Chapter 3

Mark appeared at the top of the stairs a second later, his face a thundercloud of fury. He took in the scene in a single glance: me, standing over Bella, and Bella, crumpled on the floor, weeping hysterically.

"Chloe!" he roared, his voice echoing in the concrete stairwell. He stormed down the steps, shoving me aside so hard I slammed into the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of me, and a sharp, white-hot pain exploded in my side. I crumpled to the ground, gasping.

He didn't even look at me. He knelt beside Bella, his voice full of concern. "Are you okay? Bella, talk to me."

"She... she threatened me," Bella sobbed, pointing a trembling finger at me. "She said if I didn't leave you alone, she would kill me. When I tried to walk away, she pushed me. My ankle... I think it' s broken."

It was a masterful performance. The tears, the shaking voice, the look of pure terror in her eyes. She was a far better actress than I ever was.

"She's lying," I managed to force out, my voice raspy with pain. "She slapped me first. She fell on her own."

Mark' s head snapped toward me, his eyes blazing with a hatred so intense it was almost physical. He stood up and stalked over to where I lay. He grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking my head back so I was forced to look at him.

"You're the one who's lying," he spat, his face inches from mine. "Just like you always do. You set fire to our apartment. You trashed a charity event. You think I'd believe a single word that comes out of your mouth?"

His words were a litany of my past sins, a reminder of the war I had so eagerly waged. He was using my own history against me, and it was working perfectly. I had built my own cage.

"She planned this, Mark," I pleaded, my voice breaking. "Can't you see?"

"I see a jealous, psychotic bitch who can't stand to lose," he snarled, his grip tightening. "I see the same woman who delights in causing chaos wherever she goes."

Bella let out another pained whimper from the floor, a perfectly timed reminder of her victimhood.

Mark's focus shifted back to her. He let go of my hair, and my head thudded back against the concrete floor. He looked down at me, his expression one of utter disgust.

"Stay away from her, Chloe," he said, his voice dangerously low. "Stay away from me. If I see you near her again, I swear to God, you'll regret it."

I looked up at him, at the man I had spent five years hating, fighting, and, in some twisted way, wanting. But the man looking back at me wasn't just my rival anymore. He was a stranger. Blinded by a pretty face and a well-told lie. He saw Ethan' s face in her, the same way I once saw it in him. The thought was so absurd it was almost funny.

The fight in me died completely. There was no point. He would never see the truth. He didn't want to.

A cold calm settled over me. It was over. Really over. I had been clinging to the ghost of a ghost, and for what? This humiliation? This pain?

Without another word, I used the wall to pull myself to my feet, ignoring the searing protest from my ribs. I didn't look at him. I didn't look at her. I just turned and started walking up the stairs, one slow, deliberate step at a time.

"Where are you going?" he demanded from behind me.

I didn't answer. I just kept walking, away from him, away from them, away from the life I was finally, truly ready to leave behind.

His silence followed me up the stairs. I could feel his eyes on my back, could sense his confusion. He had expected me to scream, to fight, to make a scene. My quiet, dignified retreat was something he didn't know how to process. It unsettled him. Good.

Back in my room, I ignored the throbbing in my side and the ache in my heart. I lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. A few hours later, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Liam.

Attached was a video. It showed a street performer in London, playing a guitar on a busy corner. He had a kind face and a sad smile. And he looked exactly like Ethan. The same messy brown hair, the same gentle eyes, the same way he held his head when he was lost in his music. It was like seeing a ghost.

My breath hitched. For the first time in a very long time, I felt something other than anger or pain. It was a flicker of something fragile, something like hope.

Without thinking, I took a screenshot of the musician's face and set it as my phone's wallpaper. I looked at the image of the stranger who wore the face of my lost love.

Then I got out of bed and started to pack. I opened my closet and began pulling out the designer clothes, the expensive shoes, the jewelry Mark had bought me over the years. I piled it all on the floor. I would sell it, donate it, burn it. I didn't care. I was erasing every trace of Chloe Stone. I was getting ready to leave.