Chapter 3

I woke up to an empty house. It didn't surprise me.

A text from Andreas was waiting. 'Sorry, sweetheart. The meeting ran late, had to stay in the city. I miss you. I'll make it up to you.'

Below it was another picture from Annabelle. A selfie of her and Andreas, kissing, with the morning light streaming in behind them. The caption read: 'He says he'll miss me today.'

I held back the rage that threatened to boil over. I replied to Andreas with a simple, 'Okay. Be safe.'

His absence was a gift. It gave me time.

I started cleaning. Not the usual tidying up. I was erasing him. I gathered every photo of us, every gift he'd ever given me, every note he'd ever written. I packed them into boxes and hid them in the back of a closet he never used.

I was careful. I left enough things out so that he wouldn't suspect anything was wrong when he returned. I had to maintain the illusion until I was ready.

He came home the next day, looking tired but happy.

He tried to hug me, but I sidestepped him, pretending to be busy.

"I have a surprise for you," he said, his eyes gleaming. He was trying to buy my forgiveness for a crime he didn't know I'd discovered.

"I'm not in the mood, Andy."

"You will be for this," he said, grabbing my hand. He pulled me out of the house and into his car, his grip too tight.

He drove for an hour, out of the city, to a large, isolated property. In the center of it stood a brand-new, state-of-the-art building.

"What is this?" I asked.

He grinned, his chest puffed out with pride.

"It's for you, Jewel. Your very own film studio."

He led me inside. It was breathtaking. A soundstage, editing suites, a screening room. Everything a filmmaker could ever dream of. It was the most extravagant, most thoughtful gift he could have possibly given me.

And it was all built on a foundation of lies.

People were there. His staff, some industry people. They applauded as he presented it to me. They all looked at me with envy, whispering about how lucky I was to have such a devoted husband.

The irony was a bitter pill in my throat. This grand gesture wasn't love. It was a bribe. A cage gilded in silver and glass. He was trying to chain me to him with my own dreams.

A few weeks later, I was on set, trying to work. It was hard to focus, but the process of creating, of directing, was the only thing that made me feel remotely like my old self.

Andreas would visit often, watching me from the sidelines with a satisfied smile, as if he were the master of this little universe he'd created for me.

One day, Annabelle showed up. She walked onto my set like she owned the place, a smug look on her face.

"What a lovely little hobby," she said, looking around dismissively. "Andreas is so indulgent."

"Get off my set, Annabelle," I said, my voice low and dangerous.

She just laughed. "This is his property, dear. I can go wherever I want."

She lingered all day, a poisonous presence, watching my every move. I tried to ignore her, focusing on a complicated shot involving a crane-mounted camera.

During a break, I saw her chatting with a junior grip near the crane's control panel, feigning a bubbly interest in the machinery. Later, during a moment of organized chaos as we reset for the next take, I noticed her brush past the console again. I dismissed it as her simply being in the way. That was my mistake.

When we started filming again, I was positioned under the crane, guiding the actor. Suddenly, there was a terrible grinding sound. The crane arm shuddered and then swung wildly, out of control.

"Look out!" someone screamed.

Chaos erupted. People scattered. I looked up to see a heavy piece of lighting equipment, dislodged by the swinging crane, plummeting directly towards me.

I didn't have time to move. The world exploded in a flash of light and a universe of pain.

The last thing I remember before blacking out was the sound of Andreas screaming. But he wasn't screaming my name.

He was screaming, "Annabelle!"