Chapter 3

I looked The Shark straight in the eye. The terror that had once paralyzed me was gone, replaced by an icy calm. I remembered his face from my nightmares, from the day he ripped Leo from my life. This time, I would be the one in control.

"Yes, I' m Olivia Reynolds," I said, my voice clear and firm. "And you' re right. I' m inheriting my husband' s debt. I intend to pay back every single cent."

The Shark' s smug grin faltered for a second. He was used to fear, to people begging and crying. My calm acceptance threw him off.

Jessica grabbed my arm again, her voice a frantic whisper. "Olivia, stop this! You don' t know what you' re doing! These aren' t reasonable people!"

"I know exactly what I' m doing," I said, pulling my arm free from her grasp.

Her face was a mask of disbelief and rising panic. This wasn't part of her script. I was supposed to be a weeping, helpless victim, easily manipulated into signing away a fortune.

"Liv, please," she begged, her eyes darting between me and The Shark. She quickly composed herself, forcing her voice back into its concerned, gentle tone. She reached into her expensive, brand-name platinum handbag-the kind I could never even dream of affording-and pulled out a folded document.

"Look, I had my lawyer draft this for you," she said, unfolding it. "It' s a standard Renunciation of Inheritance. All you have to do is sign it. We can file it today. Then these men will have no claim on you. You' ll be safe."

It was the same document she had given me in my past life. The paper that had signed my son' s death warrant.

I let my eyes wander over her. The designer dress, the delicate gold watch on her wrist, the perfectly styled hair. For years, I had believed her lies. She told me she had a generous but modest inheritance from a distant aunt. She' d "loaned" me money for groceries, for Leo' s doctor visits, always with a sad sigh about how tough things were for everyone.

I remembered the time I found out I was pregnant with Leo. I was so scared. My job was unstable after I' d reported my boss for sexual harassment and been quietly pushed out. Mark claimed he was between projects, that money was tighter than ever.

Jessica had been my savior. She paid for my prenatal vitamins. She threw me a baby shower, gifting me a second-hand crib she claimed she got for a bargain. She told me Mark was a good man, just down on his luck.

She was playing with me. She and Mark were living in luxury, watching me struggle, probably laughing at my naivety. They were treating my life, my hardship, my child' s future, as their private entertainment.

All that sacrifice. All that pain. For nothing.

The anger was a cold, hard stone in my stomach.

I looked at the document in her hand. Then I looked at her.

I took the paper from her.

She let out a small sigh of relief, thinking she had won.

Then, with slow, deliberate movements, I tore the document in half. And then in half again. I kept tearing it, ripping the paper into tiny, useless shreds.

I let the pieces flutter from my fingers onto the polished floor of the funeral home, like bitter confetti.

Jessica stared at the scraps of paper, then at me, her mouth hanging open in pure shock.

"What have you done?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"I told you," I said, my voice devoid of any emotion. "I' m paying the debt."