Chapter 2

"Let him go first," I said, my voice shaking but firm.

Daniel stared at me for a long moment, then gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. The guard released my father, who collapsed onto the carpet, breathing heavily. My mother rushed to his side, helping him back into his chair. He wouldn't look at me. The shame in the room was a physical thing, thick and suffocating.

I looked at Daniel, the man I had spent the last twelve years of my life with. I met him in college. We were twenty. He was intense, brilliant, and I thought, poor. He had nothing but a fierce ambition that I found intoxicating. We built a life from scratch, or so I believed. We shared a tiny apartment, ate cheap takeout, and dreamed of the future. I loved him with a purity and fierceness that felt like the center of my universe.

That love was a corpse on the floor between us now.

"Now," Daniel said, his voice low and demanding. "Tell me."

He took a step toward me, and I flinched back. He reached out and grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh like steel bands.

"Don't touch me," I spat.

His grip tightened. "You don't get to make demands anymore, Olivia. You lost that privilege when you took what was mine."

He pulled me closer, his face just inches from mine. I could smell the expensive cologne he wore, a scent I used to love. Now it made me sick.

"Where. Is. She?" he enunciated each word with cold precision.

I looked past him, at my father's bowed head, at my mother's trembling hands. I had done this to them. My stupid, reckless gamble had cost them everything. I had to end it. I had to fix what I could.

"The guest cottage," I whispered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "At the house. She's in the guest cottage."

A flicker of triumph crossed his face. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that chilling emptiness. He let go of my arm, and I stumbled back.

He turned to leave, then paused at the door. He looked over his shoulder at me, and his eyes were filled with a contempt that was more painful than any physical blow.

"You really thought that would work?" he asked, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "You thought hiding her would make me want you? You're pathetic, Olivia. You're weak."

He didn't wait for a reply. He and his men walked out, closing the door behind them, leaving us in a silence that was louder than my screams.

I sank to the floor, the strength leaving my legs. The finality of it all crashed down on me. It wasn't just the fight, the bankruptcy, the humiliation. It was his words. You're pathetic. You're weak. He didn't see love or desperation in my actions. He only saw a pathetic attempt to control him, and he had crushed it without a second thought.

I remembered a night years ago, early in our marriage. We were lying in bed in that tiny apartment. He had traced the line of my jaw with his finger. "I love you, Liv," he'd whispered. "You're the only real thing in my life." I had held onto those words like a prayer. I had built my world on them.

Now I knew they were just another lie, another tool of manipulation.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. They weren't tears for my lost love or our broken marriage. They were tears of grief for the twelve years I had wasted, for the woman I had allowed myself to become-a dependent, naive fool who had let a man define her entire existence.

My father finally spoke, his voice raspy. "You need to leave him, Olivia."

I looked up at him, at his tired, defeated face. "I know, Dad."

The fight was over. The game was lost. But in the wreckage of my life, a new feeling was taking root. It was small and fragile, but it was there. Resolve.

I would divorce him. I would cut him out of my life like a cancer. And I would never, ever let him hurt my family again. The woman who loved Daniel Miller was dead. I had watched him kill her himself. Now, I had to figure out who was left.