Chapter 4

He peered through the sliding glass door to the darkened patio. The music from the party muffled the sound, but he didn' t need to hear. He could see. Chloe was there, and she wasn' t alone. Ethan had his arms wrapped around her from behind, his hands sliding under her dress. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, her eyes closed in pleasure as he kissed her neck, his movements hungry and proprietary.

They were in his home. The home he and Chloe had supposedly built together. They were doing this while a party full of their "friends" celebrated her return to him. The sheer audacity of it was breathtaking.

A wave of violent nausea hit Liam. He stumbled back from the door, clapping a hand over his mouth. He barely made it to the downstairs bathroom before he retched, vomiting the pills and water into the toilet. He leaned against the cool tile of the wall, his body shaking uncontrollably. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, a pale, gaunt stranger with haunted eyes. He clenched his fist and slammed it into the wall, the sharp pain a welcome distraction from the agony in his soul. He hit it again and again, until his knuckles were raw and bleeding.

When he finally emerged, the storm inside him had settled into a dead, cold calm. He walked back into the party just as Chloe and Ethan re-entered from the patio, their expressions perfectly composed, not a hair out of place.

Ethan walked right up to Liam, a smug, pitying smile on his face. "Liam, so glad to see you' re feeling better," he said, his tone dripping with false sincerity. He held out a small, gift-wrapped box. "Chloe told me how much you love vintage watches. I found this for you in Monaco."

Liam took the box. He didn't want to, but it was easier than making a scene. Inside was a beautiful timepiece.

"Thank you, Ethan," Liam said, his voice devoid of emotion.

Suddenly, Ethan started coughing. He gasped, his face turning red, and began clawing at his throat. "I can' t... breathe," he choked out, pointing to the plate of shrimp appetizers on the table. "Shellfish... I' m allergic."

Chaos erupted. People panicked. Chloe rushed to Ethan' s side, her face white with fear. She screamed for someone to call 911. But then she looked at Liam, who was standing perfectly still, watching the scene unfold. Her expression shifted. In a bizarre, calculated move, she pushed Ethan' s frantic hands away and turned to Liam.

"Liam, are you okay, honey?" she asked, her voice loud and clear for everyone to hear. She grabbed his arm, ignoring the man who was supposedly having a life-threatening allergic reaction. "Don' t worry about him, I' m here for you."

It was another performance. A twisted display of loyalty to him, for the benefit of the crowd, even as her lover was choking in front of her. Liam felt a fresh wave of disgust.

Just then, Chloe' s phone rang. She glanced at the screen, and her face tightened. "I have to take this," she announced to the room. "It' s an emergency with work." She shot a quick, indecipherable look at Ethan, who had miraculously started breathing again, and rushed out of the house.

The party died down quickly after that. Ethan, looking shaken, was escorted home by one of Chloe' s friends. Liam was left alone in the wreckage of his living room, the party debris a perfect metaphor for his life.

A sharp, cramping pain suddenly seized his stomach. It was intense, far worse than anything he' d felt before. He doubled over, gasping. It felt like his insides were on fire. He stumbled towards the kitchen to get some water, his legs weak. He felt dizzy, his vision tunneling.

He had been poisoned.

The thought was sharp and clear, cutting through the fog of pain. The watch from Ethan. The sudden, convenient allergic reaction. Chloe' s quick departure. It was a setup. They wanted him gone.

He looked at the half-eaten plate of appetizers he' d picked at before the party. He carefully scraped a sample into a plastic bag. Evidence.

He tried to call Chloe. The call went straight to voicemail. He tried to call his driver, but there was no answer. The pain was getting worse, a searing agony that made it hard to breathe. He crawled to his phone, his fingers fumbling with the screen, and dialed 911.

"I think... I' ve been poisoned," he managed to whisper before the world went black.