Chapter 2

I called a funeral home and booked a pickup for the next morning, subject to the hospital clearing the transfer.

I didn't call any of Julian's relatives myself. I gave the funeral director Julian's number for the release paperwork.

His father had passed away years ago, and the rest of the relatives lived abroad. Before she died, his mother loved me dearly and had already signed all her company shares over to me.

She had held my hand back then and told me, Chloe, this is your safety net, yours and the babies'.

Now, my babies were gone. And so was she.

The funeral director said she would stay in the hospital morgue until the release was signed.

I stayed under observation until the doctor cleared me to go home that evening.

In the cab, I watched traffic flow and neon signs flicker on behind the tinted window.

In a single afternoon, I had lost the people who mattered most to me. Outside the window, the world went on as usual.

By the time I returned to the villa, it was past eight in the evening.

The house was pitch-black. I gripped the banister, climbed up to the second floor, and pushed open my mother-in-law's bedroom door.

The faint scent of sandalwood still lingered in the air. On the nightstand sat two unfinished baby sweaters—one light blue, one soft pink—that she had been knitting for the twins.

I picked them up and pressed them against my cheek. The wool was rough and stung against my skin.

I slipped the jade bracelet off my wrist and put it in her jewelry box for safekeeping.

My phone rang.

It was Julian.

I answered, keeping silent.

"Chloe, where the hell are you?"

His voice was instantly dripping with irritation.

"Cheryl wants pastries from that bakery downtown. Go buy a box and bring it to her VIP suite at the hospital within thirty minutes."

I stared down at the tiny sweaters in my hands.

"No. If you want them, buy them yourself," I said coldly.

Silence fell over the line for a few seconds before his voice erupted in fury.

"Chloe! Don't push your luck! Cheryl was terrified by your little spectacle today. What's so hard about picking up some food to make amends?"

"My mother is completely fine, so stop playing the martyr! Go buy them right now!"

I hung up and blocked his number.

I dragged out a suitcase and began packing. Clothes, books, and a few personal essentials.

After living in this house for three years, everything that belonged to me fit into a single bag.

Downstairs, the front door clicked open, followed by the sharp click of high heels against hardwood.

"Chloe? Are you home?"

It was Julian's executive assistant, Leah.

She had always looked down on me, whispering behind my back that I only held the title of Mrs. Vance because the matriarch had my back.

I carried my suitcase down the stairs.

The moment Leah saw me, she rolled her eyes.

"Mr. Vance sent me to pick up the perfume. Cheryl can't sleep at the hospital without that scent."

Leah glanced upstairs. "You never wear it anyway. Cheryl would actually appreciate it."

She turned and moved to push past me up the stairs.

I stepped firmly into her path.

"Get out."

Leah froze, her lips curling into a sneer.

"Chloe, do you really think you still have a say around here? Mr. Vance told me he's filing for divorce as soon as Cheryl is discharged."

"If you have any sense, you'll stay out of Cheryl's way."

She reached out to shove me aside.

I raised my hand and slapped her across the face.

SMACK!

The sharp crack echoed through the cavernous foyer.

Leah stumbled back, clutching her cheek, completely stunned.

"You hit me!"

"I dare call the police and have you arrested for trespassing, too," I said, staring directly into her eyes.

"Go back and tell Julian there is no perfume. And tell him his mother is dead. If he still has a shred of humanity left, he'd better get on his knees and beg her corpse for mercy."

Leah's face twisted in disgust.

"You've completely lost your mind! How dare you curse the old lady!"

"Just you wait! Mr. Vance will destroy you for this!"

She stormed out in her high heels, slamming the heavy front door so hard the glass rattled.

Silence swallowed the villa once more.

I left the suitcase by the entryway, walked into the kitchen, and grabbed a pair of heavy shears.

Hanging prominently on the living room wall was our massive wedding portrait.

In the photo, Julian's smile was detached and perfunctory, while I looked like an absolute fool, beaming with pure adoration.

I stepped onto the sofa, raised the shears, and slashed right through his face.

Ripping, tearing, over and over.

The canvas shredded, strips of fabric falling to the floor like dead leaves.

I walked through every corner of the house, throwing every mug, towel, and toothbrush I had ever touched straight into the trash.

The cheap jewelry Julian had tossed at me over the years as afterthoughts? Flushed down the toilet.

I wanted every single trace of my existence scrubbed from this place.

By the time I finished, dawn was breaking.

I sat on the sofa, looking at the wreckage around me.

The doorbell rang.

I stood up and opened the door.

Cheryl stood on the porch.

My fingers tightened around the handle.