Chapter 2

"Why did I even stay after Lily was born?" I muttered to the Entity, or maybe just to myself.

"My part of the Pact for remission was done then."

The Entity' s voice was devoid of any emotion. "You developed an attachment. Illogical."

"She was my wife. Lily is my daughter. I loved them."

"They do not reciprocate," the Entity stated, a cold, hard fact.

No, they didn' t.

No one in this life valued me.

Not Izzy, not Lily, not my own parents.

I remembered when I was seventeen.

Julian got a brand-new Porsche for getting into an Ivy League school.

That same year, I won a national songwriting award.

My parents barely acknowledged it.

Julian "borrowed" the award trophy a week later.

He broke it.

"Accidentally," he' d said with a smirk.

My parents told me not to make a fuss.

It was always about Julian.

His success, his future.

I was just... Ethan. The other one.

"Enjoy your final days," the Entity advised, its tone unchanging.

Final days. Ten of them.

I thought about the fifty million dollars.

Blood money, really.

But it was mine.

"Fine," I said. "I will."

I decided to leave the San Francisco house immediately.

There was nothing left for me there but ghosts of what I thought I had.

I booked a penthouse suite at "The Seraphim," an exclusive LA rooftop club and hotel.

If I was going out, I was going out with a bang.

I started spending. Wildly.

Designer clothes I never cared for, expensive champagne I barely tasted.

I bought a ridiculous sports car, bright red, just because I could.

Women, drawn by the scent of money, appeared.

Hangers-on, eager for a piece of the spectacle, materialized.

I let them. It was all meaningless.

A few nights later, Izzy and Lily were at The Seraphim.

A "welcome home" gala for Julian, hosted by the Vance family.

Of course, it had to be here.

Izzy spotted me across the crowded rooftop bar, my arm casually around some model whose name I' d already forgotten.

She marched over, her face a mask of fury. Lily trailed behind her, mimicking her mother' s angry expression.

"Are you trying to embarrass us, Ethan?" Izzy hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "To ruin Julian's night?"

Lily chimed in, her voice shrill. "You're pathetic, Daddy. Uncle Julian says you're just jealous because he's successful and everyone likes him, and no one likes your sad songs."

The words, coming from my five-year-old daughter, were like tiny daggers.

I just looked at them.

"Actually, Izzy," I said, my voice surprisingly calm, "I'm just enjoying my fifty million. You should try it sometime. Oh, wait, you already have plenty."

I disentangled myself from the model.

"Enjoy Julian's party."

I walked away, leaving them standing there.

Izzy' s face was a mixture of shock and fury.

For a split second, I saw something else in her eyes.

Was it... unease?

No. Impossible.

The next morning, the tabloids were having a field day.

"Ethan Miller's Wild Spending Spree!"

"Dumped Husband's Desperate Cry for Attention!"

Then my mother called from their Connecticut home.

Her voice was like chipping ice.

"Ethan, you are a disgrace to this family! Julian is finally securing his future with the Vances, a connection we' ve hoped for, and you' re making a public spectacle of yourself!"

I could hear my father in the background, muttering his agreement.

"We're cutting off your access to your grandmother's trust fund," she declared. "You clearly can't be trusted with responsibility or money."

That trust fund was the only thing my grandmother, the only person who ever seemed to see me, had left solely to me.

It wasn't a huge amount, but it was mine.

"Okay, Mom," I said, tired. "Whatever you think is best."

I hung up before she could say more.

It didn't matter anymore.

None of it did.

I decided to go back to the San Francisco house one last time.

I needed to get my song manuscripts, a few old photos, and my grandmother's letters.

Small things, but they were the only pieces of my real life I wanted to keep.

I let myself in with the key I still had.