Chapter 2

The hospital discharged "Jake" a few days later with a clean bill of health, just a few bruises and a mild concussion. Brenda handled the paperwork, complaining loudly about the bill.

Before we left, I insisted on one last stop.

"I want to see Chloe," I said, my voice firm.

Brenda looked at me, surprised. "Why? She' s just a vegetable. It' s a waste of time."

"I' m going," I said, using a tone that left no room for argument. It was a tone Jake often used with her, and it worked. She fell silent, her lips pressed into a thin, angry line.

I stood outside the glass window of the ICU, looking at my own body. I was so still, so pale, with tubes and wires connecting me to a chorus of beeping machines. My parents weren't there, they must have gone home to rest. A wave of profound sadness washed over me, seeing myself so helpless. But it quickly hardened back into resolve.

This was what they had done to me. This was what I was fighting against.

I found the head nurse and, using Jake' s authority, gave a clear order. "My wife, Chloe Miller, is to receive the best possible care. Spare no expense. I want daily reports on her condition. Bill everything to my account."

The nurse nodded, impressed by the devoted husband act. On the way out, Brenda couldn' t hold her tongue.

"Spare no expense?" she hissed in the taxi. "Are you crazy, Jake? We need that money! Sarah and the baby..."

I just stared out the window, ignoring her. Let her think I was still the same spineless son she could manipulate. She would learn soon enough.

We arrived back at the villa, the house my parents had bought for me. The moment I stepped inside, a small boy came running towards me.

"Uncle Jake! Did you bring me a present? I want the new Transformer! The big one!" It was Liam, Tiffany' s son. His face was demanding, his eyes greedy.

I barely glanced at him. My eyes were scanning the large living room, searching. And then I saw her.

Olivia.

My sweet daughter. She was standing by the staircase, half-hidden in the shadows. She looked smaller than I remembered, her shoulders hunched. She was just staring at me, her big eyes wide with something I couldn' t quite place. It wasn' t the happy excitement a child should have when her father comes home. It was fear.

My heart clenched. I walked towards her, my steps slow and careful. "Olivia," I said, my voice softer than I intended.

She flinched and took a step back, her small hands twisting the hem of her dress. She was afraid of her own father.

I knelt down, trying to make myself less intimidating. "It' s okay, sweetie. It' s just Daddy."

I reached out to touch her forehead, and my hand recoiled. She was burning up. She had a high fever.

"She' s sick," I said, turning to look at Brenda and Tiffany, who had just sauntered into the room. "Why didn' t you take her to a doctor?"

Tiffany scoffed. "She' s fine. Just a little cold. Kids get sick all the time."

Just then, Liam, angry at being ignored, ran over and shoved Olivia hard. "You' re stupid! Uncle Jake is my uncle, not yours!"

Olivia stumbled and fell, her head hitting the edge of the coffee table with a sickening thud. She let out a small, pained cry.

Something inside me snapped.

Before anyone could react, I stood up, grabbed Liam by the collar of his shirt, and lifted him off the ground. He squawked in surprise, his legs kicking wildly.

"What the hell are you doing, Jake?" Tiffany screamed.

Brenda rushed forward. "Put him down! He' s just a child!"

I ignored them. I looked directly into Liam' s terrified eyes. "You will never, ever touch her again," I said, my voice a low, dangerous growl. I shook him once, hard, then dropped him on the floor. He landed with a thump and immediately started wailing, more from shock than pain.

I turned my back on their shouting and gently scooped Olivia into my arms. She was so light. As I carried her upstairs to her bedroom, her sleeve rode up, and I saw it. A dark, ugly bruise on her small arm, in the shape of a handprint.

My blood ran cold. I gently sat her on her bed and pushed up the sleeves of her pajamas. There were more. Small, yellowish bruises on her arms, a larger one on her leg. These weren' t from a fall. Someone had been hurting her. Neglecting her, abusing her.

My daughter. My sweet, innocent Olivia.

I held her close, rocking her gently as she shivered with fever. The rage I felt in the hospital was nothing compared to this. This was a firestorm. This was a promise.

They hurt my child. I would burn their world to the ground.

I laid her down, found the children' s Tylenol and a cool washcloth for her forehead. She looked at me with those wide, scared eyes.

"It' s going to be okay, baby," I whispered, stroking her hair. "Daddy' s here now. And I' m never going to let anyone hurt you again."

And I meant it. The old Chloe was gone, dead in that car wreck. The person in Jake' s body now was a mother, and there is nothing on this earth more dangerous than a mother protecting her child.