Chapter 2

The days became a blur of refined torture.

Ethan drove Olivia's expensive cars, a silent shadow in her glittering life.

He chauffeured her and Marcus to lavish parties, to intimate dinners.

He watched them laugh, touch, kiss. Each casual display of affection was a fresh stab.

Olivia treated him like a servant, a non-person.

"Ethan, my bag."

"Ethan, wait here."

"Ethan, don't speak unless spoken to."

Marcus was worse, in a way.

He'd make comments, just loud enough for Ethan to hear.

"Poor bastard, isn't he, Liv? Used to have it all."

Or he'd "accidentally" spill coffee near Ethan, then apologize with a smug look.

Ethan endured it.

His cough was getting worse. He hid it as best he could.

He ate cheap food in his tiny, rented room, counting the money he was saving.

Each dollar was a step closer to Point Sublime.

His only escape was the thought of the canyon, the vast silence, the clean air.

The final peace.

Sometimes, when he was alone, waiting in the car, memories would surface.

High school. Olivia, a bright star in her private school uniform.

Ethan, the scholarship kid from the wrong side of town.

Their first meeting in art class. Her smile.

Sneaking out for late-night talks, sharing dreams.

They'd found the Grand Canyon picture in an old National Geographic.

"We'll go there, Ethan. Someday. Just us."

"Promise?"

"Promise. It'll be our forever place."

Eleanor Hayes, in her lucid moments, had liked him.

She'd seen the artist in him, the quiet strength.

"You're good for Olivia, Ethan," she'd said once, a rare smile on her face.

"You keep her grounded."

If only she knew how much he'd tried.

Olivia seemed to thrive on his suffering.

She'd call him for trivial errands at all hours.

Pick up dry cleaning. Deliver a single file.

Once, she made him wait outside a boutique for three hours while she shopped with friends, occasionally glancing out to make sure he was still there, wilting in the sun.

Her assistant, David Chen, a quiet, observant man, sometimes looked at Ethan with something like pity.

But he never said anything. He was loyal to Olivia.

One evening, Marcus and Olivia were in the back seat, returning from a political dinner.

They thought he couldn't hear over the privacy screen.

"Are you sure about this, Liv?" Marcus murmured. "Having him around all the time? Isn't it...uncomfortable for you?"

"It's exactly what I want, Marcus." Olivia's voice was hard. "I want him to see me happy. I want him to see what he destroyed. Every single day."

"But darling, he looks...ill. Are you sure he's up to it?"

A flicker of something in Marcus's voice. Not concern. Maybe... calculation?

"He's stronger than he looks," Olivia said dismissively. "And if he breaks? Good. He deserves to break."

Ethan gripped the steering wheel.

He wouldn't break. He couldn't.

Not until his ashes met the canyon wind.