Chapter 1

My husband told me to hide away in our cabin after my daughter fell into a coma. He said he would handle the media storm and the plagiarism accusations against me. I trusted him.

Two years later, I saw my best friend on a Times Square billboard, accepting an award for my art, with my husband cheering her on in the crowd.

Overhearing their celebration, I learned the horrifying truth: they orchestrated my daughter's "accident," stole my life's work, and my husband was planning to pull my daughter's life support.

He thought he had me trapped, threatening our daughter's life to force my silence.

He even made me sign a divorce agreement, thinking he was stripping me of everything.

What he didn't know was that my lawyer brother had already filed a different set of papers.

And I had just walked away with everything.

Chapter 1

My world shattered not with a bang, but with a quiet, sickening thud-the sound of my daughter' s small body hitting the ground after she was pushed. They said it was an accident. They lied. Everything was a lie.

I was Adelia Murray, known online as 'Wish,' a comic artist with millions of followers. My fantastical worlds were my escape, and for a while, they were my daughter Alexis's too. She had my talent, my passion, but she was a fierce spirit all her own.

Then, the school called. Alexis, my bright, artistic girl, was in a coma, fallen from the second-story balcony. The school whispered of an argument, a classmate's artwork, and Alexis being falsely accused of plagiarism. My Alexis, who poured her soul into every sketch.

I rushed to the school, a mother's rage burning in my veins. I demanded answers, justice. But the school had already decided. They showed me a selectively edited video, a distorted clip that painted me as an aggressive, hysterical parent. Overnight, I was "canceled." The internet, once my sanctuary, turned into a mob, accusing me of plagiarism myself. The cyberbullying was relentless, a digital firestorm consuming my reputation.

"Adelia, you need to step away," Emmett, my husband, had said, his voice calm, reassuring. He was the anchor in my storm, or so I thought. "Let me handle this. You take care of Alexis. Retreat to the cabin. Focus on your art, prove them all wrong."

I clung to his words, to his promise. He was my handsome, charismatic corporate executive, from old money. He knew how to navigate this world. I trusted him. I retreated, burying myself in the secluded mountain cabin, becoming a ghost to the world, a silent sentinel by Alexis's bedside. I poured my grief and my fight into my art, a desperate attempt to find solace and prove my worth. Emmett visited occasionally, bringing news, always vague, always just enough to keep me hoping, believing he was fighting for us.

Two years. Two long, silent years.

Alexis was still hooked up to machines in a specialized hospital wing, inches from the cabin. I was just leaving a routine check-up, my heart a hollow ache, when I saw it. A massive screen in Times Square, blazing with color and light. My art. My distinct style, my characters, my soul poured onto a canvas. But it wasn't my name under the spotlight.

It was Elisa Conway, my best friend, accepting a prestigious art award. My stomach dropped like a stone through ice. She was smiling, basking in the applause, holding a trophy that should have been mine. And there, in the audience, applauding louder than anyone, beaming with pride, was Emmett. My husband.

The air left my lungs in a ragged gasp. The world spun, the bright lights of the city blurring into a kaleidoscope of betrayal.

My feet moved on their own, a primal need for answers driving me through the bustling streets. I found myself in front of Emmett's sleek corporate building, the same building where he' d assured me he was "handling everything." My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.

I pushed through the revolving doors, my vision narrowing to a tunnel. When I reached his office, the door was slightly ajar. I heard voices, laughter, the clinking of glasses. My blood ran cold.

"To us, Emmett," Elisa's voice, syrupy sweet, reached my ears. "To pulling it off. Who knew Adelia's 'hobby' would be so lucrative?"

My legs gave out. I leaned against the cold wall, my breath catching in my throat.

Emmett chuckled, a sound I once found comforting, now laced with venom. "She made it easy. So trusting. And that pathetic daughter of hers. Honestly, a blessing in disguise, putting her out of the way for a bit."

The words hit me like physical blows, each one a hammer shattering my reality. Alexis. My coma. His 'blessing in disguise.'

"And Gordon," Elisa continued, a smugness in her tone. "I still can't believe he managed to push her without anyone seeing. Brilliant. Kept him out of trouble, too."

Gordon. Elisa's son. The bully. He pushed Alexis. My Alexis. My daughter. My heart spasmed, a searing pain tearing through my chest. It wasn't an accident. It was deliberate.

I squeezed my eyes shut, a silent scream trapped in my throat. My art, my life, my daughter, my trust-all stolen, trampled, and laughed about. The love I felt for Emmett curdled into a bitter poison. He wasn't my anchor; he was the one who cut my ropes and watched me drown.

My phone felt heavy in my trembling hand. I dialed the only number that mattered now. Jeremiah Battle, my adoptive brother. He was a successful lawyer, sharp and unwavering.

"Jeremiah," my voice was a raw whisper, barely recognizable. "I need your help. I need a divorce. And I need to fight them."

There was a pause on the other end, then his calm, steady voice. "Adelia? What happened?"

I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "Everything. They took everything. And they hurt Alexis."

He listened, quietly, patiently. When I finished, his voice was colder than I'd ever heard it. "I'll help you. On one condition. You and Alexis come live with me. I won't let anything happen to you two again."

The condition felt like a lifeline, a safe harbor. "Yes," I choked out. "Yes, anything."

Jeremiah didn't waste a second. The wheels of justice, or at least, the legal system, began to turn. He was methodical, precise, mapping out every step. I felt a flicker of strength I hadn't known I possessed. The pain was still a raw wound, but a new resolve was hardening around it. I would play their game, but I would win.

Later that week, I returned to the cabin, the fake tranquility now a mocking echo. Emmett was there, buzzing with an energy I hadn't seen in two years, a new, cloying sweetness in his smile. The cloying scent of Elisa's expensive perfume clung to him, a foul stench that made my stomach churn. He probably thought I wouldn't notice. Or maybe, he just didn't care anymore.

