Chapter 2

I snatched the phone off the floor, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped it again. "Hello?"

"Is this Chloe Davis?" a calm, professional voice asked.

"Yes, this is she. Is everything alright with my grandmother, Susan?"

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. "Ms. Davis, your grandmother had a fall. The paramedics are with her now. She's asking for you. We are transporting her to St. Jude's Hospital."

The world tilted. Ethan's smug face, the threat, the exhibition-it all faded into a dull roar in the back of my mind. "I'm on my way."

I hung up without another word to Ethan and ran out of the loft, his cold eyes following me. The drive to the hospital was pure torture. Every red light felt like an eternity. When I finally burst through the emergency room doors, a nurse directed me to a small room.

Grandma Susan was lying in the bed, looking smaller and more fragile than I had ever seen her. An oxygen mask was strapped to her face, and a monitor next to her bed beeped a slow, unsteady rhythm. Her eyes, usually so full of life, were clouded with pain.

The television mounted in the corner of the room was on, tuned to a 24-hour news channel. And there it was. My face, crying, projected onto a gallery wall. A panel of talking heads were discussing Ethan's "exploitative" art. My personal hell was now a segment between the weather and sports. I quickly grabbed the remote and turned it off, my cheeks burning with shame.

"Chloe," my grandmother whispered, her voice raspy. She feebly lifted a hand, and I rushed to her side, taking it in both of mine.

"I'm here, Grandma. I'm right here."

"I saw... on the television," she breathed, her eyes flickering with a deep sadness that broke my heart. "That man... he hurt you."

Tears streamed down my face. "I'm so sorry, Grandma. I'm so sorry you had to see that."

"Don't be sorry," she squeezed my hand, a flicker of her old strength returning. "You be strong. You are a good girl, Chloe. Don't let anyone... make you feel small."

Her eyes fluttered closed. The beeping of the heart monitor next to her bed became a single, piercing, continuous tone.

Nurses rushed in, pushing me gently out of the way. But I knew. I knew it was too late. The sound of that flatline was the sound of my world ending. The room spun, and the floor rushed up to meet me as everything went black.

When I came to, I was in a different, empty room. A doctor with a kind, sad face told me what I already knew. My grandmother was gone. The fall had caused a cerebral hemorrhage. There was nothing they could do.

The hours that followed were a cold, sterile blur. I signed papers. I answered questions. I made the call to the funeral home. I did it all alone, moving like an automaton. Sarah called a dozen times, but I couldn't bring myself to answer. There were no words.

Finally, in the dead of night, I drove back to the apartment I had once shared with Ethan. My own place felt too empty, too silent. I don't know what I was looking for. Maybe a piece of the past, a memory of a time before everything was broken.

I let myself in with my old key. The lights were on in the living room. And there, on the couch, was Ethan. He wasn't alone. A young woman with bright, adoring eyes was curled up against him, her head on his shoulder. I recognized her from articles about Ethan's new work. Ava. His new muse.

They both looked up as I entered, their intimate bubble bursting. Ava looked startled, but Ethan's face was a mask of cold indifference.

I just stared at him, the grief and rage a toxic cocktail in my veins. "She's gone," I said, my voice hollow. "My grandmother is dead."

Ethan didn't flinch. He didn't move. He just looked at me. "That's unfortunate," he said, his voice completely devoid of sympathy. "Did you release the apology?"

The casual cruelty of his question shattered the last bit of my composure. All the pain, the grief, the betrayal, it all coalesced into a single, chilling thought. He would not get away with this. I wouldn't just leave. I would make him pay. I would burn his world to the ground, just as he had burned mine. A plan, desperate and extreme, began to form in the ruins of my mind.