Chapter 2

The next day, I moved my siblings out of the city. I found a small, quiet house for them in a suburb far from the glittering towers of San Francisco, a place where Hayden wouldn't think to look.

Ezra was a ghost, lost in a sea of pain and phantom limbs. Ivy was a wraith, her anxiety now a constant, silent scream in her eyes.

"Why are we leaving, Char?" Ivy asked, her voice small as she clutched my hand. "Did Hayden do something bad?"

I couldn't tell them the whole truth. It would shatter what was left of them.

"Hayden and I are getting a divorce," I said, the words feeling foreign and heavy on my tongue. "It's better for us to have a fresh start somewhere else."

Ezra looked at me from his wheelchair, his young face aged with a bitterness that didn't belong there. "Because of me?"

"No," I said firmly, kneeling in front of him. "This is not your fault. This is because of him."

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. It was a picture: Kaitlin Russo, smiling seductively, leaning against a brand-new, cherry-red Ferrari. The custom license plate read: H-4-K8. Hayden for Kait. A sick joke.

The message below was a dagger to the heart: Thanks for the new ride, ex-Mrs. Bridges. He says red is my color.

A surge of bile rose in my throat. She was flaunting it, rubbing my face in the wreckage of my life.

I remembered the cheap, silver locket Hayden had given me when we were in college. It held a tiny, faded picture of us inside. He'd saved for months from his part-time job to buy it. He said it was a promise that he would always cherish me, that I was more precious to him than any diamond.

My hand shook, and I dropped the box of medical supplies I was holding. It burst open, scattering bandages and antiseptic wipes across the cheap linoleum floor.

Kaitlin had her Ferrari. I had a box of bandages for my crippled brother.

The irony was a suffocating weight. I remembered when Hayden first brought Kaitlin to one of his foundation's galas. He'd introduced her as a brilliant, underprivileged student he was sponsoring. "She has a fire in her," he'd said, his eyes glowing with admiration. "A hunger to succeed. She reminds me of you, Char."

I had been wary. I'd asked him why the foundation was giving her so much more funding than any other scholarship recipient.

"She has extraordinary potential," he'd answered smoothly. "It's a strategic investment."

I knew now what kind of investment he was making. It wasn't in her surgical skills. It was in her loyalty, in her bed. He wasn't investing in a surgeon; he was grooming a mistress while playing the part of the perfect, doting husband.

The realization made me sick. Everything was a lie. Our entire life together had been a carefully constructed performance.

I walked back into the lavish San Francisco penthouse I had once called home. The air was thick with the scent of expensive flowers and betrayal. I methodically went through the closets, pulling out the couture gowns, the designer bags, the velvet boxes of jewelry Hayden had showered me with.

I called my lawyer. "Sell everything," I told him. "All of it. And I want the divorce filed today."

"Charlotte, are you sure?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. "A man like Hayden Bridges... this could get very ugly. You're entitled to half of his assets. We should negotiate."

"There's nothing to negotiate," I said, my voice cold and hard. I found the old, tarnished silver locket in a dusty box. I opened it, looked at our smiling faces, then snapped it shut. I took a black marker and signed my name on the back of the divorce papers, pressing down so hard the pen tore through the paper. "Just file it. I want out."

I put the locket in the envelope with the signed papers. A final, bitter message.

The housekeeper watched me leave, her eyes full of pity. "Mrs. Bridges, God bless you."

I didn't answer. I no longer believed in blessings.

As I walked out of the building, I looked back at the gleaming tower of glass and steel that pierced the sky. I had been a fool. I had mistaken a gilded cage for a palace.

The lawyer called back an hour later. "It's done, Charlotte. It's filed."

"Good," I said.

"Hayden will not be happy."

"I'm counting on it," I replied, and hung up. I wouldn't regret this. I would only regret not seeing the monster beside me sooner.