Chapter 4

The next phase of my plan required me to become a ghost in my own house.

I told Liam my "illness" had taken a turn for the worse. I claimed the grief from my miscarriage had manifested as a physical ailment, causing chronic fatigue and pain. I locked myself in my wing of the mansion, refusing visitors.

"The doctor said I need complete isolation to recover," I told him through the closed door, my voice weak and breathy.

He stood on the other side, pleading. "Chloe, please. Let me in. Let me take care of you."

"No," I said. "Just seeing you... it reminds me of everything we lost. I need space, Liam. Please."

It was the perfect emotional blackmail. He couldn't force his way in without looking like a monster. He had no choice but to retreat, leaving trays of food outside my door that the maids would later clear away, untouched.

He tried to bribe his way back into my good graces. Every day, a new delivery would arrive. A bouquet of rare orchids, a first-edition copy of my favorite book, a silk robe from Paris. I instructed Maria to leave them in the hall, a growing, opulent pile of his guilt. I never acknowledged them.

My isolation gave me time. Time to plan with Jessica, to pore over the evidence she gathered, to orchestrate every detail of my revenge.

Meanwhile, rumors began to trickle through the staff and then out into our social circle.

"Have you heard about Chloe? She' s become a recluse."

"They say she hasn' t spoken to Liam in weeks. She won' t even let him in her room."

"The marriage is falling apart. The grief was too much for her."

This was exactly what I wanted. The whispers created a smokescreen. While everyone pitied the poor, broken widow, I was sharpening my claws.

With me out of the picture, Maya became more brazen. She started acting like the lady of the house, hosting her friends for tea in the main drawing-room, redecorating the guest suites, and running up enormous bills on the household accounts.

It was time for the first strike.

As the legal wife and mistress of the estate, I still controlled the finances. I called the family accountant.

"Mr. Henderson," I said, my voice crisp and clear, a stark contrast to the weak persona I presented to Liam. "I' m reviewing the household expenditures. From now on, all charges made by Miss Maya must be personally approved by me. Her clothing allowance is to be suspended immediately, and her access to the house credit lines is revoked. Is that understood?"

There was a surprised silence on the other end. "Yes, Mrs. Hamilton. Of course."

The effect was immediate. The next day, Maya' s card was declined at a designer boutique. Her catered luncheon was canceled. The stream of shopping bags and luxury items flowing into the house stopped. It was a small move, a quiet assertion of power, but it sent a clear message. I was still in charge.

After a week of this financial siege, I decided it was time to re-emerge. I needed to set the stage for the final act. I sent a note to Liam via Maria.

"I' m feeling a little stronger today. I think some fresh air would do me good."

He was at my door in minutes, his face a mixture of relief and hope. I allowed him to see me for the first time in a month. I had used makeup to make myself look pale and fragile, a delicate doll on the verge of shattering.

"Chloe," he breathed, reaching for me. I allowed him to take my hand. It was cold and limp in his.

"You look so thin," he said, his brow furrowed with fake concern.

"I haven' t had much of an appetite," I whispered.

I let him walk me into the garden. As we passed the pile of unopened gifts in the hall, I didn' t even glance at them. His face fell.

My re-emergence was a calculated move. I needed to lull him back into a sense of security, to make him believe I was recovering and perhaps becoming receptive to him again.

The next day, I made my most important move yet. I requested a visit with his mother, Evelyn Hamilton, the family matriarch. She was the queen of this dynasty, a woman who valued reputation and legacy above all else. I needed to know where she stood.

She received me in her private sunroom, a place of immense power within the family hierarchy. She was polite but distant.

"Chloe, my dear. I was so worried to hear of your illness."

"Thank you, Evelyn. I' m feeling a bit better," I said, playing the part of the dutiful, fragile daughter-in-law. "In fact, that' s why I' m here. I feel I haven' t been fulfilling my duties as Liam' s wife. I want to make it up to him, to the family."

Her eyes sharpened with interest. "Oh?"

"I want to host a party," I announced. "A celebration for Leo' s official adoption. To formally welcome him into the Hamilton family. We' ll invite everyone. All of our friends, business partners, the press. It' s time we put the rumors of our troubles to rest and present a united front."

I watched her face carefully. I was offering her everything she wanted: the legitimization of the heir and the restoration of the family' s perfect public image. A flicker of triumph crossed her features before she masked it with a benevolent smile.

She was complicit. She knew.

"Chloe, what a wonderful, selfless idea," Evelyn said, her voice dripping with false warmth. "I think that is exactly what this family needs. I will help you with all the preparations."

The trap was set. The invitations would go out. The whole city would be there to watch the Hamiltons celebrate their new heir.

They thought it would be their greatest triumph.

I knew it would be their public execution.