Chapter 4

The shift was immediate and sickening. Once the doctor's words had landed, the Dubois family's fury transformed into desperate, cloying pleas.

"Leo, son, we are so sorry," her father said, his voice now oozing a false sincerity. "We were just so worried. You understand."

Her mother, wiping away her crocodile tears, chimed in. "Chloe loves you, Leo. She was just confused. This Kyle person... he took advantage of her. You have to forgive her. We're family."

They weren't worried about Chloe's marriage. They were worried about the federal charges, the public scandal, the stain on their precious family name. The poaching charge, combined with this sordid hospital visit, was a PR nightmare for the wealthy Dubois clan of Boca Raton.

"We can't let this tear us apart," her father continued, putting a heavy hand on my shoulder. "You'll help her with this legal trouble, won't you? For the family."

I looked at their desperate, pleading faces. I felt nothing. No anger, no pity. Just a vast, cold emptiness. But I saw an opportunity.

"I... I need to think," I said, letting a calculated hint of pain enter my voice. "This is a lot to process."

They seized on it. "Of course, of course! Take all the time you need. We know you'll do the right thing, Leo. You're a good man."

I was a good man. That's what they always said when they wanted something from me.

I spent the next day talking to a divorce lawyer. He was sharp, expensive, and he told me the prenup was ironclad, especially with the infidelity clause. But he needed more. The arrest was good. The hospital story was better. But one final, undeniable piece of evidence would make it airtight.

That evening, I went back to the hospital. I told the nurse I was bringing Chloe some things from home. Her parents had gone back to Boca to "regroup."

I walked quietly down the hallway to her private room. The door was slightly ajar. I heard her giggling. It wasn't the sound of someone in pain or remorse. It was the sound she made when she was curating her online persona.

I peered through the crack in the door.

Kyle was there. He had his arm around Chloe, who was propped up on the pillows, wearing a silk pajama top. She had a pout on her face, one hand resting dramatically on her forehead. They were taking selfies with his phone.

"This one will be perfect for the 'Gram," Kyle said, admiring his shot. "Caption: 'Sticking by my girl through thick and thin. #Recovery #TrueLove #Unbreakable'."

Chloe giggled again. "They'll love it. I look so fragile and brave."

My blood ran cold. They weren't just unrepentant, they were monetizing their disgrace, turning it into content for his pathetic influencer career.

I didn't knock. I didn't say a word. I raised my phone, hit record, and captured a full minute of their disgusting performance. The giggling, the posing, the empty, self-serving words.

Then I stepped back into the hallway, out of sight. I opened the video, selected her parents' contact numbers, and attached the file. I typed a short, simple message.

"Talk to my lawyer."

I hit send. Then I turned and walked out of the hospital without looking back.