Chapter 4

"He wanted you to look at it every day and remember what you lost for nothing," Scarlett continued, her lips twisting into a predatory sneer. "He said it was your brand. The mark of his property."

The words hung in the air, heavy and poisonous. He hadn't just allowed me to be scarred, he had designed it. He had taken my act of love and deliberately twisted it into a permanent symbol of my humiliation.

"And you know what the best part is?" Scarlett whispered, her eyes glittering with malice. "After you're gone, after your little 'accident,' Robert plans to use the insurance money to fund a new wing for the children's hospital. He's going to name it after you. The Olivia Hayes Memorial Wing. A tribute to his tragic, mentally unstable wife."

The sheer, calculated evil of it all finally broke through my numbness. A primal rage, hot and pure, surged through me. I shot up from my chair, my hand flying out to slap the smirk off her face.

But she was ready for it. She sidestepped my blow with practiced ease, grabbing my wrist and twisting it behind my back. Then, she let out a piercing shriek.

"Help! Somebody help me! She's attacking me!"

As if on cue, the back door opened and Robert and Liam rushed in, their faces masks of alarm. They saw Scarlett, seemingly cowering, and me, my face contorted with rage, my arm raised.

"Olivia, what the hell are you doing?" Robert yelled, rushing forward.

He didn't ask what happened. He didn't hesitate. He shoved me, hard. I stumbled backward, my head cracking against the edge of the kitchen counter. A sharp, searing pain shot through my skull, and the world swam in a dizzying haze of black spots.

"She's crazy, Rob!" Scarlett sobbed, running into his arms. "I just came to see how she was, and she just... she snapped! She started screaming and attacked me!"

Robert held her protectively, glaring at me with utter contempt. "Look at you," he spat, his voice laced with disgust. "You're pathetic. Unstable. No wonder everyone thinks you're a slut. It's what you are."

Liam stood by the door, his face pale, watching the scene unfold. He didn't move. He didn't say a word. He just watched as his father and his father's mistress condemned his mother.

"Get out of my house," Robert snarled at me.

Scarlett looked at him, a wicked smile playing on her lips. "Our house, darling," she corrected him.

Robert nodded, his eyes still locked on me. "Get out of our house. Now. We're done with you."

They stood there together, a united front of treachery and hate, and cast me out. I was nothing to them. A tool that had served its purpose and was now being discarded.

I pushed myself up, my head throbbing. I looked from Robert's hateful face, to Scarlett's triumphant one, to my son's empty expression. There was nothing left here for me.

Without a word, I turned and walked out the door.

I didn't go far. I went to an urgent care clinic a few towns over, paying in cash to get the gash on my head stitched up. The doctor told me I had a concussion and should rest.

Rest was the last thing on my mind.

I drove to a 24-hour electronics store and bought a small, high-capacity hard drive. Then I went back to the house. I knew they'd be out celebrating, probably at some expensive restaurant, toasting to my demise.

The house was dark and silent. I let myself in with the key they hadn't yet taken from me.

I went straight to Robert's study. His laptop was on the desk. I plugged in the hard drive and began to copy everything. Years of emails, financial records, hidden folders. I found the audio files he'd recorded of his phone calls with Scarlett, the ones he kept as some kind of sick trophy. I found the raw, unedited footage from the live streams, stored away like a private collection. I downloaded it all.

Then, I went to our bedroom. My bedroom. I took my new passport from its hiding place. I packed a single bag with clothes and the few personal items that mattered.

My eyes fell on the large, silver-framed wedding photo on our dresser. Me and Robert, smiling on our wedding day, full of hope and love. A lie.

I picked it up, the glass cool against my fingers. I walked into the bathroom and, without a moment's hesitation, I smashed it against the tile floor. The glass shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, just like my life had. I took the photo of his smiling, treacherous face and tore it into shreds, letting the pieces fall among the broken glass.

As I left the house for the last time, I glanced back at the living room. Through the window, I could see the city lights twinkling in the distance. Somewhere out there, Robert, Liam, and Scarlett were laughing, drinking, and planning my death.

They thought they had won. They thought I was broken and defeated, cast out and alone.

Let them have their celebration. It would be their last.

The storm was coming. And I was the storm.