Chapter 2

The next morning, the sun streamed into the kitchen, illuminating the false domestic bliss of my life. Robert was at the counter, humming as he poured coffee.

"Morning, honey," he said, turning to kiss me.

I flinched and turned my head, so his lips brushed my cheek. It felt like a spider crawling on my skin.

He frowned, a flicker of concern in his eyes. "Everything okay? You seem distant."

"Just tired," I said, my voice flat. I poured myself a glass of water, my hand steady. My heart was a block of ice. "Didn't sleep well."

"Poor thing," he cooed, wrapping his arms around me from behind. "The past still haunts you, doesn't it? Don't worry. I'm here. I'll always protect you."

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. I simply nodded, pulling away from his grasp. "I'm going to run some errands today."

"Need any help?"

"No," I said, a little too quickly. "I can handle it."

My main errand was a visit to the passport office. A few weeks ago, I had "accidentally" spilled coffee all over my passport, ruining it completely. Robert had laughed, calling me clumsy but sweet. He offered to handle the replacement application for me, to save me the trouble.

"That's so thoughtful, darling," I'd said. "But I need to get new photos taken anyway. I'll just take care of it all at once."

He had agreed, unsuspecting. Now, sitting in the sterile government office, waiting for my number to be called, I felt the first small thrill of victory. He thought he had me trapped, a bird with broken wings. He had no idea I was quietly mending them, preparing to fly away and leave him in an empty cage.

I'd made an appointment with the divorce lawyer for the following week, a secret meeting he would never know about. I spent the rest of the day at the library, using their public computers to dig deeper into the shell corporations Robert and Scarlett had used to swallow my mother's firm. The trail was complex, but not flawless. They had gotten arrogant.

That weekend, Robert insisted we attend a charity gala. "It's time we started going out again," he said. "We can't hide forever. Let's show them we're strong."

What he meant was, "Let's show off Scarlett's success."

The gala was held in a grand ballroom, dripping with crystal chandeliers and fake smiles. And there she was, Scarlett Evans, holding court in the center of the room. She was wearing a blood-red dress, a diamond necklace glittering at her throat-a necklace I recognized. It had been my mother's.

She saw me and a triumphant smirk played on her lips. She glided over, with Robert following like a loyal dog.

"Olivia, darling," Scarlett purred, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "I'm so glad you came. It's been too long."

She was the new CEO of my mother's company, now rebranded as "Sterling-Evans Design." She had taken my life's work, my legacy, and put her name on it.

"You look... well," I said, my voice carefully neutral.

"I am," she said, her eyes flashing. "Business is booming. It turns out, having a CEO without a massive public scandal is very good for the bottom line."

Her words were meant to cut, and they did. I could feel the eyes of people around us, hear the whispers.

"Is that Olivia Hayes?"

"The one from those videos?"

"I can't believe she'd show her face here."

Suddenly, a bright flash went off in my face. A reporter from a sleazy online tabloid had snuck in.

"Olivia Hayes! Is it true you're trying to make a comeback? How does it feel to see your stepsister running your old company?"

Before I could react, another voice shouted, "Hey, I remember you! You're the 'Live Stream Slut'!"

The room fell silent. The humiliation was a physical wave, hot and suffocating. It was five years ago, but it felt like yesterday. My carefully constructed composure shattered.

Robert immediately stepped in front of me, his arms outstretched. "That's enough! Leave my wife alone! Can't you see how much she's suffered?" He held me, his body shielding me from the cameras and the jeers. "Let's go, honey. I'll get you out of here."

He played the part of the heroic husband perfectly. He guided me through the crowd, his face a mask of righteous anger. The crowd parted, some with pity in their eyes, others with disgust.

As he led me to the car, he was whispering soothing words, but I wasn't listening. I was watching Scarlett. She stood by the door, a look of pure, unadulterated pleasure on her face. She had planned this. The reporter, the heckler-it was all her doing.

We drove home in silence. Robert held my hand, squeezing it periodically. "I'm so sorry, Olivia. I shouldn't have made you go. I just wanted... I wanted things to be normal again."

I just stared out the window, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Later that night, I pretended to be asleep when he came to bed. He thought I was sedated with the sleeping pills he'd so "thoughtfully" given me. I lay perfectly still, my breathing even and slow.

After about an hour, he slipped out of bed. I heard him go downstairs. I crept to the top of the staircase, my bare feet silent on the thick carpet. I could hear his muffled voice from the study.

I tiptoed down, pressing my ear to the heavy oak door.

It was Scarlett on the phone.

"It worked perfectly," Robert was saying, his voice low and excited. "She's a complete wreck. The public humiliation, all over again... she'll be putty in my hands."

My blood ran cold.

"Good," Scarlett's tinny voice replied through the phone. "Is she ready for the next step?"

"Almost," Robert said. "Another week or two of this, and she'll be so emotionally dependent, she'll sign anything I put in front of her. That life insurance policy is as good as ours. A little 'accident' on a weekend trip... and we'll be set for life. No one will question the suicide of a woman so publicly shamed."

A life insurance policy. An accident. Suicide.

They weren't just content with taking my company and my reputation.

They were planning to kill me.