Chapter 3

I was a fool. For years, I had walked on eggshells around Haylee, placating her moods, enduring her passive aggression, all for Brighton. I had mistaken his obsessive protection of his stepsister for family loyalty. I had believed his love for me was real.

Now, blind and bleeding in a ruin of his making, I finally saw the truth. My love had been a currency he used to buy his own peace of mind, and my daughter had been the price.

A sharp pain shot up my leg. I had stepped on a shard of broken glass. I bit back a cry, feeling the warm, sticky blood ooze from the cut. I couldn't afford to show weakness. Not now.

I kept moving, one painful step at a time, heading for the collapsed wall that led to the roof.

For a fleeting moment, I heard Brighton' s breath catch. "Joslyn, your foot..."

Was that a flicker of concern? A ghost of the man I married?

Before the thought could even form, Haylee' s voice cut through the air, sharp and panicked. "My arm, Brighton! Look, she scratched me earlier when she was screaming! It' s bleeding!"

I heard him rush to her side, his brief concern for me vanishing like smoke. "Let me see, Haylee. It's okay, I'm here."

"She' s a wild animal," Haylee sobbed. "And that earring... Brighton, I' m scared. What if she has powerful friends? What if Lily wasn't yours and she' s been planning to leave you all along?"

The insinuation was a lit match dropped into a puddle of gasoline.

"She called for a helicopter," Haylee pressed, her voice a venomous whisper in his ear. "Who does that? A normal person doesn't do that. She's been lying to you. To us."

Brighton' s rage returned, a thousand times hotter than before. He was a puppet, and Haylee was pulling all the strings.

"You're right," he snarled, his voice guttural. "She's been playing us for fools."

He stomped back towards me, his footsteps echoing with finality.

"You want to play rough?" he shouted, his voice cracking. "Fine. Let's play rough."

He turned to his friends. "Get the tear gas. The strong stuff. I want to see her cry."

A wave of dread washed over me. I heard the eager footsteps of his friends, the clank of a metal canister. They were going to do it. They were going to follow his command without a second thought.

The air grew thick with anticipation.

My own breath hitched in my chest. I was trapped, blinded, and utterly alone, facing a man who had decided my suffering was his entertainment.

The love story was over. The horror story was reaching its climax.