Chapter 2

Arden Heath agreed without hesitation. His guilt was a heavy weight I could feel even through the phone line. He arranged everything. A new identity, a quiet place to disappear, and a way out.

I went back to the penthouse one last time to collect my things. It was a short process. In five years, I had accumulated almost nothing. Julian hated seeing any trace of me in his space. My belongings were confined to a small guest room, a closet, and a single nightstand.

He had made it clear that my presence was a stain on his perfect life.

I pulled open the bottom drawer of the nightstand, reaching into the back, behind a false panel. My fingers closed around a small, velvet box.

Inside was the only thing I truly owned in this place. A faded photograph.

It was of me and Julian, taken when we were kids at a summer carnival. He was ten, I was eight. His arm was slung around my shoulder, and he was grinning at the camera, a gap-toothed smile full of childish joy. I was looking up at him, my face full of adoration.

I remembered that day so clearly. He had called me his "future wife" in front of our parents.

"I'm gonna marry Bailey!" he had declared, puffing out his chest.

The adults had laughed, ruffling his hair. "Of course, you are, champ."

He had won a small, stuffed bear for me that day and bought me a cheap, plastic ring from a gumball machine. He'd also given me a little woven charm, a "good luck charm" he'd bought from a street vendor, promising it would always keep me safe.

I remembered another time, a year later, when I fell into a deep creek behind his family's estate. He had jumped in without a second thought, pulling me out and scraping his own knee badly on a rock in the process. He never once complained.

Now, he was engaged to another woman. The boy who had promised to protect me had become the man who caused me the most pain.

Tears pricked my eyes as I looked at the photograph. I traced the outline of his smiling face, the ghost of a boy who was long gone.

With a final, shuddering breath, I took the box, the photograph, the plastic ring, and the good luck charm to the fireplace. I watched as the flames consumed them, turning the last remnants of my childhood love to ash.

As I was about to leave, one of the maids, a woman named Clara who had always been particularly cruel, blocked my path.

"Mr. Heath wants the garden replanted. You'll do it."

"I can't," I said, my voice flat. "I'm allergic to those specific flowers. You know that."

It was true. A severe, genetically-linked allergy that Julian was well aware of. It was one of the many small tortures he enjoyed inflicting on me.

"He said you'll do it, or you'll regret it," Clara sneered, shoving me towards the door.

I stumbled, catching myself on the doorframe. I had endured so much, but this final, petty cruelty was too much. I turned, my hand lashing out, and slapped her hard across the face.

The sound echoed in the silent hallway.

Clara stared at me, stunned, before her face twisted in rage. "You bitch!"

Before she could retaliate, a cold voice cut through the air. "What is going on here?"

Julian stood at the end of the hall, his eyes boring into me.

Clara immediately burst into tears. "Mr. Heath! She hit me! I just asked her to help with the flowers, and she attacked me!"

I didn't bother to deny it. What was the point? He would never believe me.

"I..." I started, but he cut me off.

His gaze was frigid. "You will go out to that garden, and you will replant every single one of those flowers. Now."

He didn't care about the truth. He only cared about his power over me.

The last flicker of hope that the boy from the photograph might still exist somewhere inside him died. It was gone. Completely.

"Fine," I said, my voice devoid of emotion.

I would do it. It would be my last act of submission. A final goodbye to the man I once loved and the life that had almost destroyed me.