Chapter 2

Liam' s drunken eyes lit up with a flicker of interest. He reached for the box.

"For me? Olivia, you shouldn' t have."

My hand shot out, covering his. "Not now," I said, my voice sweet. "It' s for our anniversary. Let' s wait until then. It' s more special that way."

He pouted like a child, but his intoxication made him compliant. "Okay, okay. If you say so." He stumbled towards the bedroom, collapsing onto the bed without even taking off his shoes. Within minutes, he was snoring, the smell of whiskey filling the room.

The house was finally quiet. The gift box sat on the coffee table, a beautiful, terrible promise. Now was my chance.

Liam was obsessively neat, but his study was his private sanctuary. I had never gone in without his permission. Tonight, I didn' t care. The door was unlocked. I slipped inside, closing it silently behind me.

The room smelled of old books and his cologne. It was a room I once found comforting. Now it felt like a predator' s den. I started searching. His desk was organized, his files perfectly labeled. I looked for anything out of place, anything hidden.

Tucked away on the highest shelf, behind a row of law books, was a locked wooden box. My heart hammered against my ribs. I knew this was it. I found a small letter opener on his desk and worked it into the lock. It was cheap, flimsy. It broke with a soft click.

Inside was not what I expected. There were no documents, no secret papers. There was a single, leather-bound journal. And photos. Dozens of them. All of Chloe.

Chloe laughing on a swing set when she was a teenager. Chloe at her high school graduation, a radiant smile on her face. Chloe sleeping on a couch, a book resting on her chest. They were candid shots, taken from a distance. The photos of a stalker.

My hands trembled as I opened the journal. The first entry was dated fifteen years ago. His handwriting was neat, almost clinical.

October 12th. Chloe wore a white dress today. She looked like an angel. I wish she would look at me the way she looks at Ethan.

I flipped through the pages. It was a meticulous, chilling record of his obsession. Every page was about Chloe. What she wore, what she said, who she smiled at. My name, Olivia, appeared only as a footnote, a tool.

May 3rd. Olivia is useful. Chloe seems to relax when she' s around. Olivia' s kindness makes her a perfect shield. No one would suspect my feelings if I am doting on her stepsister.

My stomach churned. I kept reading, my eyes scanning the pages faster and faster. And then I found it. An entry from three years ago, a few weeks before my mother' s death.

August 21st. The doctors confirmed it. Chloe' s heart is failing. She needs a transplant, or she will die. Ethan is useless, his family can' t find a donor in time. I cannot let her die. I will not let her die.

The next entry was a week later.

August 28th. I have found a solution. It is drastic, but Chloe' s life is worth any price. Mrs. Reynolds is a perfect match. A car accident can be arranged. It must look tragic, unavoidable. Olivia will be devastated, which will make my comfort all the more convincing. I will take care of her. In doing so, I will be taking care of Chloe' s future. It is the only way.

The journal fell from my hands, landing with a soft thud on the carpet. The air was gone from the room. He wrote it all down. He planned my mother' s murder and documented it like a science project. His proposal, our marriage, my pregnancy-it was all a lie, a long, elaborate performance to protect the woman he truly loved.

A wave of nausea washed over me, but it was quickly replaced by a fire. A cold, burning fire of pure hatred. He had mourned with me, held me as I cried for my mother, all while knowing he had her killed. He had turned my life into a stage for his sick devotion.

I stood there for a long time, the journal at my feet. The plan in my head, once a desperate, grief-stricken impulse, now solidified into something hard and sharp. He wanted to destroy my life for Chloe. I would destroy his.

I walked out of the study, leaving the box and the journal where they lay. I went into our bathroom and looked at my reflection. The long, waist-length hair he loved so much cascaded over my shoulders. Chloe' s hair.

I picked up the scissors from the medicine cabinet. The metal was cold in my hand. Without a moment' s hesitation, I gathered the long strands and began to cut. The sound of the blades slicing through the hair was loud in the silence. Chunks of it fell to the floor, pooling around my feet.

I didn't stop until it was short, uneven, and jagged. I looked nothing like Chloe anymore. I looked like myself. A stranger, but myself.

I cleaned up the hair, flushing it down the toilet. Tomorrow, I would begin the next phase of my plan. I had money saved, a secret account Liam knew nothing about. It was time to prepare my exit.

Before that, I had a family to visit. A family that had stood by and let this happen.

I went back to the living room and looked at the gift box. The revenge I had planned felt too simple now. He deserved so much more. But it was a start. It was a promise of the pain to come.