Chapter 4

HANNAH POV

My entire world narrowed to the space between the rose bushes. David's eyes, dark and searching, seemed to bore right through the leaves, right into me. My breath was trapped in my lungs, a painful, burning knot. If he found me here, with his tablet in my hand, it was over. Not just the lie, but my escape.

**He took another step toward me, his hand reaching into his pocket for his phone, probably to call security. Panic surged. My eyes darted around the shadows and landed on a small, gray, weatherproof box mounted on a post near the edge of the rose bed-the control panel for the irrigation system. My hand shot out, fumbling with the latch. I flipped it open and slammed my palm down on the largest button, the one marked 'MANUAL CYCLE.'**

**A hiss, then a roar. A dozen sprinkler heads erupted from the lawn, sending powerful jets of water arcing across the patio. There were screams of surprise. The cake was instantly ruined. My mother shrieked as a spray of water drenched her silk dress.**

**The chaos was my cover. David spun around, shouting orders, his attention completely diverted. I used that precious moment. I scrambled to my feet and melted back into the shadows of the trees, my heart still pounding a frantic, uneven rhythm. I didn't stop running until I reached my car, my lungs screaming for air.**

The drive home was a fugue state. I clutched the tablet on the passenger seat like it was a life raft. The man I married, the man who claimed he couldn't bear for me to suffer the pain of childbirth, had a four-year-old son. The refusal wasn't about protecting me. It was about protecting his other life. My purpose was to be the barren, respectable wife, the perfect cover for the family he actually wanted.

By the time I walked through the front door of our cold, silent mansion, the plan was no longer a vague idea. It was a crystalline structure in my mind. This wasn't going to be a messy, tearful confrontation. It was going to be a quiet, clean amputation.

The first thing I did was call a lawyer. Not the Wallace family's army of corporate attorneys, but a name I'd gotten from a fellow teacher who had gone through a nasty divorce. Her name was Evelyn Reed, and her reputation was that of a shark.

"I need to see you. Now," I said, my voice flat.

Two hours later, I was sitting in her stark, modern office, the tablet on the table between us. I told her everything. The hit-and-run. The faked death. The secret family. I watched her professional composure crack as she swiped through the photos.

"They've been gaslighting you for five years, Hannah," she said, her voice tight with anger. "This is... monstrous."

"I don't want revenge, Evelyn," I said calmly. "I don't want their money. I don't want anything from them. I just want to be gone."

**"There's more," I said, my voice hollow. "In one of the videos, David mentions a 'Plan B' if I ever became a problem. Something about a Dr. Alistair." I pushed a slip of paper across the desk. "I found this name in the tablet's contacts. Can you find out what that means?"**

I instructed her to draft two documents. The first was a set of divorce papers. The second was a legally binding relinquishment of rights. I was renouncing the Wallace name, my inheritance, any and all claims to the family fortune. I was erasing myself from their lives as completely as they had tried to erase Morgan.

Evelyn promised to have them ready by the next day. But late that night, she called me back.

"Hannah," she said, her voice grim. **"I looked into Dr. Alistair. He's a psychiatrist with a reputation for being... discreet. I made some inquiries and my investigator found a pre-signed committal order from five years ago. It was contingent on a diagnosis from Alistair."** She took a breath before playing an audio file over the phone. It was a recording of a conversation between David and Morgan. Morgan was panicked that the frame-up might not work.

"...and if it doesn't?" Morgan's voice hissed. "If she talks her way out of it?"

"Then we move to plan B," David's voice replied, cold and clinical. **"Alistair is on standby. We'll build a case. Her unstable childhood, her 'desperate' need for a family. It won't be hard to have her declared mentally incompetent. We can have her committed. She'll be taken care of, and out of our way for good."**

I listened, my body rigid. They hadn't just been willing to ruin my reputation. They had been willing to steal my mind, my freedom. To lock me away in a psychiatric ward and throw away the key.

The last bit of warmth in my soul flickered and died.

I was signing the papers in Evelyn's office the next afternoon when David called. It was our anniversary.

"Angel, I'm so sorry about yesterday," he said, his voice like warm honey. "I'm on my way home now. I'll make it up to you. I bought that special bottle of Château Margaux you love. We'll celebrate tonight. Just the two of us."

"I'd love that," I said, my voice a perfect imitation of the woman I used to be.

He came home to a house filled with the scent of roasting chicken. I was wearing the dress he loved, my hair done just the way he liked. He looked relieved, his guilt visibly melting away.

He poured two glasses of the deep red wine, his eyes sparkling. "To five years, Hannah. To us."

I took the crystal glass from his hand, the cold surface a stark contrast to the fire in my veins. I looked into the eyes of the man who was willing to have me locked away, the man who kissed his other family goodbye just yesterday.

I smiled, a cold, empty smile that didn't reach my eyes.

"To us," I echoed, my voice a hollow whisper.

Then I tilted the glass to my lips and drank it down in one, long swallow.