Chapter 3

I spent two hours at the 17th Precinct. Chloe waited for me, her presence a silent, unexpected pillar of support. She provided a witness statement that dismantled Daniel' s claims of harassment, and her lawyer, who arrived in twenty minutes, had the false complaint dismissed before it could even become a formal record.

As we walked out of the station into the night air, I felt a strange sense of calm. The slap, the police complaint-they weren't just attacks. They were mistakes. They had shown me exactly who I was dealing with.

"Thank you," I said to Chloe, the words feeling inadequate.

"Don't thank me yet, Miller," she replied, her tone back to its usual business-like crispness. "My lawyer is expensive. Consider it a down payment on our merger. I'm in."

We shook on it, right there on the steps of the police station. A deal was struck.

"Now what?" she asked.

"Now I prove it," I said. "I'm not just going to defend myself. I'm going on the offense."

I went back to my office and hired the best private investigator my money could buy. I gave him one instruction: find out everything about Daniel Reed and his "deceased" mother.

The investigator was good. Frighteningly good. Within 24 hours, he sent me a file.

I opened it. The first picture was of a gray-haired woman, smiling and tending to a garden of roses. A timestamp in the corner showed it was taken two days ago. Her name was Helen Reed. She was very much alive, living in a quiet retirement community in Arizona, funded by a monthly anonymous wire transfer. A wire transfer that my investigator traced back to an offshore account belonging to Olivia Hayes.

The entire story was a lie. A calculated, cruel lie designed to extort money and manipulate me. It wasn't just Daniel's scheme, it was Olivia's too. She was funding his life while planning to marry me.

I felt a wave of nausea, but it was quickly replaced by an icy resolve. I took a screenshot of the photo of Helen Reed in her garden and the bank transfer records. Then I sent them to Olivia in a text message. I added no comment. No accusation. Just the evidence.

I watched my phone. The "delivered" receipt turned to "read" almost instantly.

For a full ten minutes, nothing happened. Then, my phone started ringing. Olivia's name flashed on the screen. I silenced it. It rang again. And again. A frantic series of calls, followed by a flood of text messages.

Ethan, where did you get this? This is fake.

You have to believe me, I didn't know.

Daniel told me she was gone. He must be confused. He's so distraught.

Please, Ethan, pick up the phone. We need to talk about this. Don't do anything crazy.

I read the messages and felt nothing. The part of me that had loved her was gone, scooped out and cauterized by her betrayal. Her panic was just noise.

My other phone, my work phone, buzzed. A text from Chloe.

Clerk's office, 9 AM tomorrow. Have your ID. I've handled the license and the waiting period waiver. Then we're meeting with my father.

She was ruthlessly efficient. While I was uncovering the past, she was already building our future. It was jarring, but it was exactly what I needed.

I went back to the penthouse to pack. I had no intention of ever sleeping there again. I moved through the rooms we had decorated together, pulling my clothes from the closets, grabbing my personal items. The space felt alien, contaminated. It was no longer a home. It was a crime scene.

As I was zipping up the last of my suitcases, the front door burst open. Olivia stood there, her face pale and tear-streaked, her eyes wild.

She saw the suitcases lined up by the door, and a strange, relieved smile touched her lips.

"Oh, Ethan," she breathed. "You're coming back to me. I knew you would. I knew you couldn't stay away."

She had completely misinterpreted the scene. She thought I was packing to move back in, that the evidence I'd sent was just a hurdle for us to overcome. Her delusion was staggering.

"I'm not coming back, Olivia. I'm leaving."

"Leaving?" she asked, confused. "Leaving where? Don't be silly. We can fix this. I'll talk to Daniel. I'll... I'll break up with him properly this time. I was just weak, Ethan. He needed me, and I've always had a soft spot for him. But you're the one I love. You know that."

She walked towards me, her hands reaching out. I stepped back, and her hands fell to her sides.

"You're the one whose money I love, you mean," I said, my voice cold.

Her face hardened. "That's not fair. We've built a life together."

"No, I built a life. You just lived in it," I corrected her. "While you were funding your ex-boyfriend's life and lying to my face."

She started to cry again, big, theatrical sobs. "I'll give the money back! I'll do anything! Just don't leave me. What will people say? Our wedding is in five days!"

"Your wedding, you mean," I said, picking up a suitcase. "You should focus on that. You and Daniel. I'm sure his very-much-alive mother would be thrilled to attend."

The mention of his mother made her flinch. She knew she was caught. But her focus was still entirely on herself, on her own plans.

"Fine," she sniffled, trying to regain control. "Go. Get it out of your system. But after I marry Daniel and get the divorce, I'm coming back for you. We are meant to be. This little... inconvenience with Chloe Davis won't last."

She was still utterly convinced that I was a pawn in her game, that my marriage to Chloe was just a temporary, jealous reaction. She had no concept of my reality, only her own distorted version of it.

I looked at her one last time, this woman who had become a complete stranger to me. The last flicker of any residual feeling for her died out. There was no anger left, no pain. Just a vast, empty space where my love used to be. I felt a profound sense of peace. I was free.

I walked out, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the expensive penthouse, surrounded by my packed bags.

The next day was a blur of legalities. The city clerk's office, a quick and impersonal ceremony with Chloe that felt more like a business deal than a wedding. Then a tense lunch with her father, a titan of the industry who looked at me with a mixture of suspicion and respect. The deal was done. Chloe Davis was now Chloe Miller. My wife.

That evening, I had one last piece of business to attend to. I called my lawyer.

"I have a wedding gift I'd like to send," I said. "To Ms. Olivia Hayes and Mr. Daniel Reed. For their ceremony tomorrow."

I gave him the instructions. The gift was a simple manila envelope. But I knew its contents would be devastating. It was my final move, a carefully planned checkmate.