorknob. I had to get out. I had to get away from the sickening intimacy of their betrayal.

As I opened the bathroom door, I caught a glimpse of Casey, her dress slightly disheveled, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. She made eye contact, a flicker of challenge in her gaze, as if to say, He' s mine now.

Then, she did something that snapped the last thread of my composure. She walked over to me, her eyes glinting, and whispered, "Chef, could you perhaps... recommend a good European restaurant for a new venture? Collin says you're the expert." Her voice was sweet, laced with malicious glee.

A red haze descended. My already frayed nerves snapped. My hand, still clenched from the nausea, instinctively shot out, not to strike her, but to grab at something, anything, to steady myself. My fingers closed around a heavy, ornate vase on the vanity table.

The vase, unbalanced, toppled with a deafening crash, shattering on the marble floor. Shards of ceramic, sharp and glittering, flew in every direction.

A searing pain ripped through my bandaged arm. I cried out, more from shock than physical injury. I stumbled, my legs giving way, and collapsed onto the cold tiles, the fractured vase a mirror of my fractured soul.

Collin burst into the room, his face a mask of annoyance. "What in god's name was that, Emma?!" He didn't even look at me, sprawled on the floor. His eyes were on Casey, who stood perfectly straight, a hand pressed to her chest, feigning shock.

"My arm," I whimpered, a fresh wave of agony radiating from the wound. Blood seeped through the white bandage, staining it crimson. "I think I reopened it."

Collin glanced down at me, a flicker of disgust in his eyes. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Emma. Can't you ever just be careful?" He didn't offer a hand. He didn't move to help me. His gaze was fixed on Casey, his concern solely for her. "Casey, darling, are you alright? You're not hurt, are you?"

He rushed to her side, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her close. He looked at me, still on the floor, still bleeding, and his eyes held a chilling message: You are nothing to me.

I crawled to my feet, gritting my teeth against the pain, both physical and emotional. I didn't need him. I didn't need anyone. I just needed to escape this nightmare.

"I... I need to go to the hospital," I choked out, my voice raw.

"Fine," he snapped, already turning away, his attention consumed by Casey. "Just don't make a scene. I'll send an Uber."

An Uber. Not him. Not now. Not ever.

I stumbled out of the penthouse, my vision swimming, the white cast on my arm now a beacon of my brokenness. The hospital felt colder, more sterile this time. The same nurse, a kind woman named Maria, frowned when she saw me. "Mrs. Sweeney, again? And alone?"

I simply nodded, unable to speak, the words lodged in my throat like stones.

Hours later, as I sat in the waiting room, my arm re-bandaged and throbbing, I saw them. Collin and Casey, walking hand-in-hand through the emergency room doors, their faces etched with concern. Not for me. For her.

Casey' s hand was bandaged, a small scratch on her palm. Collin was whispering reassurances, stroking her hair, his eyes filled with a tenderness he hadn't shown me in years. He even offered to donate blood, his large, imposing figure dwarfing Casey's slight frame.

"She's so fragile," he'd said to the intake nurse, his voice dripping with faux worry. "My poor Casey. She was so scared."

I heard the nurses murmuring. "Such a devoted fiancé," one whispered. "He'd do anything for her."

Fiancé. The word hit me like a fresh punch to the gut. The truth, stark and undeniable, laid bare before me. He hadn't just replaced me; he was erasing me completely. The anger, the pain, the betrayal – it all coalesced into a single, burning desire. Disappear. Erase myself from his life, just as he had erased me from his. The inheritance my grandmother had left me would be my escape, my new beginning. I would vanish. And he would never find me.

Chapter 3

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