Chapter 2

The sterile smell of antiseptic filled my nose as I blinked my eyes open. The white ceiling of the hospital room was the first thing I saw. A dull, throbbing ache radiated from my lower back, a constant, grim reminder.

A doctor stood by my bed, his face etched with professional sympathy. "Mrs. Hayes, I'm Dr. Miller. You had a bad fall. You sustained some internal injuries, and I'm very sorry to tell you that you lost the pregnancy."

The words hung in the air, clinical and final. Lost the pregnancy. My hand instinctively went to my stomach, which now felt hollow and empty. The secret joy I had harbored was gone, violently ripped away.

I turned my head. Ethan was sitting in a chair by the window, but he wasn't looking at me. He was holding Tiffany's hand as she sobbed quietly into a tissue. He was murmuring soft, comforting words to her. To her.

"Ethan," I croaked, my throat raw.

He looked over, his expression not of concern, but of irritation. "You're awake." He gestured toward Tiffany. "You really scared her, Ava. She's been a wreck."

I stared at him, my mind struggling to process the cruelty. I had just lost our child, a child he didn't even know existed, and his concern was for the woman wearing my locket.

"She needs to rest," the doctor said, giving Ethan a pointed look.

Ethan ignored him. He walked over to my bed. "When you're out of here, you owe Tiffany an apology," he said in a low voice, so the doctor couldn't hear. "And you're going to cook her a proper meal to make up for this."

"Are you insane?" I whispered, tears finally blurring my vision. "I lost our baby."

His eyes hardened. "There will be other babies. There's only one Tiffany, and she's a very important part of my career right now. Don't mess this up for me." He leaned closer. "You still have all those drawings your grandmother left you, right? In that big portfolio. It would be a shame if something were to happen to them. A fire, maybe. Accidents happen."

The threat was unmistakable. My grandmother's legacy. My own work. He was holding my entire identity hostage. Defeated, I closed my eyes and nodded numbly.

A few days later, I was back in our house. My house. Every step was agony, my body a map of bruises and aches. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the gaping wound in my soul.

True to his word, Ethan had invited Tiffany over for dinner. I stood in the kitchen, leaning heavily on the counter for support, forcing myself to chop vegetables. My movements were slow, clumsy.

Ethan and Tiffany were sitting at the kitchen island, laughing. He was showing her something on his phone, his head close to hers. The intimacy of the scene, in the heart of my home, was a fresh stab of betrayal.

He took an apple from the fruit bowl. With a small paring knife, he began to peel it in one long, continuous spiral, just like he used to do for me when I was working late on a project. He'd call it our "endless love" peel.

He finished, handing the perfectly peeled apple to Tiffany. She took a delicate bite, smiling up at him. "You're so good at this, Ethan."

"I've had practice," he said, and for a fleeting second, his eyes met mine across the room. There was no warmth, no shared memory. Just a cold, flat dismissal.

He cleared his throat, his attention shifting. "By the way, Ava," he said, his tone casual, almost an afterthought. "Where's that old key your grandmother left you? The one for her safe deposit box. I was just thinking, we should probably see what's in there."

My blood ran cold. The key. My grandmother, a former high-ranking diplomat, had given it to me on her deathbed. "This is for a real emergency, my dear," she had said. "When you feel like you have no one else to turn to."

Why did he want it now?