Chapter 2

The next morning, I was back in my study, but I wasn't working. I was staring at a photo on my desk-a picture of Chloe and me from a year ago, on vacation in Italy. We looked happy, carefree. I remembered that day, how I thought my life was perfect. How could I have been so blind?

I thought back over the past few years. The little things I' d ignored. The way Chloe would cancel our plans at the last minute because Liam "needed" her. The money she' d "loan" him, which I knew was never paid back. The way she defended his every flaw and failure. I had seen it all as her being kind, compassionate. Now I saw it for what it was: a deep, unwavering preference for him over me. She hadn' t been building a future with me, she had been using my resources to sustain a future for him.

The anger from last night had cooled into a hard, dense certainty. The argument wasn' t a bump in the road. It was the end of it. She wasn't the woman I was going to marry.

Her furious texts started coming in around noon.

You will regret this, Ethan.

Liam is heartbroken by your attitude. He thinks you hate him.

If you don't help him, you are forcing my hand. I will find a way.

I deleted them without replying. A short while later, she stormed back into the house, her face flushed with anger.

"Did you mean it?" she demanded, standing in the doorway of my study. "You won' t help him?"

"I meant it," I said calmly, not looking up from my laptop.

"You' re choosing money over my family, over our future!" she yelled.

"No, Chloe," I said, finally meeting her gaze. "You already made the choice. You chose Liam. You' re just angry that you don' t get to have him and my money."

Her mouth fell open, a flicker of shock in her eyes before it was replaced by rage.

"Fine!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "You' ll see! You need me more than I need you!"

She spun around and slammed the door again, the sound echoing through the empty house. I felt a strange sense of peace. The storm had finally broken.

That evening, the restlessness hit me. I couldn' t stay in the house anymore. I changed into my running gear and headed out, pounding the pavement of the quiet, wealthy neighborhood, trying to outrun the mess my life had become. The cool night air did little to clear my head. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it, assuming it was Chloe.

It buzzed again, persistently. I finally pulled it out, annoyed, and saw an unknown number. I almost rejected it, but something made me answer.

"Hello?"

"Miller." The voice was female, sharp, and instantly recognizable. Sarah Jenkins.

"Jenkins," I replied, slowing to a walk. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Cut the crap," she snapped, with her typical lack of pleasantries. "Your sister-in-law gave me your number. I need your ID number. Your full name, date of birth, the works. I' m sending my assistant to the courthouse first thing in the morning. Let' s get this done quickly before you get cold feet."

I was so taken aback by her bluntness that I almost laughed. No romance, no pretense. Just a corporate takeover of a wedding.

"You' re in a hurry," I noted.

"I don' t waste time on ventures that might fall through," she said. "Are you in or are you out? Send me the info now or the deal is off."

It was the most unsentimental proposal in human history, and it was exactly what I needed. "I' m in. I' ll text you the details."

"Good," she said, and hung up.

I stood there on the dark street, a strange smile on my face. This was a new kind of crazy. A better kind.

I was walking back toward my house when a car screeched to a halt beside me. The door flew open and Chloe jumped out.

"Who were you just talking to?" she demanded, her eyes wild. She must have been circling the neighborhood, looking for me.

"It' s none of your business, Chloe."

"I heard a woman' s voice! Was it Sarah Jenkins? Was it her?" Her voice was laced with a venom that surprised me. She had always despised Sarah, seeing her as a threat not just in business, but on a personal level I' d never understood.

"What if it was?"

"You can' t!" she shrieked. "You can' t have anything to do with her! I forbid you from inviting her to our wedding! She' s a snake, Ethan, she' s just trying to get close to you to destroy your company from the inside!"

Before I could respond, the passenger door of the car opened. Liam Anderson unfolded himself from the seat. He walked around the car and took Chloe' s hand, lacing his fingers through hers in a gesture that was far too intimate for step-siblings.

"Ethan," he said, his voice soft and filled with a counterfeit sincerity. "I' m so sorry. We didn' t mean to upset you. Chloe and I were just... practicing. For the wedding procedures." He squeezed her hand. "To make sure everything goes smoothly when we get married."

The blatant provocation was stunning. He was openly flaunting their relationship in my face.

"Practicing," I repeated, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Right."

Liam' s expression turned sorrowful. He took a half-step back, a flicker of fear in his eyes that was pure theater. "Please, don' t be angry. I know I made you uncomfortable at the memorial service. But you didn' t have to... you didn' t have to do that to my mother' s grave."

The accusation was so outlandish, so vile, that I was momentarily speechless. "What are you talking about?"

Chloe, however, bought it instantly. Her face contorted with fury. "You monster!" she screamed, and before I could react, her hand flew through the air and connected with my cheek.

The slap was sharp, stinging. The shock of it was worse than the pain. She had hit me. For him. Based on a lie he' d just invented.

"How could you?" she sobbed, clutching at Liam. "He' s still grieving, and you go and desecrate his mother' s grave? You' re malicious! You' re evil!"

Liam wrapped his arms around her, playing the part of the protector. He looked at me over her shoulder, his eyes filled with a sick, triumphant pity.

"Please, Ethan," he begged, his voice breaking. "Don' t hurt Chloe. It' s not her fault. She' s just emotional."

He was positioning me as the aggressor, the violent one, and Chloe as the victim he had to save. It was a masterclass in manipulation.

Chloe pulled away from him, her eyes burning with hatred. "Stay away from us," she hissed. "Don' t you dare show your face again until the wedding. And you better have the dowry ready."

She got back in the car, Liam followed, and they sped off into the night, leaving me standing on the sidewalk, my cheek throbbing.

The next day, my phone rang. It was Chloe again. I let it go to voicemail. The message she left was hysterical.

"The cemetery just called Liam! Someone dug up his mother' s grave last night! They found the coffin empty! It was you, wasn' t it? You sick bastard! What did you do with her body? I' m calling the police!"

The accusation was insane, but one part of it snagged my attention. The grave was empty. Not desecrated. Empty.

A cold, bizarre thought began to form in my mind. This whole thing-the dying wish, the filial piety, the rushed marriage-it was all too theatrical, too convenient.

I hung up the phone and called my private investigator, a man I kept on retainer for corporate espionage. "I have a job for you," I said. "I need you to find someone. A woman named Eleanor Anderson. She supposedly died six months ago. I need you to find out if she' s actually dead."

It took him less than three hours to call me back.

"Mr. Miller," he said, "your hunch was correct. Eleanor Anderson is very much alive. She' s been living in a private villa in the Caribbean for the last four months. The purchase was made with funds from an offshore account. An account that has received regular, large deposits from your fiancée, Chloe Davis."

He sent me the file. Photos of Liam' s "deceased" mother, looking tanned and healthy, sipping a cocktail by a pool. Bank statements. Flight records.

The deception was deeper and more rotten than I could have ever imagined. Chloe hadn't just been lying to me. She had been funding the entire charade.

I leaned back in my chair, the evidence glowing on my screen. This wasn' t about filial piety. It was a long con. And I was the mark.

I picked up my phone, opened my messaging app, and found my conversation with Chloe. I attached the photo of her "dead" stepmother, sunbathing in paradise.

Then I typed a single sentence.

Looks like she' s feeling much better.

I hit send.

---