Chapter 4

Two days later, my fragile new life shattered.

I was walking home from work, the evening air crisp and cool. I turned onto a quiet side street, a shortcut I often took, when I heard a cry. It was faint, but sharp with fear.

I stopped, my body instantly on high alert. Peeking around the corner of a building, I saw them. Scarlett was pressed against a brick wall, her face a mask of terror. Two large, burly men were cornering her. They weren't trying to rob her. Their movements were methodical, professional. They were Liam's men.

One of them grabbed her arm. "Mr. Patterson wants you to come with us. He's worried about you."

"No!" Scarlett cried, struggling against his grip. "Let me go!"

The other man stepped forward, his expression cold. "Don't make this difficult."

My blood ran cold. This was it. This was the moment of escalation I had feared, the moment I had warned her about. He wasn't just controlling her; he was taking her.

I should have run. I should have called the police from a safe distance. I should have protected myself, just as I had sworn I would. But I saw her face, the same terror that had been on my mother's face in the claw. I saw her hand instinctively go to her stomach, protecting the life inside her.

And I couldn't move. I was frozen, watching the nightmare play out again with a different victim.

Then one of the men raised his hand, ready to strike her, to silence her struggles.

In that instant, something inside me broke. It wasn't a thought. It was pure, primal instinct. I grabbed a heavy, discarded bottle from a nearby trash can and ran forward, screaming.

"Get away from her!"

I swung the bottle with all my might, catching the first man on the side of his head. He grunted in surprise and pain, stumbling back. The second man turned toward me, his eyes wide with shock. I didn't hesitate. I charged him, shoving him hard against the wall.

"Run, Scarlett! Go!" I yelled.

She stared at me for a half-second, her face a mixture of terror and disbelief. Then she turned and ran, disappearing down the street.

The first man had recovered. He lunged at me, his face contorted in a furious snarl. I was no match for him, but I fought back with a ferocity I didn't know I possessed, kicking and scratching. The second man grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms.

"You're going to regret that," he hissed in my ear.

Suddenly, a black car screeched to a halt at the end of the alley. The back door flew open, and Liam stepped out.

He took in the scene in an instant: his men holding me, Scarlett gone. But his broken mind processed it all wrong. He saw me, the woman who had left him, standing over his men, his new life fleeing in terror. The narrative in his head was simple and brutal. I was the saboteur. I was the threat.

"Ava," he said, and his voice was a low, dangerous growl. The cold, emotionless mask was gone, replaced by something raw and terrifying. "What did you do?"

"She was scared, Liam!" I yelled, struggling against the man holding me. "They were trying to take her!"

"Liar," he spat the word. "You couldn't stand to see me happy. You had to destroy it. Just like you tried to destroy me."

Despair washed over me, cold and absolute. He was beyond reason. He lived in a world of his own making, a world where he was the victim and his violence was a justifiable means to an end.

He walked toward me, his eyes burning with a cold fire. He stopped in front of me, so close I could feel the heat coming off him.

"I tried to give you a clean break," he said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "I tried to be merciful. But you just couldn't let it go."

He looked at his men. "I told you what to do if she ever interfered."

The man holding me tightened his grip. The other one pulled a heavy metal pipe from inside his jacket. My heart stopped.

"Liam, no," I begged, the fight draining out of me. "Please."

He just watched, his face a stone carving of cold fury, as the man swung the pipe. The impact on my shin was a sickening, white-hot explosion of pain. I screamed. He swung again, this time at my other leg. I felt the bone snap.

My legs gave out, and I collapsed to the wet pavement, the man finally releasing me. The pain was excruciating, a living thing that consumed my entire consciousness. Through a haze of agony, I looked up at Liam.

He showed no remorse. No pity. Only a chillingly final sense of resolution.

"Now you'll stay put," he said. "Now you'll learn to leave me alone."

He got back in his car, and it sped away, leaving me crumpled in the alley with his two thugs. They looked down at me, then simply turned and walked away, their job done.

I lay there, the rain starting to fall, mixing with the tears and blood on my face. But something was different this time. In my first life, the pain had been coupled with heartbreak and a desperate, pleading love. Now, there was nothing. The last ember of attachment, the last microscopic shred of feeling I had for Liam, had been extinguished. It wasn't even hatred. It was a vast, empty void. I was finally, truly free of him.

Somehow, I managed to pull out my phone. My fingers, clumsy with shock, dialed Ethan's number.

"Ava? What's wrong?" he answered, his voice sharp with alarm.

"He found me," I gasped, the words catching on a sob of pure physical agony. "My legs... they're broken. He broke my legs."

I gave him the address before darkness started to creep in at the edges of my vision. Lying in that filthy alley, I felt a strange sense of peace settle over the pain. He had taken everything. He had broken my body. But he had also severed the final chain.

When I was in the hospital, and Ethan was arranging a medevac flight, I had him bring me one last thing from my apartment: the small box that held my new passport and my new name.

Before they wheeled me onto the plane, I took out my old passport, the one with the name Ava Patterson on it. I took out the wedding photo I'd inexplicably kept. I asked the nurse for a lighter.

In a small metal basin, I set them on fire. I watched my old face, my old name, my old life turn to black ash for the second and final time. This wasn't a symbolic act of letting go. This was an erasure.

As the plane took off, leaving Europe behind, I knew I wasn't running anymore. I was moving toward a new future, one that Liam Patterson would have no part in. He had wanted a clean break. Now he had one.