Chapter 2

I woke to the smell of antiseptic and the muted beep of a machine. My whole body ached, a deep, throbbing pain that was a constant reminder of the metal pipe. A nurse was checking my IV drip.

"You're awake," she said with a gentle smile. "You're very lucky. A janitor found you. You've been here for three days."

Three days. It felt like a lifetime. Liam' s promise to come back for me was a bitter taste in my mouth. He hadn't come. He hadn't even called. I asked the nurse for a phone and called him. He answered on the third ring, his voice panicked.

"Ava! You're okay? Where are you?"

He arrived at the hospital an hour later, looking tired but unharmed. He rushed to my bedside, trying to take my hand, but I pulled it away.

"Why didn't you come?" I asked, my voice raspy.

"I couldn't, Ava," he said, his face a mask of frustration. "They told me if I called the police or tried to find you, they'd... they'd kill you. I was trying to get the money together. I was going to pay them."

His excuses were weak, transparent. He hadn't come because he was busy ensuring Chloe and his unborn child were safe. He downplayed his choice, his ultimate betrayal, as a logical decision.

"I had to protect the heir, Ava," he said, as if that explained everything. "It was the only choice. I knew you'd understand. You're strong."

I stared at him, at this stranger who wore my husband's face. There was no remorse in his eyes, only self-pity and justification. The love I had held for him for so long curdled into something cold and hard.

His grandmother arrived next. She didn't even look at me. Her eyes, sharp and unforgiving, were fixed on Liam.

"Is Chloe all right?" she demanded. "The doctor said the shock could have harmed the baby."

"She's fine, Grandma," Liam assured her. "She's resting at home. I have a nurse with her around the clock."

"Good," the old woman said, finally glancing at me with disdain. "This is all your fault. If you had been a proper wife and given this family an heir, none of this would have happened."

Her words were cruel, designed to wound, but I felt nothing. I was beyond her venom. I was in a place of cold, clear understanding.

The final act of this grotesque play began when Chloe herself appeared at my hospital room door, a bouquet of cheap flowers in her hand. She looked pale and fragile, a picture of innocence. Liam rushed to her side, helping her into a chair as if she were made of glass.

"Ava," she whispered, tears welling in her wide eyes. "I'm so sorry. I told Liam to choose you. I told him my life didn't matter, but he insisted on saving the baby... our baby."

She played her part perfectly, the selfless martyr. Liam looked at her with adoration, his hand resting on her shoulder.

"It's not your fault, Chloe," he murmured, stroking her hair. "You just rest. Don't worry about anything."

He fussed over her, making sure her chair was comfortable, offering her water, his concern for her a stark contrast to the clinical way he had treated my own near-fatal injuries. In that moment, watching them, I felt a profound sense of peace. The struggle was over. The man I loved was gone, and this weak, manipulative creature in his place held no power over me anymore.

I waited until they were both looking at me, expecting tears or accusations. I gave them neither.

I looked directly at Liam, my voice steady and clear. "I saw the look in your eyes on the security feed in that warehouse, Liam. There was no fear for me. Only calculation. You weren't saving an heir. You were saving yourself from your grandmother's wrath." I turned to Chloe. "And you. You're not as naive as you look. You knew exactly what you were doing."

A flicker of fear crossed Chloe's face before she hid it behind a fresh wave of tears. Liam looked stunned, speechless.

"I want a divorce, Liam," I said, the words feeling clean and right in my mouth.

This time, there would be no begging, no false promises that I would fall for. I saw the future clearly. I would heal. I would leave. And I would erase them from my life.

When I was finally discharged from the hospital, the first thing I did was go home. Our home. I walked through the rooms that held so many memories, but they felt like a stranger's house now. I went to the study and pulled out a large cardboard box.

I walked from room to room, collecting every piece of our life together. Photographs from our wedding, souvenirs from our travels, the silly gifts he'd given me, the letters he'd written. I piled them all into the box.

I carried it to the fireplace. I didn't hesitate. I lit a match and dropped it into the box. The flames caught quickly, curling around the edges of the photographs, turning our smiling faces to black ash. I watched until everything was gone, until all that was left of our eight years together was a pile of gray dust. The fire didn't feel angry or destructive. It felt like a cleansing.