Chapter 2

The pain was a relentless, tearing thing. Mark thought it was a performance, another one of my dramatic ploys to keep him from his precious Bella. He had seen me fake injuries, exaggerate illnesses, all for the sake of winning a fight. He had no reason to believe this was any different.

"I'm not playing, Mark," I managed to whisper to the empty room, my voice a thready sound lost in the thick carpet. But he was already gone. The click of the front door echoed in the silent penthouse, a final, definitive sound.

Panic set in, cold and sharp. I was alone. I crawled across the floor, my body screaming with every inch. My phone was on the dresser, a lifetime away. My fingers clawed at the rug, pulling myself forward. It felt like hours, but I finally reached it.

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely dial 911. My voice was a weak croak as I gave the operator my address. Then I lay my head on the floor and waited, the pain coming in relentless waves.

In the sterile white of the hospital room, the truth was delivered with clinical detachment. The doctor, a woman with tired eyes, held up an x-ray.

"You have severe internal bruising and a hairline fracture on your lower rib," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "These kinds of injuries are consistent with repeated, forceful impact. Has someone been hurting you, Mrs. Stone?"

The question hung in the air. I looked at the black and white image, at the faint, spiderweb crack on my own bone. The injuries were from him. From our so-called intimacy. The fights, the angry shoves against the wall, the passionate encounters that were more like battles-they had taken a physical toll. All this time, while I was so focused on the emotional war, my body had been keeping score.

A laugh, humorless and brittle, escaped my lips. "No," I said, the word tasting like ash. "No one's been hurting me."

The doctor didn't look convinced, but she didn't press. She gave me painkillers and told me to rest for at least a week. No strenuous activity.

A few hours later, I was shuffling down the hallway, clutching my aching side, when I saw them. Mark was standing outside a private room down the hall, his back to me. He was talking to Bella. But he wasn't just talking. He was leaning in, his expression soft, doting. He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

It was a simple gesture, but it was one he had never, not once, shown me in five years. The sight of it was more painful than the fractured rib. This was the man he was with her. Gentle. Caring. A man I had never known.

My first instinct was to march over there, to scream, to make a scene. The old Chloe would have. But the fight was gone. I was just tired. So tired. I saw the raw, undeniable truth of the situation. He loved her. He never loved me. It was that simple.

I turned away, my heart a heavy, cold stone in my chest. I didn't want him to see me like this, in a hospital gown, weak and broken. I didn't want to give Bella the satisfaction.

The elevators were right there, a few feet away. But as I approached, I heard their voices getting closer. He was bringing her my way. I couldn't face them. Not now.

I made a split-second decision and ducked into the stairwell. The door clicked shut behind me, plunging me into the quiet, concrete space. I leaned against the cool wall, taking a shaky breath. I would wait until they passed.

But the stairwell door opened again. It was Bella.

She stood there, her innocent, doe-eyed expression gone. It was replaced by a look of pure, venomous triumph.

"Following us?" she asked, her voice sickly sweet.

"I'm leaving," I said, my own voice flat and emotionless. I tried to push past her, but she blocked my way.

"You really don't know when to give up, do you?" she said, her smile turning into a sneer.

Before I could react, she slapped me. Hard. My head snapped to the side, and the impact sent a fresh wave of agony through my ribs. I gasped, stumbling back against the railing, my hand flying to my side.

I was too weak to fight back, too shocked to even speak.

Bella' s eyes widened, a flicker of feigned panic in them. She looked past me, up the stairs. "Mark!" she shrieked, her voice suddenly filled with terror.

Then, she did something I never expected. She threw herself backward, tumbling down the first few steps with a theatrical cry of pain. She landed in a crumpled heap at the bottom, clutching her ankle.

"She pushed me!" Bella sobbed, tears instantly streaming down her face. "Mark, she pushed me down the stairs!"