Chapter 2

It hadn' t always been like this. I remembered a time when Ethan' s smile reached his eyes.

We met at my first major gallery opening. I was the art world' s new darling. My paintings were vibrant, full of life. Ethan Thorne, the brilliant young businessman, bought my largest piece.

"Your work is breathtaking," he' d said, his voice a low hum that made my skin tingle. "It' s like you paint with pure emotion."

He was charming, attentive, and powerful. He pursued me with a single-minded intensity that felt like a fairy tale. The media loved us. 'Beauty and the Mogul.' Our wedding was a lavish affair, plastered across society pages. I thought I had found my happy ending.

I was so naive. I was so desperate to be loved.

My older sister, Chloe, was always the fragile one, the one everyone protected. She was beautiful and sweet, but there was a darkness in her I only saw in glimpses. She' d loved Ethan first, or so she claimed. When Ethan chose me, she put on a brave face.

"I' m so happy for you, Autumn," she' d said at our wedding, her eyes glassy with tears. "Just promise you' ll take care of him."

I promised. I tried.

But Chloe was always there, a subtle poison in our marriage. A late-night call to Ethan, crying about some minor crisis. A text message sent to him by "mistake." She slowly, expertly, made me look like the neglectful wife, the selfish sister.

Then, six months into our marriage, the police came to our door.

Chloe' s car was found by the cliffs. A note was on the passenger seat.

It was addressed to Ethan.

It said she couldn' t live without him. It said I had stolen her only chance at happiness.

I remember standing in our living room, the world tilting on its axis. Ethan read the note, his face turning to stone. He looked at me, and the man I loved vanished. In his place was a stranger, his eyes filled with a terrifying hatred.

"You," he spat the word. "You did this."

He lunged for me, his hands closing around my throat. "She' s gone because of you!"

I couldn' t breathe. I clawed at his hands, my vision starting to black out. That was the first time he hurt me. It wasn' t the last.

From that day on, our home became my prison. The fairy tale became a nightmare. He never let me forget Chloe. He blamed me for her suicide, for his pain, for every single thing that went wrong in his life.

My family sided with him. My own father looked at me with disgust.

"Chloe was always so sensitive," he said, his voice cold. "You should have been more careful with her feelings."

I was alone. The vibrant colors of my paintings faded to gray. I stopped painting altogether. My hands, which once created beauty, now only trembled. Ethan had broken me, piece by piece, until all that was left was a hollow shell.

The woman who married Ethan Thorne was gone. The celebrated artist was gone. Chloe had taken them both with her when she drove her car to the cliffs.