Chapter 3

The next morning, Tori is a vision of the grieving wife. Not grieving my death, but my "abandonment."

She gives a tearful interview to a society blogger, her voice trembling as she describes how her "troubled" husband, unable to cope with the pressures of her world, simply ran away.

"I just pray he's safe," she says, dabbing a perfectly dry eye with a silk handkerchief. "All I want is for him to come home."

The private investigators she hired are professionals. They know a crime scene when they see one. But they also know who pays their bills. They take her money and pretend to search, filing reports about "potential sightings" in other states.

I am bound to her, a phantom chained to my killer. I watch her play her part, a masterful performance of deception. I am forced to relive my murder through her complete and utter denial of it.

My only hope is a thousand miles away, in Montana. My grandfather.

He tried calling me. Ten times yesterday, twenty times today. I can feel his worry like a physical ache. He knows something is wrong. I am his only family. We speak every day.

He leaves one last voicemail. His voice is gravelly, calm, but with an edge of steel.

"Liam, it's Gramps. If I don't hear from you by sundown, I'm coming to get you."

The sun sets. In my mind's eye, I see him. He's packing a bag into his old Ford truck. A bedroll, a canteen, and the Winchester rifle that's been in our family for a hundred years. He starts the long drive east.

As he drives, I remember how I ended up here.

I met Tori at the Cheyenne Frontier Days rodeo. I was the star, the champion bull rider. She was on a trip with friends, a rich girl looking for a taste of the "real" America. She said she was drawn to my authenticity, my connection to the earth.

I see us now, in a flashback so clear it feels real. We're sitting on the tailgate of my truck, drinking cheap beer under a sky full of stars.

"You're so different, Liam," she whispered, her eyes wide with what I thought was admiration. "You're not like the weak, entitled men I know. You're strong. Real."

I was a fool. She wasn't attracted to my authenticity. She was attracted to the idea of owning it. I was a wild mustang she wanted to break, to put her brand on.

And she did. She bought me a new truck, designer clothes, a Cartier bracelet that felt like a manacle on my wrist. She convinced me to give up the rodeo circuit. "It's too dangerous, darling. I couldn't bear to lose you."

It wasn't about my safety. It was about control. She isolated me from my world, from my grandfather, from everything that made me who I was.

Julian was the final piece of her control. He moved in a year ago. His presence was a constant wedge between us. Every argument, every disagreement, ended with her accusing me of being jealous of a sick man.

I had tried to leave. Six months ago, I packed a bag. I told her I was going back to Montana.

"I can't do this anymore, Tori. This isn't a marriage. I'm just one of your possessions."

She didn't cry or plead. She just smiled that cold, empty smile.

"If you walk out that door," she said calmly, "I will ruin you. I will tell the world you beat me. I will use every dollar I have to destroy your name and your family. Your grandfather's ranch has been struggling, hasn't it? A few calls, and he'll have no choice but to sell. You'll have nothing. You'll be nothing."

I stayed. For my grandfather. For the life I thought I could still salvage.

Now, as my grandfather's truck eats up the miles between Montana and New England, I know it's too late. He's not coming to save me.

He's coming to avenge me.