Chapter 2

The waiting room of the private hospital was sterile and silent. The air smelled of antiseptic and anxiety. Ethan sat on an uncomfortable chair, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He had flown to Paris on the next available flight. He didn't know why. Olivia hadn't asked him to come. Maybe it was a last, desperate act of a dying marriage, a need to see it through to the very end.

Olivia was in with the doctors, getting an update on Liam' s condition. That left Ethan alone in the waiting room with Liam' s mother, a woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue who had always looked at Ethan as if he were a piece of furniture Olivia had unfortunately acquired.

After a few tense minutes, Olivia came out. Her face was pale. "The surgery was successful. He's stable now, but he's not awake yet."

Relief washed over her features, so potent it was almost tangible. She didn't look at Ethan. She just walked over to the window and stared out at the gray Paris sky.

A few hours later, a nurse informed them that Liam was awake and could have one visitor at a time. Olivia went in immediately.

Ethan was left to wait again. He scrolled through his phone, looking at pictures of architectural designs, trying to distract himself, but his mind was a blank slate.

When Olivia finally came out, she looked different. There was a softness in her eyes, a vulnerability he hadn't seen since the day she'd asked him to marry her.

"He wants to see you," she said, her voice quiet.

Ethan was surprised. "Me? Why?"

"He wants to thank you," she said. "For signing the papers. For saving his life."

Ethan felt a knot of unease in his stomach, but he stood up and walked toward Liam's room. The room was bright and filled with flowers. Liam was propped up on a pile of pillows, an IV drip in his arm. He looked pale but had a smug little smile on his face.

"Ethan," Liam said, his voice weak but laced with triumph. "Thank you for coming. And thank you for... everything."

"I'm glad you're okay," Ethan said, the words feeling hollow.

"Olivia told me tomorrow is your big day," Liam continued, his smile widening. "The end of the line. She's been counting down the days, you know. We both have."

Ethan' s blood ran cold.

"She never loved you, you know," Liam said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "This was all just a show for her old man. Every time she had to touch you, she would call me afterwards, telling me how much she hated it. She told me she felt disgusted."

Each word was a precise, calculated strike.

"She used to buy you those white roses, right?" Liam chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "She told me it was our little joke. White roses were the first flowers I ever gave her. Every time she saw them in your house, she was thinking of me. Everything she did, every little thing you thought was for you, was actually for me."

A memory surfaced in Ethan's mind. A year ago, for their anniversary, Olivia had surprised him by redecorating his home office. She had filled it with his favorite books and hung a piece of art he admired. And on the desk, there was a single white rose in a crystal vase. He had been so touched, he had almost cried. He thought, finally, she was starting to see him.

"The redecoration of your office..." Liam said, as if reading his mind. "That was my idea. I told her what you liked. I picked out the art. She just paid for it."

The world tilted on its axis. The memory, once a source of warmth, now felt like a brand of shame on his soul. He had been living in a carefully constructed lie, a theater where he was the only one who didn't know his lines. He was the fool.

"Why are you telling me this?" Ethan's voice was hoarse.

Liam' s expression turned pitying. "Because you need to know your place. She's mine. She has always been mine. Now that your contract is up, you can disappear. She doesn't need a placeholder anymore."

A wave of nausea washed over Ethan. The room felt too small, the air too thick to breathe. He felt a sharp pain in his stomach, a physical manifestation of the brutal emotional assault. He stumbled back, his hand pressed against his abdomen.

"I have to go," he mumbled, turning to leave. He couldn't look at Liam, couldn't look at the triumphant smirk on the face of the man who had effortlessly stolen his life.

He practically ran out of the room, past a surprised Olivia who was standing in the hallway. He didn't stop. He pushed through the hospital doors and into the cold Paris air, gulping it in like a drowning man. The pain in his stomach intensified, doubling him over. He leaned against a wall, his body trembling uncontrollably.

He had to get away. Away from them, away from this city, away from the ruins of his three-year-long delusion.

He managed to get a taxi back to the hotel. He walked into the empty room he was supposed to share with Olivia and started throwing his clothes into his suitcase. He didn't pack neatly. He just shoved everything in, his movements frantic and clumsy. He had to leave.

As he was zipping up his bag, his phone buzzed. It was a notification from a social media app. He glanced at it. It was a post from Olivia.

A picture of her hand holding Liam's in the hospital bed. The caption read: "Finally back where I belong. Some things are worth waiting for. #truelove #reunited"

The screen blurred as tears filled Ethan's eyes. It was the final, undeniable proof. He was nothing. He had always been nothing.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, a strange sense of calm settling over the storm in his chest. The pain was still there, a deep, hollow ache, but something else was there too. A decision.

He was done.

He would not be a ghost in his own life anymore. He would not wait for a love that would never be his. He would take what was left of his shattered heart and he would build a new life, a life without Olivia Hayes. A life for himself.

He left the hotel key on the counter, walked out without looking back, and headed to the airport. The contract was over. His sentence was served. He was finally free.