Chapter 2

Chloe stayed home.

She told Mark she had a sudden illness.

He left for his office, a strange look on his face that Chloe could not quite read.

The house felt too quiet.

She moved from room to room, a knot of dread tightening her stomach.

Every sound, every shadow, seemed to hold a threat.

She checked her phone constantly, as if waiting for a bomb to drop.

The day stretched long.

The sun dipped below the horizon.

Still, nothing happened.

A tiny flicker of hope sparked within her.

Maybe she had changed it.

Maybe by staying home, she had broken the cycle.

The thought was fragile.

Then, the television blared.

The news anchor' s voice cut through the quiet night.

"Breaking news. A scandalous video involving renowned artist Chloe Thorne has gone viral. The video, filmed at the prestigious Hawthorne Hotel, allegedly shows Ms. Thorne engaged in illicit activities with multiple individuals."

The words hit Chloe like a physical blow.

Her breath caught.

No.

This was not possible.

She was here.

She had been here all day.

She gripped the remote, her knuckles white.

The screen showed blurred images, then a clear still frame.

It was her.

Her face.

Her distinctive birthmark on her shoulder.

The painting in the background.

It was the same video.

Chloe stumbled back, hitting the wall.

A cold sweat broke out on her skin.

Her hands trembled.

Her mind reeled.

How?

She had prevented herself from going.

She had been in this house, under this roof, all day.

Every minute.

She remembered the terror from the first time, the confusion.

Now, it was worse.

The impossibility of it choked her.

Was this some kind of sick joke?

A cruel nightmare from which she could not wake?

Her phone buzzed.

Then it exploded.

Messages, notifications, calls.

Social media feeds scrolled past, a torrent of hate.

"Disgusting."

"She' s a disgrace to art."

"Her parents must be so proud."

"Lock her up."

The words were like sharp objects, piercing her.

Each comment added to the crushing weight in her chest.

The public was a monster, eager to consume.

The speed of the spread was terrifying.

It was happening again, exactly the same way.

The front door burst open.

Mark stood there, his face red, his eyes blazing.

He held his phone in one hand.

"What is this, Chloe? What did you do?"

His voice was a snarl.

He threw his phone onto the couch.

The screen showed the video clip.

"I saw it. Everyone saw it. How could you?"

He advanced on her.

His anger filled the room.

It was raw, ugly.

He looked at her like she was a stranger, something vile.

He did not ask for explanation.

He demanded confession.

The news report continued, merciless.

"Police confirm they are investigating the incident. Sources indicate DNA evidence has been recovered from the scene, positively linking Ms. Thorne to the hotel room. Timestamps on the video align with the time of the event. Surveillance footage from the Hawthorne Hotel shows her entering the premises."

Each piece of information was a nail in her coffin.

DNA.

Timestamps.

Surveillance.

All undeniable.

But she was not there.

She could not have been there.

It defied logic.

It defied reality.

As the news anchor detailed the supposed evidence, a small, nagging detail caught Chloe' s eye.

A painting, partly visible in the background of the video, hung on the wall of the hotel room.

It was an abstract piece, a swirl of dark blues and grays.

Chloe remembered seeing that painting, not at the gallery event, but in a small, obscure art magazine she had flipped through months ago.

The magazine had described it as part of a private collection, rarely exhibited.

It was an unusual choice for a hotel.

Her mind seized on it.

It was a faint thread, almost invisible, but it was there.

This detail, small as it was, felt wrong.