Chapter 4

A few days later, I drove to a small, upscale café in the arts district, a place I used to frequent before the accident. I needed to feel a semblance of my old life, even if it was just for an hour.

It was a mistake.

As I sat at a small table by the window, nursing a cup of tea, I overheard two women at the next table. They were patrons of the arts, the kind of wealthy socialites who treated classical music like a competitive sport.

"Did you see that Olivia Reynolds is doing a guest spot at the Golden Rose?" one said, her voice dripping with pity. "So brave of her. But honestly, it's a bit sad, isn't it?"

"Completely," the other agreed. "Trying to cling to the spotlight. It feels... desperate. Especially with Sarah Jenkins at the absolute peak of her powers. David Miller must be so proud of Sarah. I hear he' s completely devoted to her career."

"Well, of course he is. She's the future. Olivia is the past. A beautiful, tragic past, but the past nonetheless."

Their words were like tiny, sharp stones hitting my skin. They didn't hurt, not anymore. They just confirmed the narrative David had so carefully constructed.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over my table.

"Olivia! I can't believe it's you."

I looked up into the smiling face of Sarah Jenkins. She was radiant, glowing with success and confidence. David was not with her.

"Sarah," I said, my voice neutral.

"Can I join you for a moment?" she asked, already sliding into the chair opposite me without waiting for an answer. "I was so thrilled when I heard you were going to perform. It's so inspiring, what you're doing. Learning to play all over again."

Her words were sweet, but her eyes held a glint of something else. A condescending triumph.

"It' s not a hobby, Sarah. It' s my life," I said coolly.

"Of course, of course," she said quickly. "I just mean... it's wonderful that you have something to keep you busy. David worries so much about you."

She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He told me he wants you to be happy. That's all he wants. He even asked me to... look out for you."

The sheer hypocrisy was suffocating.

"I can look out for myself," I said.

Around my neck, I wore a simple silver locket. It had belonged to my mother. It was the one piece of jewelry I never took off. It contained a tiny, faded picture of her.

Sarah's eyes fixed on it. "That's a lovely necklace. Is it new?"

"It was my mother's," I said, my hand instinctively going to it.

"Oh," she said, her smile tightening. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing against it. "It's... a bit old-fashioned, isn't it?"

Before I could react, she "accidentally" knocked her full cup of coffee. It spilled across the table, drenching the front of my white blouse and, more importantly, the locket.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry!" she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in a perfect imitation of shock. "How clumsy of me! Let me help you clean that up."

She grabbed a napkin and began dabbing furiously at my chest. But her movements weren't gentle. They were rough, insistent. Under the guise of helping, she snagged the delicate chain of the locket with her fingernail.

With a sharp tug, the chain snapped.

The locket clattered onto the floor.

She bent down to retrieve it, and as she stood up, she "fumbled" it. The locket fell again, this time landing with a sickening crunch under the heel of her expensive shoe as she "stumbled."

She stepped back. The silver locket was crushed, bent out of shape, the clasp broken.

"Oh, no," she whispered, her eyes wide with fake horror. "Olivia, I am so, so sorry. I don't know what to say. I'm just so clumsy today."

I stared down at the ruined piece of my mother, the last tangible thing I had of her. And then I looked at Sarah's face. There was no remorse in her eyes. Only a cold, victorious gleam. She had done it on purpose. A petty, cruel act of dominance.

At that exact moment, the door to the café opened and David walked in. He must have been waiting outside. His eyes took in the scene-me, drenched in coffee, Sarah looking distraught, the broken locket on the floor.

He rushed over, his face a mask of concern.

"What happened? Are you alright?"

"It was an accident," Sarah said immediately, her voice trembling. "I spilled my coffee, and I broke her necklace. I feel just awful."

David didn't even look at me. He put his arm around Sarah, pulling her close.

"It's okay, darling," he soothed. "It was an accident. Don't upset yourself."

He then turned to me, his expression shifting to one of mild annoyance.

"Ollie, it's just a necklace. There's no need to make a scene. We can buy you another one."

It's just a necklace.

Just like the music box was just a thing.

My entire world had been reduced to a series of replaceable objects.

He looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time since he walked in. He saw the cold fury in my eyes. He saw that I wasn't buying the act.

"Sarah is very sensitive," he said, his voice dropping into a low, warning tone. "She's under a lot of stress. Don't make this harder for her."

He was protecting her. Blaming me. Over the desecration of my mother's memory.

That was it. The last, fragile thread of any past affection I might have still harbored for the man I thought I'd married finally snapped.

I stood up, my chair scraping harshly against the floor. I looked from his face to hers, a tableau of deceit and twisted loyalty.

I didn't say a word.

I bent down, picked up the crushed locket, and walked out of the café, leaving them standing there together.

As I got into my car, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Jake Riley. It contained a single attachment.

A scanned copy of a bank transfer.

A seven-figure sum, moved from one of David's offshore shell corporations to an account belonging to a man with a long criminal record for "automotive resolutions."

The transfer was dated June 12th.

Two days before my accident.

The final piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

I held the broken locket in one hand and the phone in the other. The evidence. The motive. The proof.

The time for quiet preparation was over.

It was time to go public.

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