Chapter 3

Ethan's face, when I woke up, was a study in conflicted emotions. For a moment, I saw a flicker of the man I once knew-a shadow of concern in his eyes as he watched me. It was gone in an instant, replaced by the familiar mask of arrogant self-assurance. He was convinced I was putting on a show, another desperate attempt to win his attention.

He believed he had me trapped, that I was a bird with broken wings, incapable of flying from his gilded cage. He was wrong.

He had me brought to the finest private hospital, placing me in a VIP suite that overlooked the city. He sat by my bedside, a silent, brooding presence.

"The doctor said you're suffering from exhaustion and malnutrition," he said, his voice flat. "You need to eat." He held a spoon of soup to my lips.

I turned my head away.

His jaw tightened. "Sarah, don't be a child. Open your mouth."

"I'm not hungry."

"You will eat," he said, his voice dropping to that dangerous low tone. He forced the spoon into my mouth. The soup was bland, tasteless. I swallowed it down, my eyes fixed on a point on the wall beyond him.

"That's better," he said, satisfied. "From now on, you will do as you're told. You will not cause any more trouble. You will not go near Olivia again. Is that clear?"

I nodded, my mind a million miles away. He thought this was a victory. He thought he was taming me.

He left a black credit card on the bedside table. "Buy yourself something nice. Something to make you feel better."

I looked at the card. He thought money could fix this. He thought a new dress or a piece of jewelry could fill the gaping hole where my daughter and grandmother used to be. The sheer, insulting absurdity of it almost made me laugh.

But I kept my face blank. I had to. My heart was a block of ice, but beneath it, a single, hot flame of purpose was burning. Revenge. Freedom.

He couldn't see it. He only saw the submissive woman he had molded, the broken doll he kept on his shelf. He didn't realize that every act of cruelty, every humiliation, had tempered my grief into something as hard and sharp as steel.

The moment he left, I slipped out of bed. I walked barefoot down the cold hospital corridors to the morgue. It was a place I knew too well.

I stood before the refrigerated drawer that held my grandmother's body. I pressed my hand against the cold metal.

"Grandma," I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears. "I'm sorry. I will make them pay. I swear it. I will live. I will be free."

"Mrs. Miller?"

I spun around. A young man in a neat suit stood in the doorway. He looked familiar.

"I'm Daniel Chen," he said softly. "I'm... I was Mr. Vance's assistant."

I recognized him then. The quiet, efficient young man who was always in the background, his face impassive.

"Your grandmother, Rose... she helped my family a long time ago," he said, his eyes filled with a sympathy that felt real, unlike Ethan's manufactured concern. "She paid for my mother's medical bills when no one else would. I owe her a debt I can never repay."

He stepped closer. "I know what happened to Lily wasn't an accident. I have the service records for Olivia Hayes's car. The brakes weren't faulty. She was drunk. I also have the security footage from the garage of the restaurant she claimed to be at. She left an hour before the accident."

He handed me a small USB drive. "This is everything I have. It's not enough to convict her in court-Mr. Vance's lawyers are too good-but it's the truth."

I stared at him, stunned. An ally. I had an ally.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"For your grandmother," he said simply. "And because what he's doing to you is wrong. If you need a way out... if you need to disappear... I can help."

Hope, a dangerous and unfamiliar feeling, flickered within me.

Ethan organized a lavish funeral for my grandmother. It was a spectacle, a performance for the city's elite. He stood by my side, playing the part of the grieving, supportive ex-husband. He delivered a moving eulogy, his voice filled with emotion as he spoke of Rose's kindness and strength.

I stood there, a silent statue in black, and watched his performance. He was magnificent. A true master of deception. I felt a cold, bitter smile touch my lips. He was mourning the woman he had killed, weeping for the life he had extinguished.

After the service, as people offered their condolences, I tried to speak to him. "Ethan, there's something you need to know about the accident-"

"Not now, Sarah," he cut me off, his grip on my arm a warning. "We're not discussing this again."

Just then, Olivia appeared, clinging to his other arm. She was wearing a fashionable black dress that hugged her new, slight baby bump. She looked radiant.

"Darling," she cooed, "I'm not feeling well. The doctor said I need to rest."

Ethan's attention immediately shifted to her. "Of course. Let's get you home."

As they turned to leave, a well-meaning acquaintance rushed up to me. "Oh, Sarah, have you heard? Olivia is pregnant! Isn't it wonderful news? After all this tragedy, a new life! A new beginning for Ethan."

The words hit me like a physical blow. A new beginning. A new child to replace the one they had taken from me.

I looked at Olivia's smug face, at the slight curve of her belly. And a terrible thought, a cold, venomous suspicion, began to form in my mind.

Was it possible? Could Lily's death have been more than just a drunken mistake? Could it have been... intentional? A way to clear the path for this new, perfect family? The thought was monstrous, but in the twisted world Ethan had created, anything seemed possible.