Chapter 5

"You, of course," James said, his voice a low growl. "Only you."

The video ended. I lay on the cold floor, my body trembling, my hands a symphony of pain. I tried to calm my breathing, but my lungs wouldn't cooperate.

Kirsten' s voice echoed in my head. "Now that you know the truth, when are you going to divorce that boring wife of yours?"

"Whenever you want, my love," James had replied without a moment's hesitation. He had kissed her then, a deep, possessive kiss. "I can't live without you."

She had pulled back, her eyes sparkling. She held up her hand, showing off a ring. It was a simple, elegant band of emeralds and diamonds.

My mother's ring.

Through the camera, her lips formed a silent, taunting message: "It's mine now."

My breath hitched. James had given it to me on our first anniversary, swearing it would never leave my hand. He said it was a symbol of our eternal love.

A dry, harsh laugh escaped my lips, but it quickly turned into a sob.

I had to get it back. I had to get my mother's ring.

Irene burst into the room, a bag of takeout in her hand. She saw me on the floor, the blood, my mangled hands. The bag dropped, its contents scattering across the tiles.

"Hannah!" she shrieked, her face paling. She saw the video still playing on my phone and let out a string of curses.

"I'm calling the police! I'm calling a doctor!" she cried, fumbling for her own phone.

"Irene, it's okay," I said, my voice hoarse. I wiped my tears with the back of my ruined hand, trying to smile. "I'm fine. We need to go. Now."

I had to get my mother's ring.

"We have to get my things," I said, my voice firm.

She looked at me, her eyes full of pity and heartbreak, and nodded.

I bandaged my hands as best I could and we went to the house. Kirsten was there, waiting for me. She dangled the ring in front of my face.

"You want this?" she sneered. "Then you'll come to my charity auction tonight. And you will behave."

For Kelley. For my mother. I could endure anything.

The auction was a blur of fake smiles and condescending whispers. James saw my compliance and his expression softened, as if he thought I was finally seeing reason. I didn't look at him once. His gaze lingered on my bandaged hands, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

Kirsten was the star of the show, draped on James's arm. People flocked to her, praising her "brave" art, her "vision." They talked about how much James had invested in her, how he was her greatest champion.

"She's so much more interesting than his wife," I heard someone whisper. "Hannah Howell was good, but she was so... safe."

I bit my lip until it bled, the physical pain a welcome distraction.

Then someone mentioned Kelley. "Did you hear about her brother? Such a tragedy. But a troubled artist, you know. It runs in the family."

That was it. The final straw.

I walked up to the woman who had spoken and slapped her, hard. The sound echoed in the suddenly silent room.

"Don't you ever," I hissed, my voice low and dangerous, "speak his name."

Kirsten saw my outburst and smiled, a slow, cruel smile. This was what she wanted.

She walked over, her expression one of mock concern. She took my broken hand in hers, her touch sending jolts of pain up my arm.

"Oh, you poor thing," she said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "It's such a shame about your hands. But don't you worry. I'll carry on your legacy. I'll be the greatest artist this city has ever seen."

The nausea returned. She wasn't just trying to replace me. She was planning something else, something worse.