Chapter 2

I woke up in a room that wasn' t mine. The sheets were silk, the air smelled faintly of lavender. I was in the Vance mansion, in one of their many guest suites. The memory of the hospital, of Leo' s still face, crashed down on me, and a fresh wave of grief washed over me.

Eleanor was sitting in a chair by the bed, her eyes red-rimmed. She held a cup of tea.

"Olivia, you' re awake."

"I want to leave," I said, my voice hoarse. It was the only thought in my head. "I want to divorce him. Please, you have to let me go."

Eleanor' s face was filled with a deep sadness. She set the tea down and took my hand. Her touch was gentle.

"Olivia, dear, we understand. We' re not going to force you to stay. After what he did… after his behavior at the hospital… Richard is furious. We support your decision."

Her words were a small comfort in an ocean of pain. The Vances had always been kind to me. I was a nobody when I met Ethan, a simple art history student. They were tech royalty. But they had welcomed me, treated me like a daughter, and they adored Leo. They saw the artist in him, the kindness that I had nurtured, a world away from the cold, ambitious sphere they all inhabited.

I had tried so hard to fit into that world for Ethan. I hosted his business dinners, smiled at his investors, and pretended to care about stock options and market shares. I gave up my own dreams of opening a small art gallery to be the perfect corporate wife. I endured his long hours, his emotional distance, his growing obsession with his work. I tolerated it all because I loved him, and because we had Leo. Leo was the sun in my universe.

And now, the sun was gone.

Richard Vance came into the room. His face was grim, etched with lines of sorrow and anger. He was a man used to being in control, and now his world was shattered. He looked at me, his eyes softening.

"Olivia," he said, his voice heavy. "Eleanor told me what you want. I want you to know that this family will stand by you. Whatever you need, a lawyer, a place to stay, anything. You are still our family. That boy… he was my grandson."

I just nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. I bowed my head slightly, a gesture of thanks. I was too broken for words.

Just then, the door to the room burst open. Ethan stood there, his clothes rumpled, his hair a mess. He looked like he hadn' t slept.

"There you are," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Hiding with mommy and daddy? Are you done with your little drama yet?"

Richard stepped in front of him. "Get out of this room, Ethan."

"This is my house," Ethan sneered. "She' s my wife. I' ll go where I want."

He pushed past his father and strode towards the bed. He grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong.

"Get up, Olivia. We' re going home. Enough of this nonsense."

The touch of his hand was repulsive. I flinched away from him.

"Don' t touch me," I said, my voice low and dangerous.

He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "Or what? You' ll cry some more? You' re always so emotional. It' s exhausting."

As he spoke, a memory of Leo surfaced in my mind. Just last week, he had brought me a drawing he' d made. It was a picture of me, with a huge, bright smile. "You' re the best mommy in the whole world," he' d said, his voice full of warmth and love. "You' re so strong."

That memory was a shield. I looked at Ethan, at the man I once loved, and felt nothing but contempt. His cruelty, his selfishness, his complete lack of empathy-it was all so clear now.

I met his gaze, my own eyes cold and empty.

He was still talking, still taunting me, trying to get a reaction. "What' s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Are you going to tell me again that my son is dead just to get my attention?"

I let his words hang in the air, the silence stretching between us. Eleanor and Richard watched, frozen.

Then, I delivered the final blow, my voice clear and steady, cutting through his ignorant rage.

"He is, Ethan. Leo is dead."