Chapter 4

The next day, Ethan insisted on a "family dinner" at his parents' house. It was a transparent attempt to control the narrative, to surround me with his family and pressure me into silence.

I walked into a room thick with condemnation. Ethan's mother, Eleanor, greeted me with a look of pure disdain.

"Chloe," she said, her voice dripping with ice. "I'm glad you came to your senses. After the scene you made, running out like that. Poor Ethan was worried sick."

His father, a stern, silent man, just grunted in my direction. The whole family was gathered, their faces a mixture of pity for Ethan and contempt for me. I was the hysterical, ungrateful wife who couldn't appreciate her saintly, disabled husband.

"She just needs some time, Mom," Ethan said, wheeling himself over to me and placing a proprietary hand on my arm. "It was a shock, that's all."

His cousin, Sarah, scoffed. "A shock? He's devoted his life to you. And this is how you repay him? You've always been bad luck, Chloe. Ever since you married into this family, it's been one thing after another."

The accusation hung in the air. I was a curse. A source of misfortune.

I thought of the past three years. I remembered quitting my promising career in architecture to become Ethan's full-time caregiver. I remembered the nights I spent massaging his "lifeless" legs, trying to ease the phantom pains he claimed to have. I remembered selling my mother's jewelry to pay for his state-of-the-art wheelchair and home modifications, because he told me his insurance wouldn't cover it.

Every sacrifice, every act of love and gratitude, was a joke. It was all part of their script.

I looked across the room at Ashley. She was there too, of course. The guest of honor. She was holding a glass of juice, looking pale and lovely, the brave single mother. She was a rising star in the local art scene, a painter whose "tragic backstory" the media loved. Her career had flourished while mine had withered and died.

I had become a footnote in my own life. A supporting character in Ashley Stone's heroic drama. My purpose was to provide a backdrop of stability and resources so she could shine. The realization settled in my gut like a stone. I wasn't just a replacement or a resource. I was a prop.

The air in the room was suffocating. The judgment in their eyes was unbearable.

"I need some air," I muttered, pulling away from Ethan and heading for the back patio.

I wasn't out there for more than a minute before Ashley followed me. She closed the glass door behind her, trapping us in the cool night air.

"You really shouldn't be so difficult, Chloe," she said, her voice no longer soft and sympathetic. It was sharp, mocking. "You're making Ethan look bad."

I turned to face her. "Is that all you care about, Ashley? Appearances?"

She smiled, a cruel, satisfied little smile. "It's all that matters. And I've always been better at it than you. You remember that scholarship to study art in Paris? The one you won? Funny how they 'lost' your paperwork and it went to the runner-up. Me."

I stared at her, a cold dread creeping up my spine.

"And your final project in college? The one that was mysteriously corrupted the night before it was due? I still have the files, you know. It was a brilliant design. I used some of the concepts in my first gallery show. They sold for a fortune."

Every major disappointment in my life, every setback I had blamed on bad luck, was her. She had been sabotaging me for years, systematically tearing down my life while building up her own.

"Why?" I whispered. "Why would you do all this?"

Her smile widened. "Because you don't deserve it. You've always had everything. A loving mother, talent, people liking you for no reason. I had to take what was mine."

She stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with a feverish light.

"You think Ethan's little hero act was his idea?" she sneered. "Please. He would do anything I ask. I was the one who saw the news about the unstable chandelier in that old church. I was the one who told him what to do. I planned your 'rescue,' Chloe. I designed your perfect, grateful little prison."

The final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. This wasn't just Ethan's deception. It was Ashley's masterpiece. She was the architect of my entire three-year nightmare.

The world swam around me, a dizzying vortex of betrayal and calculated cruelty. My entire life had been a lie, manipulated by the one person who should have been my sister.