Chapter 1

I gave up my architecture dream and my entire inheritance to help Garrison build his law firm, reducing myself to a glorified maid in his home for five years.

But the night my mother lay dying in the hospital, Garrison didn't come.

Instead, I saw him on the news, proposing to his mistress, Kayla, with a diamond ring bought with my savings.

When I confronted them, Garrison didn't apologize. Instead, he forced me to sign my 15% stake in the company over to Kayla for zero dollars.

He claimed she needed "security" because she was fragile.

Even when I threw the toxicology report at him, proving Kayla had poisoned my mother with arsenic to get her out of the way, Garrison covered it up to save his precious merger.

He looked me in the eye and told me to apologize to the woman who murdered my mother.

That was the moment Janet Gardner died.

I signed the papers, threw the divorce agreement in his face, and vanished into the night without a trace.

Three years later, at a prestigious art gallery in Paris, a gaunt, broken man fell to his knees in front of the famous artist "Jane."

Garrison wept, clutching the hem of my dress, begging for my forgiveness.

I looked down at my ex-husband with a polite, empty smile.

"I'm sorry, sir. Do I know you?"

Chapter 1

Garrison Gardner looked me dead in the eye and asked me to bury myself alive, even if he called it a temporary sacrifice for our future.

I sat across from him in his office, the scent of rich mahogany and stale coffee filling the air between us.

"Janet, please," he said, reaching across the desk to take my hand. "It is just until the firm stabilizes. I need someone I can trust implicitly to handle the home front, the domestic side of things. My mother is sick. I cannot do this without you."

I pulled my hand back instinctively.

"I just got the offer from the architecture firm, Garrison. This is my dream."

"I know," he said, his voice dropping to that low, persuasive register that won him so many closing arguments. "And you will get back to it. I promise. One year. Two at most. Once I secure the partnership, you can build whatever you want."

He looked desperate.

He looked like the man I loved, crushed under the weight of his family's legacy and his mother's failing health.

I looked at the acceptance letter in my lap.

Then I looked at him.

"Okay," I whispered.

That was the moment I died.

I just didn't realize it would take five years for the body to catch up.

Five years later, I stood in the kitchen of the Gardner estate, scrubbing a stubborn wine stain out of a white tablecloth.

My hands were red, knuckles chapped raw.

The architecture magazines I used to subscribe to were gathering dust in the recycling bin, still in their plastic wrappers, unopened.

Garrison walked in, checking his watch.

He looked better than ever. Success wore well on him; it tailored his suits and sharpened his jawline.

I looked down at my faded jeans.

"Dinner needs to be ready by seven," he said, adjusting his cufflinks without looking at me. "Kayla is coming over to discuss the merger."

Kayla.

The name tasted like ash in my mouth.

"Garrison," I said.

He stopped, his hand on the doorknob. "What is it, Janet? I am in a rush."

"It has been five years," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "The firm is stable. You are the managing partner. You promised."

He sighed, a sound of pure irritation.

"Not this again," he said. "Janet, look at you. You have been out of the game for half a decade. You think an architecture firm is going to hire you now? Be realistic."

"You promised," I repeated.

"Things change," he said coldly. "My mother needs you. The house needs you. And frankly, Kayla needs my full attention right now. This merger is critical."

He opened the door.

"Stop being selfish, Janet. We have a good life."

He walked out.

I stood there, the wet cloth dripping onto the floor.

Selfish.

I gave him my career. My inheritance. My youth.

Later that night, my phone rang.

It was the hospital.

My mother had collapsed.

I called Garrison. Straight to voicemail.

I called his office. His assistant told me he was in a private meeting and could not be disturbed.

I drove to the hospital alone.

My hands shook on the steering wheel so hard I could barely grip the leather.

When I arrived, the doctor told me she was stable but critical. I sat by her bedside for hours, watching the machines breathe for her.

Eventually, I needed coffee.

I walked to the cafeteria, my legs feeling heavy like lead.

As I turned the corner near the vending machines, I heard a familiar laugh.

"Oh, Garrison, you are terrible," a woman said.

It was Kayla.

I froze.

"She is just so... dreary," Garrison's voice said. "I go home and she looks like a ghost. It is depressing."

"Well, at least she is good for cleaning up," Kayla giggled. "And taking care of your mother. Though honestly, her mother is such a burden on the family finances. Maybe if she passed, Janet would finally snap out of it."

My blood went cold.

"Don't say that," Garrison said, but there was no anger in his voice. Only amusement. "But yes, if she wasn't so tied down, maybe I could finally breathe."

I backed away.

I walked back to my mother's room in a daze.

The room was empty and silent, save for the rhythmic beeping of the monitor.

I sat in the plastic chair.

My husband found me dreary.

His mistress wished my mother dead.

And he laughed.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was an unknown number.

I almost didn't answer.

"Hello?"

"Janet Meyers?" A distorted voice spoke on the other end.

"Yes."

"I know what you sacrificed," the voice said. "And I know what you are about to lose. I can help you get out. I can help you destroy them. But it will cost you everything you have left."

I looked at my mother's pale face.

I thought about the wine stain on the tablecloth.

I thought about the architecture degree hanging in a dark closet.

"Tell me what to do," I said.

My voice did not shake.