Chapter 2

The smell of antiseptic filled my nose before I even opened my eyes. I was in our bedroom, the pristine, minimalist room that always felt more like a showroom than a home. A doctor was quietly packing his bag.

Liam sat on the edge of the bed, his expression a mask of concern.

"Ava, you're awake," he said, his voice soft and laced with what sounded like relief. He reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from my forehead. His touch felt like a spider crawling on my skin. "You gave us quite a scare. You have a mild concussion. The doctor said you need to rest."

He was trying to pretend. Trying to rewind time to that morning, when I was still his perfect, compliant artist.

I flinched away from his hand. "Where is my painting?"

His smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "It's with Scarlett. It's going to make her career, Ava. Just like I made yours."

"I want it back," I said, my voice flat and dead. "And I want you out. We're done, Liam."

He let out a soft, pitying sigh, as if I were a child throwing a tantrum.

"Darling, you're not thinking clearly. The concussion," he said, tapping his own head lightly. "You're confused. You don't mean that."

"I have never been more clear about anything in my life," I said, sitting up, ignoring the wave of dizziness that washed over me. "It's over."

He stood up and began to pace the room, his movements agitated. "Over? What does that even mean? I made you, Ava. Every gallery, every award, every bit of praise you've ever received, it's because of me. You think you can just walk away from that? From me?"

"Watch me."

His face darkened. "You're being hysterical. This isn't about the painting. This is about Scarlett. You're jealous."

"I'm not jealous," I spat. "I'm disgusted."

"You see her as a threat, but she's a gift!" he insisted, his voice rising. His twisted logic was on full display. "Don't you see? I'm trying to give you the greatest inspiration of all! A rival! A reflection of your own past to push you to new heights! I am forging you in fire, Ava, turning you into a legend!"

The door creaked open. Scarlett stood there, holding a tray with a glass of water. She was wearing one of my silk robes.

"I thought you might be thirsty," she said, her voice small and tentative.

Her eyes fell on the small, locked wooden box on my nightstand. It held my mother's old watercolor set, the cheap, student-grade paints she'd used. It was sacred. The one thing Liam had never been allowed to touch or "upgrade."

Before I could say anything, Scarlett walked over, her curiosity piqued. "What's this?"

"Don't touch that," I said, my voice sharp with panic.

But it was too late. She picked it up, her fingers fumbling with the rusty latch. It sprang open, and the contents spilled onto the floor. The brittle, cracked paint cakes shattered, and the worn brushes scattered across the white marble.

Something inside me snapped. The carefully constructed dam that held back years of grief and rage broke.

A raw, guttural scream tore from my throat. "GET OUT!"

I scrambled out of bed, shoving her away from the mess on the floor. "Get away from it! Get out!"

Scarlett stumbled backward, her face a mask of shock and fear. She looked at Liam, her eyes welling with tears.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't mean to."

Liam's face was thunderous. He strode across the room in two steps and grabbed my arm, yanking me back from Scarlett.

"That's enough, Ava," he snarled.

And then he slapped me.

The force of it snapped my head to the side, my cheek stinging with a hot, sharp pain. The room fell silent, the only sound the ragged edge of my own breathing.

He had never hit me before. His control was always more subtle, more psychological. This was new. This was an escalation.

He released me and immediately went to Scarlett, pulling her into a protective embrace. "Shh, it's okay," he murmured to her, stroking her hair. "She's not well. She didn't mean it."

He looked at me over Scarlett's shoulder, his eyes filled with cold, pure fury.

I just stared back, the sting on my cheek a burning confirmation of everything I now knew to be true.

"I'm leaving," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I'm calling my lawyer."

Liam's expression shifted. He looked almost bored. "Your lawyer? You mean the one from the firm I have on a multi-million-dollar retainer? I don't think he'll be taking your call."

He gently guided Scarlett toward the door. "Go wait for me downstairs, honey. I need to have a word with Ava."

Once she was gone, he turned back to me, his demeanor calm and chilling.

"Let's talk about your family, Ava," he said conversationally. "Your father's little hardware store. It's doing so well lately, isn't it? That new contract with Hayes Corp's construction division has really turned things around for them after their... financial troubles."

My blood ran cold.

"You wouldn't," I choked out.

"Oh, I would," he said, smiling that terrible, cold smile again. "I can make them. I can break them. I can wipe out their entire retirement with a single phone call. I can leave them with nothing. Is that what you want?"

I stood frozen, trapped. He had me. He had thought of everything.

"So here's what's going to happen," he said, his voice dropping to a business-like tone. "You are going to go downstairs. You are going to get on your knees. And you are going to apologize to Scarlett for frightening her. You will tell her you were wrong, and you will beg for her forgiveness. For your family."

Tears of rage and helplessness burned my eyes. He was a monster.

He saw the fight in my eyes and stepped closer, his voice a venomous whisper. "Do it, Ava. Or I will crush them."

I walked out of the room like a zombie, my legs moving on their own accord. I went downstairs to the living room, where Scarlett was sitting on the sofa, looking shaken.

I stopped in front of her. Liam stood behind me, a silent, menacing presence.

The words felt like acid in my throat. My body trembled with the effort of forcing them out.

Slowly, shakily, I sank to my knees on the cold marble floor.

"Scarlett," I whispered, my eyes fixed on the floor. "I'm sorry. I was wrong. Please... forgive me."

The humiliation was a physical weight, crushing the air from my lungs and the life from my soul.