Chapter 2

Ethan' s men, two large guys in dark suits, stood outside the private waiting room.

They wouldn't let me leave.

"Mr. Vance wants you to wait," one of them said, his voice flat.

Hours passed. The hospital lights hummed.

My arm throbbed where Ethan had grabbed me.

A deeper ache settled in my chest. Not just sadness. It was a weariness that went bone deep.

This was how it started last time. Me, waiting. Me, being an afterthought.

The pain in my arm got worse. A sharp, burning feeling.

I think he dislocated my shoulder when he dragged me.

"Can I see a doctor?" I asked the guards. My voice was small.

The taller one just looked at me. No expression.

"Mr. Vance' s orders are for you to wait here."

"I think my arm is broken," I said, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

He didn't even blink. "Wait here."

They didn't care. Ethan didn't care. My pain was nothing.

I must have passed out from the pain or exhaustion.

When I woke up, the room was dimmer.

Henderson, Ethan' s lawyer, was there.

"Miss Miller," he said, his voice still smooth. "Mr. Vance is awake. Miss Bellweather is stable. He said you can request to leave now."

Request. Like I was asking for a favor.

My arm was on fire. I felt weak, shaky.

But a tiny spark of hope flickered. I could get out of here.

I heard voices from Ethan' s room as Henderson escorted me past.

Clara' s voice, weak but clear. "Ethan, are you okay? You gave so much blood."

"I'm fine, Clara," Ethan said. His voice was tender, full of concern for her. "Don't worry about me. Just get better."

He was lying. He had to be weak. But he wouldn't let her see it. He wouldn't let her feel guilty.

The lengths he went to for her.

Then Clara said, "Savannah looked really upset earlier. Is she okay?"

Her voice was casual. Like she was talking about the weather.

Ethan scoffed. I heard it clearly. "Savannah? She' s always upset about something. Probably just trying to get attention. Don't waste your thoughts on her."

Dismissed. Again. My pain, my fear, just a play for attention.

The words didn' t cut as deep this time. They just… confirmed.

I saw him then. Through the slightly open door.

Ethan was sitting by Clara' s bed, holding her hand.

He was stroking her hair, his eyes full of a devotion that was almost painful to watch.

This was it. This was the truth I had refused to see for ten years.

He loved her. Truly, deeply loved her.

He had never, ever looked at me that way.

My past efforts, my desperate clinging, it was all so futile. So pointless.

A profound sadness washed over me, but it was clean this time. An acceptance.

Clara murmured something. "I'm a little cold, Ethan."

Instantly, Ethan was on his feet. "I'll get you another blanket. And some warm tea. Whatever you need, Clara."

He moved quickly, his earlier weakness forgotten in his rush to care for her.

His dedication was absolute. Unwavering.

He came out of the room, almost bumping into me and Henderson.

The tender look on his face vanished when he saw me.

His eyes turned cold. Hard.

"What are you still doing here?" he snapped.

Like my presence was an insult.

The emotional whiplash, from his tenderness with Clara to his ice with me, was stark.

"Ethan, I..." I started to say. I wanted to tell him I took the check. That I was leaving. That he was free.

That I was finally freeing myself.

But he didn't wait. He brushed past me, his shoulder hitting my injured one.

Pain shot through me, but I didn't cry out.

He was already halfway down the hall, calling out to a nurse about a blanket for Clara.

He didn't hear me. He wouldn't have cared anyway.

My final statement of release, unheard.

It didn't matter. I knew. And that was enough.