Chapter 4

Just as I was about to haul myself up, the door opened again. It was Ethan.

He stood there, looking at me on the floor. For a fleeting second, I thought I saw a flicker of something in his eyes-regret, maybe? But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual arrogance.

"What are you still doing on the floor?" he asked, his voice sharp. "Get up. I'm taking you home."

I didn't say anything. I just pushed myself up, biting back a cry of pain as I put weight on my bad leg.

The car ride was silent. I stared out the window at the blurred city lights, feeling numb. He drove to my apartment, the one he paid for, and walked me to the door.

Just as I thought he was leaving, Brittany called his phone.

His entire demeanor changed. "Hey, baby," he cooed into the phone. "What's wrong? You're scared? Of course, I'll come get you. Stay right there."

He hung up and turned to me, his face once again a cold mask.

"Get out," he said.

"What?"

"I have to go get Brittany. Get out of the car."

He didn't even have the decency to pull over to the curb. We were in the middle of the street. It was still drizzling.

"Ethan, please, my leg..."

"Now, Chloe," he said, his voice dangerously low.

I opened the door and stumbled out into the cold, wet street. He didn't wait for me to get clear. He just sped off, leaving me standing there in the rain.

I fumbled for my phone to call a cab, but my hands were shaking so badly that it slipped from my grasp, shattering on the wet pavement.

A car sped past, hitting a puddle and splashing dirty, brown water all over me. I was soaked, cold, and in agony.

I remembered a time, early on, when it started to rain while we were walking in the park. Ethan had immediately taken off his jacket and held it over my head, pulling me close and rushing me to the nearest cafe. He' d bought me a hot chocolate and held my cold hands in his until I warmed up.

Where did that man go? Was he ever real?

The memory, instead of comforting me, felt like another wound. I sank to the curb, the cold seeping into my bones, and I finally let myself cry. Not quiet, dignified tears, but loud, gut-wrenching sobs.

It took me almost an hour to limp the ten blocks back to my apartment. When I finally got inside, I found him waiting for me. He was sitting on my couch as if he owned the place.

"Where have you been?" he demanded. "I'm hungry. Make me some pasta."

"There's a five-star restaurant downstairs, Ethan. You can order anything you want."

He stood up, towering over me. "I want you to make it for me. Is that a problem?" He let the unspoken threat hang in the air. "Or do we need to have another conversation about our 'status'?"

I was too tired to fight. I just nodded and limped into the kitchen.

I cooked the pasta, my hands moving on autopilot. When it was done, I brought the plate out to the living room.

He was gone.

The empty space on the couch was like a slap in the face. He had made me cook for him just to prove that he could, and then he'd left without a word.

The exhaustion, the pain, and the emotional turmoil finally caught up with me. The world tilted, and I collapsed onto the floor.

I woke up to a doctor leaning over me. It was Liam O'Connell, a kind man who lived in my building. He must have heard the thud.

"You have a fever of 103, Chloe," he said, his brow furrowed with concern. "And this leg needs to be set properly. You need to go to the hospital."

As he spoke, my phone rang. It was Ethan. I ignored it. It rang again. And again.

Finally, I answered, my voice weak. "What?"

"I'm at the marina," he said, his voice bright and cheerful, as if nothing had happened. "I have a surprise for you. If you want us to get back together, you need to get down here. Now."

Hope, that stupid, treacherous thing, flickered inside me. Maybe this was it. The final test.

I told Liam I was fine, that it was just a little flu. He looked skeptical but didn't push.

I got to the marina, my body aching with fever. Brittany was there, snuggled up next toEthan on his yacht.

"Chloe, darling!" Ethan called out. "Just in time."

He pointed to the dark, choppy water. "Brittany is afraid of the water. But I know you're a strong swimmer. Swim to that buoy and back, and I'll forget all about what happened at the party."

The buoy was at least two hundred yards out. The water was black and frigid. I was sick and injured.

"Ethan, I'm not feeling well..."

"Excuses, excuses," he sighed, looking bored. "I guess you don't want this as much as I thought."

I looked at him, then at Brittany's triumphant smile. I had to do this.

I dove into the icy water. The shock of the cold took my breath away. My muscles immediately cramped. My leg was a dead weight, dragging me down.

I fought my way toward the buoy, every stroke an agony. I was so tired. The fever was making me dizzy. I felt myself sinking.

Just as my lungs were about to burst, a hand grabbed my hair and yanked me to the surface. It was one of Ethan's men on a jet ski. He didn't pull me out, just held my head above water.

"The boss wants to know if you've had enough," he grunted.

I looked back at the yacht. Ethan was watching me, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

"Are we back together?" I yelled, my voice raw.

He smiled. "Get to the buoy, Chloe."

The man let me go. I went under again, the cold water filling my mouth and nose. He pulled me up again. This went on, over and over. A cruel game of cat and mouse.

Finally, I reached the buoy, my fingers numb as I clung to it.

"Ethan!" I screamed, my throat raw. "I did it! Are we back together now? Tell me!"

I could see him lean over and say something to Brittany. Then he looked at me and nodded. "Yes, Chloe. We're back together."

Relief washed over me, so powerful it almost made me pass out. I had done it.

I let go of the buoy, my body finally giving up. I started to sink into the blackness, but my mind was clear. I had won.