Chapter 4

Chloe' s voice, saccharine and cloying, drifted from Ethan' s phone, which he must have put on speaker. "Uncle E, are you sure about the wedding? Stella... she seems so unhappy. And if you don' t want children with her... maybe you shouldn' t marry her at all? I just want you to be happy."

Her feigned concern, her subtle manipulation, was sickeningly transparent to Stella now.

"Don' t worry your pretty little head about it, Chloe-bug," Ethan' s voice, laced with an indulgence Stella had never heard directed at herself. "This is just business. And as for children, you know you' re the only one I consider my family, my legacy. Everything I have will be yours. Stella is just... a temporary arrangement."

The words "temporary arrangement" echoed Stella' s first life' s discovery: "a transaction."

He was confirming everything. His plan to prevent offspring with her. His intention for Chloe to inherit everything.

The "vitamins."

Stella swayed, a wave of nausea washing over her.

In her first life, after the second miscarriage, she had been a wreck. Ethan had been cold, distant, offering platitudes about "trying again" while his eyes held no warmth, no shared grief. She remembered the tiny coffins, the crushing weight of loss, the self-blame.

He had done that to her. Deliberately.

The pain of that realization was a raw, physical agony, eclipsing even the grief for her mother' s sculpture. He hadn't just been indifferent; he'd been actively malevolent.

She looked at the vintage watch in her hand, the Cole family heirloom. Her "something old."

Impulsively, with a surge of revulsion, she strode to the open window of her high-rise apartment.

Without a second thought, she flung the watch out into the night air.

It arced for a moment, a tiny glint of gold against the city lights, then disappeared into the darkness below.

A small, satisfying act of rebellion.

She turned, grabbed her pre-packed suitcase and her carry-on, and walked out of the apartment, leaving the door ajar, leaving Ethan to his hushed, monstrous plans.

She didn' t look back.

The "farewell" gathering was an unavoidable obligation. Originally planned as a pre-wedding celebration for her closest friends – a small, intimate affair – it had been too late to cancel without causing even more speculation after the public termination of the engagement. Stella decided to repurpose it as a goodbye before her "long trip."

She kept the details vague, citing a "research sabbatical."

Ethan arrived, uninvited, with Chloe in tow.

He looked irritated, his presence a dark cloud in the otherwise light atmosphere of her apartment – the one she was vacating in two days.

"Stella," he said, his tone clipped. "We need to talk. This... stunt of yours."

"There' s nothing to talk about, Ethan," Stella replied, keeping her voice even. She was circulating, saying her goodbyes.

He cornered her near the makeshift bar. Chloe hovered nearby, looking demure.

Ethan pressed a small, flat velvet box into her hand. "A wedding gift. Since you seem to have forgotten we were getting married."

His tone was sarcastic, but his eyes held a strange intensity.

Stella opened it. Inside, nestled on satin, was an obscenely large diamond pendant. Impressive. Cold. Utterly impersonal. It screamed "obligation," not affection.

It was exactly the kind of gift he would choose. Or rather, have his assistant choose.

"Thank you, Ethan," Stella said, her voice devoid of emotion. "But as there is no wedding, I can' t accept it."

She tried to hand it back.

He pushed her hand away. "Keep it. Consider it... severance."

The word, so callous, so transactional, solidified her resolve.

"Actually," Stella said, a small, bitter smile playing on her lips. "I believe I already returned your... severance." She gestured vaguely towards the direction of his office. "The Patek Philippe. Did you receive it?"

Ethan frowned. "The watch? What watch?"

He hadn' t even noticed. The Cole family heirloom, her symbolic return, hadn' t even registered.

Of course, he hadn' t.

It confirmed everything. His long-standing indifference to any gesture she made, any part of herself she offered.

Stella remembered all the gifts she' d given him over the years. A first edition of his favorite astronomy text, sourced with incredible difficulty. A hand-knitted cashmere scarf in his university colors, a project that had taken her months. A framed photo of a nebula she had captured during a brief fellowship, a piece of her soul.

He' d accepted them with polite detachment, and she' d later find them tucked away in a drawer, or worse, in the box destined for charity donations.

Yet, in his hidden vault, "My Light," he had meticulously preserved every childish drawing Chloe had ever made, every cheap trinket Chloe had given him. Notes scribbled in crayon were treated like sacred texts.

The contrast was a bitter pill she had swallowed too many times.

Suddenly, Chloe, who had been sipping a glass of punch, gasped and swayed dramatically.

"Oh! Uncle E... I feel... so dizzy... my head..."

She collapsed, not onto the floor, but conveniently into Ethan' s arms.

He caught her, his face instantly etched with alarm. "Chloe! What' s wrong?"

He glared at Stella. "What was in that punch?"

Before Stella could even process the accusation, he was scooping Chloe up. "I' m taking her to the hospital."

He brushed past Stella, carrying Chloe as if she were a precious, fragile doll.

Stella watched them go, a sense of weary déjà vu washing over her. Chloe' s feigned illnesses were a recurring theme.

Several guests looked concerned. Stella, as the hostess, felt a reluctant sense of responsibility.

"I should... I should just make sure they' re okay," she murmured, more to herself than anyone.

She followed them out, down the elevator, and into the building' s private garage.

Ethan was carefully settling Chloe into the passenger seat of his sleek sports car.

Chloe was murmuring, her voice weak. "Thank you, Uncle E... you always take such good care of me..."

Stella approached cautiously, not wanting to intrude but feeling she should at least offer assistance, or ascertain the nature of the "emergency."

As she neared the car, the windows slightly open for ventilation, she heard sounds.

Not sounds of distress.

Low murmurs. A soft giggle from Chloe.

Then, a distinct, unmistakable sound. A kiss. Wet, prolonged.

Followed by Chloe' s voice, no longer weak, but husky, seductive.

"Oh, Uncle E... you' re so strong..."

Stella froze.

She could hear Ethan' s responding murmur, too low to discern the words, but the tone was intimate, charged.

Her mind reeled. In the garage? Now? After a faked collapse?

The sheer audacity of it, the blatant disrespect, was stunning.