Chapter 2

The heavy oak door of the Long Island villa slammed shut behind me, the sound echoing with finality. Michael stood in the grand foyer, his expression a careful mask of concern. “Sarah, I’m so sorry this happened to you.” His voice was soft, almost gentle. It made my skin crawl. “This place is secure. No press can get to you here. You need to rest, to recover.” Recover from what? His treachery? Olivia glided in, placing a comforting hand on Michael’s arm. “We’ll take care of everything, Sarah. You just focus on getting better.” Her eyes, however, held a glint of triumph. They called it a retreat. A sanctuary. I called it a prison. My phone was gone. Internet access, cut. The windows, though large, offered views only of manicured lawns and distant, impenetrable woods. Emily, my personal assistant, my friend for over a decade, was there. Her face was pale, her eyes averted. “Emily, you have to help me,” I pleaded when we were alone for a moment. “This is a lie. Michael and Olivia…” She flinched. “Sarah, please. You’re not well. The doctors said…” “Doctors? What doctors?” “Michael arranged for the best. They said you’ve had a breakdown. Stress. Exhaustion.” She handed me a small paper cup with pills. “These will help you sleep.” I stared at them. Sedatives. To keep me quiet. Docile. The days blurred into a medicated haze. Food appeared. Emily coaxed me to eat. The pills came with every meal. Sometimes, I’d fight the fog, a spark of my old self flickering. I’d refuse the medication, demand to speak to a lawyer, to my father’s old advisors. Emily would look distressed. Michael would appear, his voice calm, reasonable, explaining why that wasn’t possible right now. Explaining how he was protecting me. Protecting the family. Protecting his own ascent, built on my ruin.

One evening, the drugs weren’t as strong, or perhaps my will was stronger. I lay in bed, feigning sleep, the door to my suite slightly ajar. Michael and Olivia were in the hallway, their voices low, but audible. “She’s still fighting it,” Olivia said, a hint of impatience in her tone. “She’s strong,” Michael replied. His voice was colder now, stripped of its feigned sympathy. “But she’ll break. The constant medication, the isolation… no one believes her.” “And Davis?” Olivia asked. “He’s already distancing himself publicly. Privately, he’s grateful we ‘handled’ the situation. He sees you as a calming influence, Olivia. Someone who can manage a crisis.” A crisis they created. Olivia laughed, a low, satisfied sound. “It’s working out perfectly. With Sarah out of the picture, your path to CEO is clear. And David… well, he needs a supportive partner, doesn’t he?” Michael’s voice was flat. “She had to be neutralized, Olivia. If she took over Pearson, and married Davis, you and I would have been marginalized.” “This was the only way. A little scandal, a little heartbreak. She’ll get over it. Eventually.” Get over it. They spoke of my destruction as if it were a minor inconvenience, a necessary business transaction. The casual cruelty of their words stole the air from my lungs. He wasn’t just my brother. He was my destroyer. And Olivia, his eager accomplice. The fog in my head cleared, replaced by a chilling, diamond-hard certainty. They thought they had buried me. They were wrong.