Chapter 4

Alex sat by her hospital bed, a ghost haunted by his own choices. He couldn't bring himself to look at the IV in her arm or the pale, drawn quality of her skin. He just stared at her face, a canvas of suffering he had helped paint.

"Does it hurt?" he finally asked, the question absurd in its inadequacy.

Erica turned her head on the pillow, a slow, deliberate movement. Tears welled in her eyes and tracked silently into her hairline. She didn't make a sound.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words feeling like ash in his mouth. "Erica, I had to. There was no other way."

He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away, a small, weak motion of absolute rejection.

He swallowed hard, the guilt a physical weight in his chest. "Diamond has another request."

Erica' s eyes widened in disbelief, a fresh wave of horror washing over her exhausted features.

"She needs this, Erica. It's the last thing. I swear. After this, she'll leave us alone." He was begging, his voice cracking. "She needs to know that you're... happy. That you've moved on."

"Happy?" The word was a strangled gasp.

"She needs proof that you're not broken by this. That you're still... desirable. It's for her peace of mind." He was reciting lines, a script written by a madwoman.

The next day, a man came to her room. He was not a doctor. He was a photographer, with a slick smile and cold, appraising eyes. Alex was with him.

"This is just for some pictures, Erica," Alex said, his voice strained. "Just smile for the camera. We'll make it look like you're with someone else. Someone who makes you happy."

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "Please, Alex, no more."

"It's for Diamond," he repeated, the phrase his shield and his curse. "It will calm her to see that I could never be tempted by you again."

He was handing her over. He was taking what was left of her dignity and offering it up on a platter to his tormentor.

"I'm your wife," she cried, the words tearing from her throat. "Don't you remember? You loved me once."

"I do love you," he said, and the agony in his own voice was terrifyingly real. "That's why I have to do this. I have to protect you from her. This is the only way."

It was a sick, twisted logic that made no sense. He was destroying her to save her.

She looked at him, at the man she had loved so completely, and felt nothing but a profound, bottomless disgust.

"Get out," she hissed.

His face crumpled. For a moment, she saw the man he used to be, lost and drowning in a sea of manipulated guilt. He looked at Diamond's photographer, then back at Erica, his whole body trembling with an internal war. But his loyalty, toxic and unshakeable, won out. He turned and walked out of the room, leaving her with the man and his camera.

Erica knelt on the floor, the cold tile a shock against her skin. She grabbed the hem of Alex's pants. "Please," she begged, her voice broken. "Don't do this. I'll leave. I'll disappear. Just let me go."

Alex knelt with her, his own tears falling onto her hands. "I can't," he sobbed, his voice a raw whisper. "It's the last time, I promise. Just this one last thing, and we'll be free."

It was the same lie, repeated until it had lost all meaning. He stood up, pulled his leg from her grasp, and left.

The photographer smiled. "Alright, sweetheart. Let's get this over with."

He forced her to sit up. He put a man's jacket around her shoulders, a stranger's scent filling her nostrils and making her want to vomit. He tried to pose her, his hands cold and clinical on her skin.

She flinched at his touch, a wave of revulsion so strong it made her gag.

"Smile," he ordered, his voice sharp.

She couldn't. Her face was a frozen mask of grief and despair.

He grabbed her jaw, his fingers digging into her flesh, and physically forced her lips into a grotesque approximation of a smile. The camera shutter clicked, a sound that sealed her humiliation.

A week later, the video came out. It wasn't just photos. It was a deepfake, expertly crafted. It showed Erica, smiling, laughing, in a series of intimate poses with a handsome, unknown man. It was spliced with clips of her looking disheveled and wild, taken without her knowledge. The narrative was clear: Erica Wade, the unhinged, promiscuous wife of a devoted husband, caught in a sordid affair.

The internet exploded. The comments were a torrent of filth and judgment.

'Slut.'

'Gold digger.'

'Look at her, she's crazy.'

Diamond showed her the video on a tablet, her eyes dancing with malicious glee. "See? Now everyone knows the real you. The one I've seen all along."

Erica trembled, her body wracked with silent, helpless sobs.

"What more do you want from me?" she whispered, her voice hoarse. "You've taken everything."

Diamond's smile faded. She swiped the screen, and a new image appeared. It was a live feed from a hospital room. Jayda's hospital room. Her sister looked smaller, frailer, lost in the tangle of tubes and wires.

"Not everything," Diamond said softly. "I still have her. And as long as I have her, I have you. You will do as you're told. You will stay by Alex's side, a perfect, broken little doll. You will not try to leave. You will not make a scene. Or I will have the doctors pull that plug so fast your head will spin."

Erica stared at her sister's fragile form on the screen, her heart constricting with a terror so absolute it stole her breath. She had nothing left to fight with. Diamond had won. She was a prisoner, and her sister's life was the lock on her cage.