Chapter 2

The world outside my hospital room door was a storm of activity. Franco had arrived, and with him, the full force of his public persona. He wept at my bedside, his handsome face lined with a convincing display of grief and anguish. He held my hand, his touch now feeling like a brand.

"My Elsa," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion for the nurses and doctors to hear. "Who did this to you? I'll find them. I swear, I'll make them pay."

The nurses looked at him with adoration. "You two are so in love," one sighed. "She's so lucky to have you."

I lay still, my face a blank mask. Inside, I was a frozen wasteland. The woman who had loved this man was dead, killed in the trunk of a car and bled out on a hospital floor. The person left behind was a stranger, even to me.

I looked at him, truly looked at him, for the first time. The perfect husband. The tech visionary. The philanthropist. It was all an act. A meticulously crafted performance for an audience of fools. And I had been the biggest fool of all.

My gaze drifted to the calendar on the wall. It was our anniversary. The day he had asked me to be his wife, five years ago. He had probably just come from celebrating with his real family.

The thought made me want to vomit again. He was still holding my hand, his thumb stroking my knuckles in a gesture that once meant comfort. Now, it was just another part of the lie. I felt a wave of physical revulsion so strong I had to pull my hand away.

He looked hurt, his brow furrowed in concern. "Elsa? Are you in pain?"

"I'm tired," I said, my voice flat.

"I'll get the doctor," he said, jumping to solve the problem, to be the hero.

Just then, his phone buzzed. A text message. He glanced at it, and a flicker of annoyance crossed his face. He tried to hide it, but I saw it. He tried to silence the phone, but it buzzed again. And again. Relentless.

I didn't need to see the screen to know who it was. Kayleigh. His wild, obsessive mistress. Calling her Daddy to come home.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to play the part I had played for five years. The understanding, gentle, pure Elsa.

"Franco," I said softly. "It's okay. You should go. Work is important."

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a manufactured conflict. "I can't leave you."

"I'll be fine," I lied. "The nurses are here. You have a company to run. Go."

He hesitated for a moment longer, the perfect picture of a devoted husband torn between love and duty. Then he leaned down and kissed my forehead. "I'll be back as soon as I can. I'll have my security team posted outside your door. No one will get near you."

He meant no one could get in. But what he was really doing was making sure I couldn't get out.

He left, and the room fell silent. The silence was a heavy blanket, suffocating me. I felt nothing. Just a vast, empty expanse where my heart used to be. The love, the trust, the hope-all of it had been carved out of me, leaving nothing but a hollow shell.

I dismissed the security guards he had posted, telling them I needed to rest. I sent the nurses away with a weak smile. I needed to be alone.

For a long time, I just stared at the ceiling. I was adrift, a ghost in my own life. Then, with a clarity that cut through the fog, I knew what I had to do.

I picked up the burner phone the kind police officer had slipped me before she left.

I dialed the number Casey had given me.