I bit back the bile rising in my throat. My face was a mask of careful neutrality. I needed something from him, something crucial for Jeremiah's plan. I had to play along, just for a little while longer.

"Emmett," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I saw something today. On a screen in the city. Elisa... with my artwork."

He flinched, just slightly, a tell that I would have missed two years ago. Now, I saw everything. "Adelia, darling," he began, his voice laced with the patronizing tone I now recognized as a precursor to his lies. "It's just a misunderstanding. She's been helping me manage some of your old pieces. You were... unavailable. You know, with Alexis."

"Unavailable?" My laugh was short, sharp, devoid of humor. "You mean stuck in this mausoleum because my daughter was in a coma, while you and Elisa paraded my work around?"

His smile faltered. "It wasn't like that. We were trying to keep your name out of the scandal. Protect you."

"Protect me?" My voice rose, a dangerous edge creeping in. "By letting Elisa take credit for my art? By letting her profit from my talent?"

"Adelia, please," he said, stepping closer, his hand reaching for mine. I recoiled as if burned. "Don't be dramatic. I can sort this out. We can say it was a collaboration. Ease you back into the public eye."

"No," I hissed, my voice shaking with suppressed fury. "No more lies. No more 'misunderstandings.' I'm going to take legal action. Proper legal action. To reclaim what's mine."

His eyes widened, a flicker of genuine surprise there. "Legal action? Adelia, don't be foolish. It will only stir up more trouble. For all of us. And Elisa... she's fragile right now. She didn't mean any harm."

"Harm?" I spat the word out, the dam of my composure cracking. "Did she mean harm when her son pushed Alexis off that balcony? Did she mean harm when she let him get away with it?"

Emmett froze, his face draining of color. "What are you talking about? Alexis's fall was an accident. We covered it up to protect you from further scandal." He even managed to sound offended. "Don't you remember? The school said it was self-defense."

"Self-defense?" I stared at him, truly seeing him for the first time. The casual cruelty in his eyes, the ease with which he dismissed my daughter's suffering. "You lie so easily, Emmett. I heard you. I heard everything. Elisa's son, Gordon, pushed Alexis. And you covered it up. You let it happen. You let her take my art, my life, while my daughter lay broken."

His face contorted, a mask of feigned shock and indignation settling on his features. "Adelia, you're delusional. You're stressed. You're imagining things." He tried to grab my arm, to play the concerned husband. I yanked it away.

Before I could say anything more, the door burst open. Elisa. She stood there, pale and trembling, her eyes wide with what looked like fear. But I knew better now. It was performance.

"Adelia," she whispered, her voice barely audible, thick with feigned remorse. "I'm so sorry. I heard... I just came to check on Emmett. I wanted to apologize for the Times Square snafu. It was all a mistake, a misunderstanding." Her eyes darted to Emmett, a silent plea. She even managed a tear. "I know how much your art means to you. But I was desperate. My family... the debts... Emmett was just trying to help me, Adelia. Out of our old friendship."

Emmett, ever the gentleman, put a hand on her shoulder, a silent signal of support. "Adelia, see? She's clearly upset. Let's just talk this through, calmly." He cast a pointed look at me, a warning. Then, he turned to Elisa, his voice softening. "Elisa, why don't you wait for me in the living room? Adelia and I just need a moment."

He left us, shutting the door behind him, leaving me alone with the viper. Elisa's facade crumbled instantly. Her eyes, no longer tearful, hardened into cold, calculating slits.

"You really heard, didn't you?" Her voice was low, devoid of any pretense. "Doesn't matter. No one will believe you. You're still the crazy artist who attacked a school official." She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "And your precious Alexis? She deserved what she got. Little plagiarist. Always trying to steal Gordon's thunder. And frankly, she was getting in the way. Always a distraction for Emmett. He should have married me years ago."

The words sliced through me. My Alexis deserved it. My vision blurred red. All the pain, all the silent suffering, all the years of pretending, exploded. I didn't think; I acted. My open palm connected with her cheek with a sickening thwack.

Elisa gasped, clutching her face, a cartoonish look of shock spreading across it. For a split second, she looked genuinely caught off guard. Then, her eyes narrowed. She lunged at me, clawing at my face. I struggled, pushing her away, a primal scream tearing from my throat. She stumbled, fell back, hitting an antique table with a crash before collapsing to the floor with a dramatic wail.

The door burst open again. Emmett. His eyes landed on Elisa, crumpled on the floor, then on me, my hands still raised, my chest heaving.

"Adelia! What have you done?!" His voice was a roar. He rushed to Elisa's side, ignoring me completely. "Elisa, darling, are you alright?"

Elisa whimpered, pointing a trembling finger at me. "She... she attacked me! For no reason! She's completely insane!"

"No!" I tried to explain, my voice hoarse. "She said... she said Alexis deserved it! She said Gordon pushed her! She admitted everything!"

Emmett didn't even look at me. His eyes were fixed on Elisa, a protective fury on his face. "Get out, Adelia! Get out of my sight! You're a danger to everyone!" He pushed me, hard, sending me sprawling against the wall. My head hit the plaster with a dull thud, pain exploding behind my eyes.

"She insulted Alexis!" I tried again, tears streaming down my face. "She said she got what she deserved!"

"I don't care what she said!" Emmett screamed, his face contorted with rage. "You attacked her! This is what your paranoia has done! You're sick, Adelia. Truly sick."

He took Elisa into his arms, comforting her, his back to me. It was like I wasn't even there. I slumped to the floor, my head throbbing, a deep ache spreading through my body. The man I loved, the man who promised to protect me, chose her. He chose the woman who openly gloated about my daughter's suffering.