Chapter 2

The change started six months ago. James introduced me to Kirsten Casey at a charity gala I was hosting. He said she was a talented artist he was sponsoring, a poor girl from a broken home.

Her style was aggressive, meant to shock. I found it distasteful, but I kept my opinion to myself.

Then, she applied for a grant from my family' s art foundation. Her proposal involved using her own sick grandmother as a living sculpture, claiming it was a statement on mortality. The board, which I chaired, unanimously rejected it.

Kirsten cornered me after the meeting. She accused me of being jealous, of holding her back.

"You don't know what it's like to do whatever it takes for your dream!" she had spat. "I would sacrifice anything, anyone!"

At the time, James was furious on my behalf. He called her a monster, a user. He held me and told me he would never let anyone like that near our family again.

A few months later, Kirsten Casey was a "genius" in his eyes.

I questioned him, confused. "James, you said she was a monster."

"It's just an investment, Hannah," he'd said, dismissing my concerns. "Her work has shock value. It'll sell."

He pulled me into his arms, his lips finding mine. He was so convincing, his touch so familiar and loving. He whispered that I was his only one, that he loved me more than life itself.

I believed him. I was a fool.

The name "Kirsten" started popping up more and more. A dinner with her to discuss strategy. A flight to Art Basel to see her new piece. He always had a perfect excuse, always followed by passionate reassurances of his love for me.

I never suspected the depth of his obsession, the chilling reality that he would sacrifice my brother, my career, and our unborn child for her.

Now, standing in our living room, the truth was a physical blow. I was shaking, my body wracked with sobs. I agreed to his terms. I had to. I needed to protect Kelley.

I handed over the evidence my lawyer had gathered and signed the non-disclosure agreement he had prepared.

As I stumbled out of the house, the sky opened up. A cold, miserable rain started to fall, soaking me to the bone in seconds.

My phone rang. It was Irene, her voice frantic and choked with tears.

"Hannah! It's Kelley! He jumped!"

The world tilted. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the wet pavement. A sharp, cramping pain shot through my abdomen.

No. Not now.

Ignoring the pain, I scrambled back into my car and sped towards the hospital, my hands shaking so badly I could barely grip the wheel.

I ran into the emergency room and saw him. Kelley was on a gurney, his face pale, his body broken. Irene was on her knees, begging a doctor to do something.

"Please! You have to save him!"

The doctor just stood there, his face a mask of grim reluctance. "I'm sorry, ma'am. There's nothing we can do."

"What do you mean there's nothing you can do?" I screamed, grabbing his arm. The pain in my stomach was a roaring fire, but I ignored it. "He's still breathing! Do your job!"

People were starting to stare. I could feel their eyes on me, see the blood that was now staining the front of my dress.

"Is this how this hospital treats patients?" a man in the crowd yelled. "We all have phones! This will be all over the news in five minutes!"

The doctor flinched. He lowered his voice. "Look, my hands are tied. I have my orders."

"Orders? Orders from who?"

He wouldn't meet my eyes. "From Mr. Slater. He's the primary benefactor of this hospital. He said... he said not to waste resources."

"Waste resources?" I could barely speak. "His injuries... they aren't even that severe. A competent surgeon could fix this!"

"Mr. Slater's orders are absolute," the doctor said, his voice trembling. "I have a family. I can't lose my job."

My hand fell from his arm. I felt a wave of nausea.

I screamed for help, for another doctor, for anyone, until my voice was raw. I tried to find a phone to call for a transfer, but it was too late.

I looked down at Kelley's still face. The life had drained out of him while we argued.

He was gone.

James had done this. He had murdered my brother with a single phone call.

The pain in my abdomen became unbearable. I clutched my stomach, gasping for air that wouldn't come. My baby. Our baby.

It was my fault. I signed that paper. I trusted him. I killed my brother. I killed my baby.

Irene rushed to my side, her face a blur of tears. "Hannah, it's not your fault. We have to get out of here. We have to leave this city."