Chapter 3

A few hours later, Mark found me in the hospital cafeteria. He approached my table with a grim, determined look on his face. He wasn't acting anymore.

"She' s gone," he said, his voice low and heavy.

He didn't need to say her name. The lie was so practiced, it sounded almost real.

"The hospital has already arranged for the cremation. It was her last wish. Quick, no fuss."

How convenient. A quick cremation meant no body, no evidence. It was a clean, efficient plan.

"I' m sorry for your loss," I said, my voice devoid of any emotion. I took a slow sip of my stale coffee.

His eyes narrowed. He was clearly thrown off by my lack of a hysterical, grief-stricken reaction. He had a script to follow, and I was refusing to read my lines.

He placed a small, heavy box on the table between us. It was a simple, dark wood urn.

"These are her ashes," he said.

Then, Nurse Brenda appeared, holding a bundle of blankets. A tiny, sleeping baby was nestled inside. She placed the baby carrier on the chair next to me.

"Here is her son," Mark continued, his voice taking on a hard, commanding edge. "They are your responsibility now."

It wasn't a request. It was an order. He was trying to physically and emotionally corner me, to force my hand in front of a witness.

"I told you, Mark. I won' t do it," I said calmly.

"You don' t have a choice," he snarled, leaning forward. "Olivia had no one else. Her father won' t take the baby. I can' t do it. I have a career to think about. You' re the only one. If you refuse, this baby goes into the system. Is that what you want? For your best friend' s son to be an orphan of the state? Your conscience could never handle that."

He was right about one thing. In my previous life, my conscience wouldn't have been able to handle it. But that Susan was gone, collapsed on the floor of a ballroom.

I looked at the sleeping baby. My heart felt a pang, not of guilt, but of pity for the pawn in their sick game. Then I looked at the urn.

An idea, cold and sharp, formed in my mind. It was a huge risk. It was dramatic and public. It was perfect.

I stood up abruptly. I picked up the urn.

"What are you doing?" Mark asked, a hint of alarm in his voice.

Without a word, I walked out of the cafeteria and back towards the main lobby of the hospital. Mark and Nurse Brenda hurried after me, the baby still in the carrier she held.

"Susan, stop! This isn' t the place!" Mark hissed, trying to grab my arm.

I shook him off. I walked to the center of the busy lobby, where dozens of people were coming and going. I took a deep breath, and I lifted the heavy wooden box high above my head.

"Everyone!" I shouted, my voice ringing through the large space. "This man, Mark Johnson, claims that his girlfriend, Olivia Hayes, just died in this hospital after giving birth!"

A hush fell over the lobby. People stopped and stared.

"He says she was cremated within hours of her death!" I continued, my voice gaining strength. "And he' s trying to force me, her friend, to take her baby and her ashes because he refuses to take responsibility for his own son!"

Murmurs erupted. People were looking at Mark with accusing eyes. He was pale, his face a mask of fury and panic.

"She' s lost her mind!" he shouted to the crowd. "She' s in shock! Grief is making her crazy!"

"Am I?" I asked, looking at the urn in my hands. "If I' m so crazy with grief, then I guess it wouldn' t matter if I did this!"

And then, I opened the lid of the urn and turned it upside down.

A collective gasp went through the crowd.

But it wasn't fine, gray ash that poured out onto the polished hospital floor.

It was sand. Coarse, brown, builder' s sand.

A stunned silence filled the lobby. Everyone stared at the pathetic pile of sand on the floor, then back at Mark, whose face had gone from pale to ghost-white.

The lie was exposed. Utterly and humiliatingly.

"What kind of sick person fakes a death?" someone in the crowd yelled.

"And tries to abandon his baby!" another added.

The whispers turned into a roar of outrage. Mark was trapped, cornered by a crowd of angry strangers. Nurse Brenda looked like she was about to faint.

I looked Mark straight in the eye, my expression cold as ice.

"You have two options," I said, my voice low enough so only he could hear amidst the chaos. "You can let the police sort this out right now, and I can tell them all about your little plan to commit fraud and abandon a child. Your career will be over before it starts. Olivia' s father will hear about it. Or..."

I let the threat hang in the air.

"Or you pay me," I finished. "You give me enough money to disappear. To never speak of this again. You and Olivia can take your baby and your sand and go live your lives. But it will cost you."

He stared at me, his eyes filled with pure hatred. But he was smart enough to know he was beaten. Public humiliation was one thing, a police record and the wrath of Olivia' s father was another.

"How much?" he gritted out between clenched teeth.

I named a number. It was audacious. It was enough to change my life completely.

His eyes widened in shock, but he saw the resolve in my face. He had no other choice.

"Fine," he choked out. "Fine. You' ll have it tomorrow. Just make this stop."

"Of course," I said, a thin, cold smile on my face.

I had won the first battle. I had exposed their lie, and I had secured the capital I needed for the war. This money wasn't just compensation. It was seed funding for my revenge.