Chapter 1

"I want a divorce, Ethan."

The words came out, quiet but steady. They hung in the air of the sterile, white living room.

Ethan Thorne stopped swirling the amber liquid in his glass. He didn' t look at me. He looked at my reflection in the dark, floor-to-ceiling window.

"No," he said. It wasn' t a shout. It was a statement of fact, like saying the sky was blue.

"You can' t just say no. I' m leaving." I clutched the handle of my suitcase, my knuckles white. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs.

"You' re not leaving." He finally turned, his eyes cold and empty. He was a handsome man. The magazines all said so. But I only saw the monster he had become. "You' re my wife, Autumn. You don' t get to leave."

"I' m not your property."

He smiled then, a slow, cruel curve of his lips. "Aren' t you? I own this house. I own the clothes you' re wearing. I own your career, what' s left of it."

He took a step toward me. I flinched, my body remembering things my mind tried to forget.

"Don' t," I whispered.

He ignored me. He reached out and stroked a piece of my hair. "You think you can just walk away? After what you did? After you killed your sister?"

The old accusation, his favorite weapon. It never failed to slice me open. "I didn' t kill Chloe."

"You drove her to it." He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging in like claws. The grip was tight, punishing. "She' s dead because of you. And you will spend the rest of your life making it up to me."

Tears burned my eyes, hot and useless. "Let go of me, Ethan."

He yanked me forward, so close I could smell the expensive whiskey on his breath. "You belong to me. In this life and the next. Did you forget your vows? Till death do us part."

His face was a mask of rage. I saw the blow coming but there was nowhere to go. His hand connected with my cheek. The sound was a sharp crack in the silent room. My head snapped to the side, and a burst of light exploded behind my eyes.

I fell to the floor, my cheek throbbing, the taste of blood filling my mouth.

He loomed over me, not a trace of remorse on his perfect face. "This is your fault, Autumn. All of it."

He nudged my suitcase with the toe of his expensive shoe. "Unpack. We' re having dinner with my business partners tonight. Wear the blue dress. And smile."

He walked away, leaving me crumpled on the cold marble floor.

Lying there, a plan began to form in the ruins of my despair. A desperate, terrifying plan.

He was right about one thing.

Only death would part us.

So I would die.