Chapter 4

The next morning, Franco was back, playing the role of the contrite husband who had been forced to work all night. He brought me breakfast in bed, his face a mask of loving concern. I played my part, the forgiving wife. We were two actors in a grotesque play.

The school called. Leo had been acting out again. As the school's psychologist, I was expected to handle it. Franco insisted on coming with me. He wanted to show what a "supportive" partner he was.

In my office, Leo sat sullenly, with Kayleigh beside him, looking smug. Franco stood behind me, his hand resting on my shoulder in a proprietary gesture.

"Leo has been disruptive," I said, keeping my voice professional. "He refuses to participate in class activities."

"He's just sensitive," Kayleigh said, her voice dripping with false concern. "He's been so worried about his father." She looked at Franco with wide, tear-filled eyes.

"And he says you're mean to him," she added, turning to me. "He says you don't like him."

Franco's hand tightened on my shoulder. "Elsa is a professional, Kayleigh. She would never..."

"But he's just a child," she interrupted, her voice breaking. "He misses his mother."

It was a performance for Franco's benefit, and it was working. I could feel his sympathy shift towards her, towards the "struggling single mother."

Later that day, I was driving home from a meeting. A police car signaled for me to pull over. I complied, my heart pounding with a nameless dread. The officer approached my window.

"Ma'am, I need you to step out of the vehicle."

The moment I was out of the car, everything went black. The same chemical smell. The same rough hands.

I woke up in a dark, damp space. A warehouse, from the smell of dust and mildew. I was tied to a chair. The two men from the first attack stood before me.

"The boss ain't happy," one of them said, spitting on the floor near my feet. "You're causing problems for his new family."

"He said to teach you a lesson you won't forget," the other added, cracking his knuckles.

So this was it. This was Franco's solution. Not to kill me, not yet. Just to hurt me. To break me until I was a compliant, broken toy again.

He thought I didn't know. He thought I was still the same trusting fool.

They started hitting me. Not with their fists this time. With a metal rod. The pain was excruciating, but a strange, cold detachment settled over me. This wasn't about me anymore. This was about him. About his weakness, his pathology.

"He wants you to know your place," one of them grunted, landing a blow on my leg that made me see stars.

I must have passed out. When I came to, they were gone. One of them had a change of heart, it seemed. He had cut my ropes and left a bottle of water. "He's a monster," the man had whispered before he ran. "Get away from him."

He'd left my car keys on the floor. I dragged my broken body to the car and drove. I didn't go to the police. What would I say? My non-husband, the beloved tech billionaire, had his thugs beat me up because I disciplined our secret son? They would think I was insane.

Instead, I drove to the one place I knew he would be.

It was a public park, beautifully landscaped. In the center was a gazebo, decorated with twinkling fairy lights. A small crowd was gathered. And in the center of it all was Franco.

He was down on one knee. Before him stood Kayleigh, dressed in a stunning white dress. She was crying, her hand pressed to her mouth in a perfect imitation of surprise.

Leo stood beside her, holding a velvet ring box.

"Kayleigh Baxter," Franco said, his voice ringing out, filled with a deep, passionate emotion I had once believed was reserved for me. "You brought fire and life back into my world. You gave me a son. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

She nodded, sobbing. "Yes! Oh, Franco, yes!"

He slid a massive diamond ring onto her finger. The crowd erupted in applause. He stood and kissed her, a long, cinematic kiss.

I sat in my car, hidden in the shadows of the parking lot, and watched. I watched the man who had built his life on my love, on my supposed purity, propose to the woman who represented everything he claimed to despise. I watched him give her the life, the ring, the public declaration that should have been mine.

And I watched my son, my beautiful, lost boy, smile as he called another woman "Mommy."

The pain was a physical thing, a shard of ice piercing my heart. My blood ran cold. The woman who loved Franco Anderson died in that moment. What was left was something else entirely. Something cold, and hard, and unbreakable.

I watched them celebrate, a perfect family bathed in the warm glow of public adoration.

Then, I put the car in drive and drove away. I didn't cry. There were no more tears left.

I reached for my phone and dialed Casey.

"It's time," I said.