Chapter 3

A few days later, Ethan came home with a surprise.

"Ava, darling," he announced, a wide, practiced smile on his face. "I've hired someone to help you. A personal assistant, and a wellness coordinator."

He stepped aside.

Chloe stood in the doorway.

Young, blonde, a smug little smile playing on her lips.

She was wearing a pale blue dress that didn't hide her slight bump.

My stomach clenched.

"This is Chloe," Ethan said, beaming. "She's fantastic. She'll be here to support your recovery, help with your exercises, manage your schedule."

Chloe extended a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Forrester. Ethan has told me so much about your strength."

Her eyes, however, held a different message. Triumph.

I took her hand. My grip was carefully, deliberately weak.

"That's... thoughtful of you, Ethan," I managed.

He put his arm around Chloe's shoulders, a casual, possessive gesture. "She'll be a great help. Make things easier for you."

Easier for him, he meant.

Chloe moved in, not literally into a guest room, but into my life.

She started immediately.

My favorite mug, always on the left side of the sink, was suddenly on the right, too high for me to reach from my chair.

"Oh, sorry, Ava," Chloe would say, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I just thought it looked better there."

She'd "help" me with my supposed exercises, the gentle, useless ones Ethan prescribed.

"You're doing so well," she'd chirp, while her eyes scanned my body, probably looking for signs of my "frailty."

She'd leave magazines open to articles about happy families, about the joys of motherhood, always with pictures of beaming fathers and their sons.

Subtle. Undermining.

Ethan, meanwhile, started his campaign.

"Ava," he said one evening, his hand covering mine. "We need to talk about our future. About a family."

I looked at him, feigning confusion.

"I know... I know the accident changed things," he said, his voice soft, mournful. "The doctors said... well, you know."

He squeezed my hand. "But there are other ways, darling. Adoption."

He painted a picture. A child in our home. Laughter. Joy.

"It would give us so much," he urged. "A reason. A legacy."

His legacy. His heir. With his mistress's genes.

He was preying on my supposed vulnerability, my "inability" to give him a child.

I felt a wave of nausea.

"I... I need to think about it, Ethan," I said, my voice carefully hesitant.

"Of course, my love. Take all the time you need."

But his eyes held a glint of impatience. He expected me to yield.

The house felt like a stage, and I was the unwilling lead in his twisted play.

Chloe was his co-star.

And I was secretly rehearsing my own final act. My escape.

My secret therapy sessions with Sarah were my lifeline.

"He's bringing her into your home?" Sarah had said, her face grim when I told her. "That's a new level of cruelty, Ava."

"It's also a mistake on his part," I replied, feeling a flicker of cold resolve. "He's underestimating me."

He thought he was tightening the bars of my cage.

He didn't realize I was already picking the lock.