Chapter 1

The hospital air was cold and sterile, a smell I knew too well, but it felt different this time, wrong. It was a smell that didn't belong with my sister, Lily.

The doctor' s voice was a low hum in the background, words like "blunt force trauma" and "critical condition" floated past me, but they didn't stick. All I could see was Lily, lying in that bed, so small and broken under the white sheets.

Her face, usually so full of life and color, was a map of purple and blue bruises. A tube ran down her throat, a machine breathing for her with a sickening, rhythmic hiss.

She was an artist. Her hands, which could create such beautiful things on a canvas, were now swollen and bandaged. Someone had done this to her, someone had tried to erase her light from the world.

The police had given me a name, Brandon Thorne. The son of a tech billionaire, a name that dripped with money and power. They called it a party gone wrong. I called it what it was, a brutal assault.

My first call, after the one that brought me here, was to my wife, Sarah Jenkins. She was a prosecutor, a rising star in the DA's office. She knew the law, she was supposed to be on the side of justice.

"Ethan, I heard," she said, her voice clipped and distant over the phone. "It's a terrible situation."

"Terrible? Sarah, look at her. They left her for dead. We need to make them pay."

There was a pause, a small hesitation that felt like a chasm opening between us.

"We need to be careful, Ethan. The Thornes are a powerful family. We can't rush into accusations."

"Accusations? I have the police report. There were witnesses. They saw Brandon drag her away."

"Witnesses can be unreliable. Brandon's lawyers are already claiming Lily was drunk, that she was aggressive."

I felt a cold fury rise in my chest. "You know Lily. You know that's a lie."

"I know the system, Ethan," she said, her voice hardening. "And I know what it takes to win. You need to let me handle this my way."

Her way. That's what she always said. Her career, her ambition, always came first. I hung up, the silence of the hospital room pressing in on me.

The preliminary hearing was a joke. I sat in the back of the small courtroom, watching as the system I once believed in bent itself into knots for the rich and powerful.

The police chief, a man whose face was a little too flushed, a little too friendly with Brandon Thorne's father, presented a sanitized version of the events. He spoke of "conflicting accounts" and "a lack of conclusive evidence."

Sarah stood beside him, her face a mask of professional neutrality. She didn't look at me once.

Brandon Thorne sat with his legal team, looking bored. He wore an expensive suit and a smirk that never left his face. He caught my eye once and gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug, as if to say, What can you do?

"The victim, Lily Miller," Sarah began, her voice echoing in the quiet room, "has a history of... emotional instability. We have accounts that she was consuming alcohol heavily that night."

Lies. All of it. Lily barely drank. She was focused on her art scholarship.

I had given Sarah the text messages from Lily's phone. The last ones she ever sent.

Lily: He won't leave me alone. Brandon. He's scaring me.

Lily: I'm trying to leave but his friends are blocking the door.

Lily: Ethan, I'm scared.

I had given this crucial evidence directly to my wife, the prosecutor.

In court, Sarah addressed the texts. "We have examined Ms. Miller's phone. The messages in question appear to have been deleted. Our digital forensics team could find no trace of them."

I felt the air leave my lungs. Deleted. She had deleted them. My own wife had destroyed the evidence to protect a monster.

After the hearing, I saw Sarah talking with the police chief and Brandon's father. They were smiling, sharing a light laugh. The pieces clicked into place, a horrifying picture of a conspiracy I was too blind to see. This wasn't just a career move for her, this was something she was a part of.

I remembered a Christmas party last year, at a country club. Sarah had insisted we go. The Thornes were there. She had been so eager to talk to them, laughing at their jokes, her hand resting on Mr. Thorne's arm for just a little too long. I had thought she was just networking. I was a fool.

I waited for her outside the courthouse, the city noise a dull roar around me. When she finally came out, flanked by two junior associates, her smile vanished when she saw me.

"Ethan, what are you doing here?"

"The texts, Sarah. You deleted them."

Her eyes went cold. "I don't know what you're talking about. The evidence wasn't there. You're emotional, you're not thinking clearly."

"I gave them to you myself!" I stepped closer, my voice rising. "I put my sister's life in your hands, and you threw it away for them!"

"You're making a scene," she hissed, her eyes darting around to see who was watching. "The evidence didn't support a strong case. I'm doing what's best."

"Best for who, Sarah? For you? For your new friends?"

"I am a prosecutor. I follow the evidence," she said, each word a perfectly crafted lie. "And right now, the evidence points to a tragic accident, not a crime. In fact, Mr. Thorne is considering filing a defamation suit against you for your public accusations."

She turned to walk away. I couldn't let it end like this. I grabbed her arm.

"Sarah, please. This is Lily."

She ripped her arm away, her face twisting with contempt. "Don't touch me. You are embarrassing yourself, and you are embarrassing me."

Just then, Brandon Thorne emerged from the courthouse, his lawyers surrounding him like a shield. He saw us, and that arrogant smirk returned. He walked right up to Sarah, completely ignoring me.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, a gesture of casual intimacy that made my stomach turn.

"Everything okay, Sarah? This guy bothering you?" Brandon asked, his voice dripping with mock concern.

Sarah's posture softened under his touch. She gave him a small, reassuring smile. "It's fine, Brandon. I'm handling it."

They stood there for a moment, a perfect picture of power and corruption, a united front against me and the broken girl lying in a hospital bed. They were laughing at me without making a sound. The humiliation was a physical weight, pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.