Chapter 3

I woke up in a different hospital, a private clinic Irene had arranged. My hand went to my stomach. It was flat. Empty. The crushing weight of loss settled over me, a physical thing.

Irene was asleep in a chair by my bed. When she saw my eyes were open, she jumped up, her face streaked with tears of relief.

"Hannah, you're awake."

"Kelley," I whispered, and the dam broke. Fresh tears streamed down my face. "Where is he?"

"They're holding his body at the city morgue," Irene said softly, her hand stroking my hair. "James hasn't released it."

The thought of my brother, alone and cold in a morgue drawer, was another knife to my heart. He deserved a proper burial, a peaceful rest.

"Thank you, Irene," I sobbed. "For everything."

"We're going to get you out of here," she said, her voice firm. "My son, Elliot, he's a therapist in California. He's already found you a place to stay. A quiet town on the coast. You can heal there."

I nodded, a flicker of warmth spreading through my chest. The thought of escape was the only thing keeping me from drowning.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from James.

I heard what you did to Kirsten's gallery. You'll pay for that.

Rage, pure and hot, burned through the grief. He was blaming me? After everything he'd done?

I started to type a furious reply, my fingers clumsy and weak. Then I deleted it. What was the point?

Another message came through. It was a video. My stomach clenched. I knew what it would be.

It was Kirsten, in my studio, my sacred space. She was wearing my aprons, using my custom-made knives, laughing as she butchered a piece of prime beef. The video was shot to be deliberately humiliating, a middle finger to my entire career.

I gripped the phone, my knuckles white. I wanted to smash it, to scream, but all that came out was a choked sob. I didn't know what to do.

Irene saw the screen over my shoulder. Her face hardened.

"That monster," she snarled. "That absolute monster."

She took the phone from my hand. The contact name, "My Whole World," seemed like a sick joke.

"Don't you worry about him," I said, trying to sound stronger than I felt. I needed her to be calm. "Just focus on getting me out of here."

She left to make arrangements. Alone in the quiet room, I let the tears fall again. I just had to hold on a little longer. Soon, I would be free.

The door to my room opened. It was him.

James stood there, a smug, triumphant look on his face. His eyes held the same playful cruelty I'd seen in the man who had assaulted my brother in that video.

I finally saw it. The man in the video, the one directing the "performance," it had been James all along.

A guttural scream tore from my throat. I launched myself at him, my nails aiming for his eyes.

He caught me easily, his strength overwhelming. He threw me to the floor like a rag doll. I landed hard, the impact jarring my already aching body.

Kirsten appeared in the doorway behind him, a smirk on her face. She leaned against the frame, enjoying the show.

"Well, well, if it isn't my dear sister-in-law," she purred. "Or should I say, ex-sister-in-law?"

James chuckled, looking down at me. "Still got some fight in you, huh? I like that."

"Get out!" I spat, my voice filled with venom.

He just shrugged, unconcerned. He gestured to Kirsten.

"This woman," he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity, "is my savior. She opened my eyes to a world of real art, real passion. And you," he sneered, "tried to ruin her. I have a conscience. I have to stand up for what's right."

He paused, letting the absurdity of his words hang in the air. "And her lawyer? Well, that's me, of course."

Every word was a calculated blow, designed to break me. He was enjoying this.

He knelt, his face close to mine. "You've been a bad girl, Hannah. You hurt Kirsten. You need to be punished."

The rage boiled over. I lunged again, biting down hard on his leg.

The door flew open again. It was Irene's son, Elliot. He stopped short, taking in the scene-me on the floor, clinging to James's leg like a wild animal, Kirsten looking on with amusement.

But James's eyes weren't on me. They were on Kirsten, a look of pure adoration on his face.

A bitter, broken laugh escaped my lips. It was all a game to him. I was just a toy he'd grown tired of.

I let go of his leg. "I didn't do anything to her," I said, my voice flat. "She's the one who killed my brother."

James's face darkened. He ignored me, turning to Kirsten with a look of concern. "Are you alright, my love? Did she hurt you?"

He helped her up, his touch gentle. Then he turned back to me, his expression cold as ice.

"Apologize to her. Now."

"No," I said, my voice shaking with fury.

Kirsten pulled away from James's embrace, her face a mask of righteous indignation. "James, darling, you have to do something. She attacked me. I need justice."

He stroked her hair, his voice a soothing murmur. "Of course, my love. I'll give you justice."