Chapter 4

The days that followed blurred into a monotonous cycle of darkness, pain, and Liam' s suffocating, false affection. He moved me from the hospital to his penthouse apartment, a place that had once been our shared dream of a future home. Now, it was a luxurious cage.

I spent most of my time in bed, the silence of the large apartment broken only by Liam' s comings and goings, or the hushed footsteps of a private nurse he' d hired – one who treated me like fragile glass, no doubt on his explicit orders.

In the long, quiet hours, my mind drifted back. I remembered the first time I met Liam. I was at a gallery opening, trying to be just "Chloe," a freelance art consultant, not Chloe Davis, heiress to one of the biggest tech fortunes in the country. He was charming, ambitious, an up-and-coming project manager at a smaller firm. He seemed to see me, not a bank account.

I remembered introducing him to Ashley. She was a waitress at a cafe I frequented, always sketching in a tattered notebook. I saw a spark of talent in her raw, emotional drawings and offered to mentor her, to connect her with my contacts, to pay for her art supplies. I treated her like a little sister.

I remembered the first time I saw Liam and Ashley talking. They were at a party I hosted. I' d felt a small, pleasant warmth seeing my fiancé and my protégée getting along so well. I was so stupid. So blind, long before they took my eyes. The conspiracy had been growing right in front of me, nurtured by my own generosity.

One afternoon, Liam came into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. I could feel the dip in the mattress, smell his expensive cologne.

"Chloe," he said, his voice bright and cheerful. "I have the most wonderful news."

I remained silent, my face turned towards the direction of his voice.

"I spoke with the wedding planner," he continued, undeterred. "We can still do it. Next week. A simple, beautiful ceremony, right here in the penthouse. It will be perfect."

I couldn't hide my revulsion. "Liam, no."

"What do you mean, no?" His cheerful tone faltered. "Chloe, we need this. To move forward. To show everyone that our love is unbreakable. After everything we've been through..."

"I'm in no condition to get married," I said, my voice flat. "I can't see. I'm still recovering."

"That's exactly why we should do it!" he insisted, his voice taking on a desperate edge. "I'll be right by your side. I'll be your eyes. It will be the most romantic story. The devoted groom and his brave bride. Think of it, Chloe."

It was a performance. A story he wanted to sell to the world, to his business contacts, to my family-who still thought I was a simple consultant. He needed to lock me down, to legally bind himself to the Davis name he didn't even know was mine. The irony was staggering.

"I said no, Liam," I repeated, my voice colder this time.

He sighed, a long, frustrated sound. He was trying a different tactic.

"Chloe, I even arranged for a very special guest to officiate the ceremony. A surprise for you."

I waited.

"Ethan Davis," he said, his voice filled with pride. "The Ethan Davis. From Davis Industries. Can you believe it? I pulled a lot of strings to get him. Having a man of his stature at our wedding... it will do wonders for my company, for our future."

My heart stopped.

Ethan Davis. My eldest brother.

Liam, in his arrogant quest for social climbing, had no idea he had just invited my fiercely protective, incredibly powerful brother to witness my ruin. He thought he was scoring a business connection. Instead, he was summoning my executioner.

A thousand possibilities exploded in my mind. Could I get a message to Ethan? Could I use this? The wedding was no longer just a trap; it was now a potential lifeline.

Before I could process this monumental blunder on his part, the doorbell chimed. A few moments later, I heard light, familiar footsteps.

"Chloe, darling! I came as soon as I heard!"

Ashley' s voice, dripping with fake sympathy.

She came closer, and the scent of her perfume, a fragrance I had bought for her, filled the air. She took my hand. Her skin was warm. It was the hand of a liar.

"Oh, you poor thing," she cooed. "Liam told me you were refusing the wedding. Please don't. You two deserve this happiness. We're all here for you. We just want to see you happy."

Her words were a perfect echo of a concerned friend, but underneath, I could feel the gloating, the victory. She was standing here, looking at me with my own eyes, and telling me to be happy.

The sheer audacity of it all was enough to make me want to scream. But I didn't. I let my face remain a blank mask of weary sadness.

I had to play my part. The wedding was on. And it would be the end of them, not me.