Chapter 4

Ethan was actually here. In my hospital cubicle.

Not because he was worried about me, his wife, who' d been rushed in by ambulance.

No, he was here because Chloe had led him here.

I watched him fuss over Chloe, his arm protectively around her shoulders as she leaned heavily on her crutch, her face buried in his chest, sobbing.

He was looking at her with such tenderness, such concern.

A concern he had never, not once, shown me when I was genuinely ill or in distress.

"Ethan," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "When was the last time you asked if I was okay?"

He looked up, startled, as if he'd forgotten I was there.

"What are you talking about, Sarah? Chloe is the one who's hurt here. You attacked her."

"I'm talking about all the times I've been sick, Ethan. The flu last winter, the food poisoning from that restaurant you insisted we try. Did you ever once stay home with me? Or bring me soup? Or even call to check in?"

My voice was quiet, devoid of accusation, just stating facts.

A flicker of something – confusion? annoyance? – crossed his face.

"That's different. You're strong. You can handle things. Chloe is... delicate."

Delicate. That was the word he used for the manipulative, ambitious woman clinging to him.

I was just "strong." His "buddy."

He straightened up, his expression hardening again.

"We're not talking about that now. You need to sign those shares over to Chloe. As an apology for your behavior."

He actually expected me to sign over a significant block of shares, shares that were a family heirloom meant for his wife, to this woman who had systematically tried to destroy me.

"And then," he continued, his voice brisk, "I need to get Chloe home. Her ankle needs rest. The doctor said it's a nasty sprain."

He glanced at his watch. "I'll have my lawyer draw up the papers tomorrow morning. Expect to sign them."

He didn't even ask about my condition, why I was in the hospital.

He didn't promise to come back. He was just... leaving. With her.

As they turned to leave, Chloe peeked back at me over Ethan's shoulder.

Her eyes, no longer tearful, held a glint of pure triumph. A small, malicious smile played on her lips.

Then she winced, leaning more heavily on Ethan. "Ooh, my ankle, Ethan. It hurts so much."

"I've got you, honey," he murmured, guiding her out.

The curtain fell back into place, leaving me in silence.

Alone again.

But this time, the aloneness felt different.

It felt like a quiet space where I could finally breathe.

A nurse came in a few minutes later.

"Feeling any better, dear?" she asked kindly.

"Yes, thank you," I said. "Much better."

And it was true. The physical pain was still there, a dull ache in my stomach, but the crushing weight on my chest had lifted.

The decision was made. Truly made.

Chloe, of course, didn't wait for Ethan's lawyer.

She appeared in my cubicle an hour later, alone this time. No crutch.

She moved with a surprising agility for someone with a "nasty sprain."

"Sarah," she said, her voice back to its usual sweet tone. "I just wanted to apologize again. I know Ethan was very upset. I didn't mean for things to escalate like this."

She sat on the edge of the visitor's chair, folding her hands demurely in her lap.

"I truly do admire you, Sarah. You're so capable, so strong."

The way she said "strong" made it sound like an insult.

I looked at her, my expression calm.

"Chloe, why are you really here?"

Her sweet smile faltered for a fraction of a second.

"I told you. To apologize."

"No," I said. "You're here to see if I'm broken. To see if your little drama worked."

She blinked, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, I think you do," I said. "The photos at the presentation. The spicy dinner. The 'twisted' ankle. The slap you gave yourself. It was all quite a performance."

I saw a flash of anger in her eyes before she quickly masked it.

"You're not being fair, Sarah."

"Fair?" I almost laughed. "Let's talk about fair, Chloe."

"You came into my life, into my marriage, into my job, and you systematically tried to take everything from me."

Her composure finally cracked.

The sweetness vanished, replaced by a cold, hard malice.

"Take everything from you?" she sneered. "You had everything handed to you, Sarah. The rich husband, the easy job because you're married to the boss. Some of us have to work for what we want. Some of us have to be smart."

"Smart?" I asked. "Or manipulative and cruel?"

She stood up, her eyes blazing.

"He was never going to love you, you know," she hissed. "You were just convenient. A placeholder. He told me so himself."

She leaned closer. "He wants a real woman, Sarah. Not a... buddy."

Then, her expression shifted again, back to wide-eyed panic.

She glanced towards the curtain, then deliberately stumbled, crying out.

She grabbed a nearby IV stand, making it wobble precariously.

Then she slapped her own face again, harder this time, leaving a red mark.

"Stop it, Sarah! Don't hit me again! Help!" she screamed.

The curtain was ripped aside.

Ethan stood there, his face like thunder. He' d obviously been listening outside.

He rushed to Chloe, who collapsed into his arms, sobbing hysterically.

"She attacked me again, Ethan! I just came to see if she was okay, and she... she hit me!"

Ethan looked from Chloe's tear-streaked face and the red mark on her cheek to me, sitting calmly on the bed.

His eyes were filled with a terrifying rage.

He strode towards me, his fists clenched.

"You will sign those shares over to Chloe NOW," he snarled, his voice dangerously low. "Or I swear, Sarah, I will make your life a living hell. You think you've seen bad? You have no idea."

He pulled a pen and a document from his jacket pocket. It was a share transfer form. He' d come prepared.

"Sign it."