Chapter 2

He woke up in a private hospital room, the kind VME kept on retainer. His chest ached with a dull throb, his limbs heavy. The doctor said it was a severe anxiety attack, exacerbated by exhaustion. He felt hollow, the fight drained out of him. The end of his relationship with Tori, if it could even be called that anymore, felt less like a break and more like a slow, agonizing death.

The door opened. Tori swept in, Julian Vance clinging to her arm, his hand possessively on her waist. They were laughing, their heads close together. They didn' t even glance at Ethan, lying pale and still in the hospital bed. The casual intimacy was a fresh wound, a stark reminder of how completely he' d been replaced.

Julian, spotting Ethan, detached himself from Tori and sauntered over.

"Well, well, look who' s awake," Julian sneered, his eyes cold. "Heard you caused quite a scene. Trying to upstage my gallery opening, were we?"

Ethan ignored him, his gaze fixed on Tori. She was examining her nails, a picture of bored indifference.

"Tori," Ethan said, his voice raspy.

She finally looked at him, her expression unreadable.

Julian stepped closer. "You know, Miller, my mother was very upset. She heard about your little stunt. Said you were harassing me, trying to ruin my career."

Ethan' s head snapped towards Julian. "What are you talking about? Harassing you?"

He looked back at Tori, a desperate plea in his eyes. "Tori, you know that' s not true."

Her attention, however, remained solely on Julian. She reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Julian' s ear, a gesture of affection that made Ethan' s stomach clench. She hadn't shown him such tenderness in months, perhaps years. It was as if he wasn't even in the room.

"Tori, don' t you care that I was in the hospital?" Ethan asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Don't you care about what happened to me?"

She finally turned her cool gaze on him. "You fainted, Ethan. People faint. It' s hardly a national emergency. Julian, however, was genuinely distressed by your theatrics." Her dismissal was a cold slap.

"He needs to apologize," Julian declared, puffing out his chest. "To me. And to my mother, for the distress he' s caused."

"Apologize?" Ethan' s voice rose, incredulous. "I will not apologize for something I didn' t do! For your lies!"

Tori' s eyes narrowed. "Ethan, don' t be difficult." She snapped her fingers. Two large men in dark suits, VME security, materialized from the hallway. "Make him apologize, Charles."

Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through Ethan' s despair. He knew that tone. He knew what she was capable of.

The men advanced. Ethan looked at Tori, one last, desperate appeal. Her face was a mask of indifference.

He tried to resist, but they were too strong. They dragged him from the bed, his hospital gown falling open, exposing his vulnerability. They forced him to his knees before Julian. One of them grabbed his hair, yanking his head back.

"Apologize," the man grunted.

Ethan bit his lip until he tasted blood, humiliation burning through him. He was on his knees, forced to beg forgiveness from the man who was destroying his life, while the woman he had once loved watched without a flicker of emotion.

"I... I apologize," he mumbled, the words choking him. Defeated.

Julian smirked, triumphant. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he turned to Tori.

"Darling, I don' t think this can work," he said, his voice laced with false regret. "My family... they' re old-fashioned. They wouldn' t approve of... this arrangement." He gestured vaguely between Tori and Ethan. "They' re pressuring me to end things with you." He paused, then added, with a sly glance at Ethan, "For now, at least."

Ethan felt a flicker of something – hope? Relief? – but it was quickly extinguished.

Tori, unfazed, merely arched an eyebrow. "Is that all?" She pulled out her phone. "Don' t worry about your family, Julian. I' ll call my lawyers. We' ll arrange a generous settlement for your... inconvenience." She then looked at Ethan, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "And as for you, Ethan, I suppose a divorce is in order. A clean break."

Ethan stared at her, stunned. Divorce. She said it so easily, as if their years together, the life they had built, however fractured, meant nothing. She had once moved heaven and earth, or so it felt to him, to bind him to her, to secure his dependence. Now, she was casting him aside for this... charlatan, with the same casual indifference she' d shown when replacing a worn-out handbag.

His heart, already bruised, shattered.

Julian, emboldened, stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Tori' s waist, pulling her close. He looked over her shoulder at Ethan, still kneeling on the cold hospital floor, and gave a subtle, triumphant lift of his eyebrow.

Tori cooed at Julian, then, without a backward glance at Ethan, they swept out of the room, their laughter echoing in the sterile hallway.

Ethan remained on the floor, the chill seeping into his bones. He slowly curled into himself, the humiliation, the betrayal, the utter desolation finally overwhelming him. Tears, hot and silent, streamed down his face.

A few hours later, a lawyer, VME' s finest, entered the room. He was brisk, efficient, his briefcase full of documents. Divorce papers. A settlement agreement – surprisingly generous, Ethan noted numbly, probably to ensure his silence.

"Ms. Vanderbilt asked me to convey a message," the lawyer said, his tone devoid of emotion. "She says this is just part of the game. She expects you to wait for her. She says she will come back for you, once she' s tired of... this diversion."

Ethan looked at the papers, at the clause stipulating a swift, no-contest divorce. He thought of Tori' s casual cruelty, her easy dismissal of their past, her blatant infatuation with Julian. A game. His life, Maya' s life, had been reduced to a game for her amusement.

A cold resolve settled in him. He picked up the pen. He would not be her toy, waiting on a shelf to be picked up again at her whim. He would not endure another cycle of her possessive affection and callous discard.

He signed the papers without a word, the stroke of the pen a definitive end. He was free. Or so he hoped. The price of that freedom, he suspected, was yet to be fully paid.