Chapter 3

The shock of seeing Eleanor Anderson alive and well didn't last long, it was quickly replaced by a cold, surgical rage. Liam's whole tragic story was a lie, a carefully constructed play designed to manipulate Chloe, and by extension, me. And Chloe... she wasn' t a victim in this. She was a co-conspirator, funneling my money to fund this grotesque fantasy.

For a moment, I considered the possibility that Chloe herself had been deceived by Liam and his mother. But the bank records from my investigator told a different story. The transfers from her account started long before the "death." She knew. She was a willing participant.

I sent the text to Chloe, not to hurt her, but to see what she would do. To see if there was any limit to her delusion. I didn't expect a confession or an apology. I just wanted to place the truth in front of her and watch it be ignored.

Then, I started to pack.

I didn' t pack for a trip. I packed for a new life. I went through my closet, my office, my personal belongings, sorting them into two piles: things to be sent to my new home in another city, and things to be thrown away. I found old photos of Chloe and me, love letters she' d written, gifts she' d given me. I swept them all into a large trash bag without a second thought. The man who had cherished those things was gone.

The next afternoon, Chloe came by the house. She saw the boxes stacked in the hallway and a flicker of confusion crossed her face.

"What' s all this?" she asked.

"Just getting a head start on the move," I said calmly, taping up another box.

Her face lit up with a self-satisfied smile. She completely misinterpreted my actions. "Oh! To the company headquarters? That' s a great idea. We can start fresh there after the wedding. A new city, a new life for us."

She was completely oblivious. She hadn' t even mentioned the photo I sent her. She was either ignoring it, or she had already concocted a new lie to explain it away. Her capacity for self-deception was truly breathtaking.

She came closer and put a hand on my arm. Her touch felt alien.

"Ethan, about Liam' s mother," she began, her voice taking on that serious, wheedling tone I now despised. "I know things look... complicated. But there' s a reason for everything. The most important thing now is to not upset her."

I just stared at her, waiting.

"On the day of our wedding," she continued, "before the ceremony, I need you to come with me to apologize to her in person. She was very distressed by the whole grave situation. It' s the least you can do."

So that was the new narrative. She wasn' t dead, she was just "distressed." And once again, I was the one who needed to apologize for something I didn' t do.

"After we apologize," she added, checking the time on her phone, "I have to run to the city clerk' s office with Liam. We' re going to get our marriage license and register. It' s just a quick formality. I' ll meet you at the estate for our ceremony right after."

She leaned in and kissed my cheek. "See you at the altar," she whispered, then turned and walked out the door, leaving me standing among the boxes of a life she thought we were building together.

That night, my phone buzzed with a notification. A message from an unknown number. I opened it.

It was Liam.

He had sent me a series of short videos. In the first one, Chloe was laughing, trying on a simple white dress that was clearly not a wedding gown. Liam' s voice could be heard off-camera. "You look beautiful, my wife."

In the second, they were in a car, Chloe' s head resting on his shoulder as he drove. He leaned over and kissed her forehead.

The third video was the worst. They were in what looked like a hotel room. Chloe was in a bathrobe, her back to the camera, looking out a window. Liam walked up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her neck. The video cut off, but the implication was clear.

A wave of pure disgust washed over me. This wasn't just a betrayal, it was a taunt. A deliberate, cruel act of psychological warfare. Liam wanted to rub my face in it, to show me that he had won, that he possessed every part of the woman I was supposed to marry. He was breaking me down, piece by piece.

He had succeeded in one thing. Any lingering trace of sentiment I might have felt for Chloe, any microscopic shred of doubt about my decision, was instantly vaporized. There was nothing left but a cold, hard vacuum.

The next morning, as I was directing the movers, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was a message from Sarah Jenkins.

It contained two images.

The first was a crisp, clear photo of a freshly issued marriage license. Our names-Ethan Miller and Sarah Jenkins-were printed in bold, official type.

The second photo was of a single, vibrant flower. It was a deep, fiery red, its petals blooming in a spectacular burst of color. It was a Phoenix Flower. Years ago, during a tense negotiation, I had learned Sarah was a passionate amateur botanist. After we closed the deal, I had sent her a rare, then-unbloomed Phoenix Flower plant as a sign of respect. It was a notoriously difficult plant to cultivate, one that could lie dormant for years before revealing its bloom.

Beneath the photo, she had typed a single line.

It finally bloomed.

I looked at the picture of the marriage license, then at the picture of the flower. One represented a calculated, strategic alliance. The other, a hidden, patient connection I had long forgotten. Together, they felt like fate.

I finished overseeing the movers, sending the last of my things to the private airfield. My new home, a sleek, modern house in the city where Phoenix Dynamics was headquartered, was ready for me.

Later that day, Chloe returned to my now-empty mansion. She was carrying a small suitcase.

"Wow, you really cleared the place out," she said, looking around the echoing rooms. "I' m just grabbing a few last things. I' m going to move in with Liam for the next couple of days, just to help him get everything ready for the wedding. It' s easier that way."

She smiled at me, a bright, false smile. "Don' t forget, the ceremony is at 2 PM tomorrow. Don' t be late."

I looked at her, the woman who was my fiancée, my business partner, my supposed love. She was a stranger. A very convincing actress playing a role in a tragedy of her own making.

"I won' t be there," I said, my voice perfectly calm.

She laughed, thinking I was joking. "Very funny, Ethan. Don' t get cold feet now. I' ll see you tomorrow."

She blew me a kiss and walked out of my life for the last time.

As her car pulled away from the curb, I made two calls. The first was to the airfield, confirming my private jet was ready for takeoff.

The second was to my assistant, Mark.

"Mark," I said, "I have a package for you. I need you to deliver it to the Miller-Davis wedding tomorrow. Wait until the officiant asks if anyone has any objections. Then, I want you to give this to Chloe Davis and Liam Anderson. Consider it my wedding gift."

---