Chapter 2

The next morning, the sun streamed into the opulent prison Ethan called home. My remaining time felt like grains of sand slipping through my fingers. Six days.

"Ava," Ethan' s voice, cold and devoid of any past warmth, cut through the silence. "Chloe is feeling a bit peckish. Make her some soup."

I nodded, a hollow shell. I went to the kitchen, the movements mechanical. I remembered making him soup once, when he had a cold, years ago. He' d kissed my flour-dusted nose, his eyes soft. The memory was a ghost, taunting me.

I presented the soup to Chloe, who was lounging on a chaise lounge like a queen. She sniffed it disdainfully. "Too salty."

I made another batch. "Too bland."

A third. "Too hot!" She shrieked, then deliberately tipped the bowl, scalding my hand. The pain was sharp, but distant. Ethan, witnessing it, merely kicked me in the ribs. "Useless," he muttered. He then dragged me to the unheated wine cellar and locked me in. The damp chill seeped into my bones. Overnight, the cold was a relentless tormentor.

I must have collapsed. I woke up briefly in a sterile white room. A hospital. A doctor was speaking to Ethan in hushed tones. "Her condition is precarious, Mr. Knight, especially after her previous major surgery..."

I found the strength to interrupt. "Doctor, please. It' s fine."

Ethan, on the phone, his voice dripping with concern for Chloe – "My poor darling, that burn must be agony. I' ll be right there" – barely glanced at me. He told the doctor, "Just make sure she doesn' t die. I' m not finished with her yet."

Later, scrolling through social media on a discarded tablet a cleaner had left behind, I saw Chloe' s post. A picture of her hand, a tiny red mark barely visible, with Ethan' s hand gently holding hers. The caption: "My hero, Ethan, fussing over my terrible burn. So lucky to have him." The world saw a devoted fiancé. I saw the architect of my slow, agonizing demise.

Five days left. The internal clock ticked louder.