Chapter 1

For five years, I believed I had a perfect life. I was the chief scientist of a clean energy company I co-founded with my husband, the CEO. My only regret was the lab fire that killed my mentor, a death I felt responsible for.

That perfect world shattered at a farmers' market. I saw my husband with a secret family-a woman and a little boy who called him "Daddy."

Then the scene became a nightmare. My mentor, Abel, the man I'd mourned for five years, was standing there with them, alive and well.

That night, I uncovered the full, five-year conspiracy. They faked his death to steal my next-generation technology. But their plan was even more monstrous.

I found a recording of them plotting to have me declared mentally incompetent, using my "grief" as proof. A conservatorship would give them legal control of my mind and all my intellectual property.

They weren't just stealing my work. They were planning to bury me alive.

The next morning, I walked into the office of the city's most ruthless lawyer and laid the evidence on her desk. She asked me what I wanted.

"I don't want their money," I told her. "I want to burn their empire to the ground."

Chapter 1

For five years, I believed I had a perfect life. I was Elle Torres, co-founder and chief scientist of TerraGen, a company built on my dream of clean, limitless energy. My husband, Clay Henderson, was the charismatic CEO, the handsome face of our shared ambition. We were a power couple, lauded in magazines and celebrated by investors. But my perfect world was built on a foundation of guilt. Five years ago, my mentor, Abel Potts, died in a lab fire. A fire I felt responsible for.

That perfect world shattered on a sunny Saturday at a farmers' market.

The air smelled of fresh strawberries and roasted coffee. I was picking out heirloom tomatoes when I saw him. Clay. He was supposed to be in a board meeting across town. He stood near a stall selling handmade wooden toys, laughing.

A woman was with him, her hand resting on his arm. A little boy, maybe four years old, clutched Clay' s leg.

My heart began to beat a little faster. It was probably a colleague, a friend. Clay was a friendly person.

Then the boy looked up at him, his face bright with a gap-toothed smile.

"Daddy, can I have that one? The red truck?"

The word hit me like a physical blow. Daddy. The tomatoes in my hand felt slick and heavy. I watched, frozen, as Clay ruffled the boy' s hair. The gesture was so natural, so paternal.

"Of course, little man. Anything for you."

His voice, the same one that whispered loving words to me every night, was now directed at this child. I remembered a conversation we had years ago, sitting on our porch swing. I' d brought up the idea of having children.

"Elle, honey," he had said, his face serious. "Our work is our baby. TerraGen needs all of us right now. Maybe someday, but not now. I'm not ready to be a father."

He had been a father for four years.

My life wasn't a partnership. It was a performance. I was the genius in the lab, creating the technology that made him rich and famous, while he lived another life entirely.

Then, the scene became a nightmare. A man walked over and clapped Clay on the shoulder. He was older, with a familiar stoop and the same intense eyes I remembered from countless late nights in the lab.

It was Abel Potts.

The world tilted. My breath caught in my throat. Abel was dead. I saw the official report. I attended the memorial. Clay had held me as I cried, telling me it wasn't my fault, that Abel had been getting reckless.

The report said Abel had been stealing proprietary data, planning to sell it. The fire was an accident he caused while trying to cover his tracks. Clay handled everything, shielding me from the ugly details, from the police interviews. He said he was protecting me, protecting my delicate focus.

"He betrayed us, Elle," Clay had said, his voice hard. "He was jealous of you. Let's just forget him and build our future."

I had believed him. I had trusted him. For five years, I carried the weight of my mentor's death and his supposed betrayal, a constant, dull ache in my chest.

And now, here he was. Alive. He was smiling, handing the little boy an ice cream cone. The woman, the boy' s mother, kissed Clay on the cheek. They looked like a family. A happy, normal family enjoying a Saturday.

And I was the secret. The lie. I was the engine that powered this entire charade. My work, my mind, my guilt-it was all just fuel for their perfect life.

A wave of nausea washed over me. I dropped my canvas bag. Tomatoes rolled across the pavement like drops of blood. I stumbled back, leaning against a brick wall, trying to breathe.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Clay. I stared at his name on the screen, my hand shaking. I took a deep, ragged breath and answered, forcing my voice to be steady.

"Hey, you. Is the meeting over?"

"Almost, my love," his voice was smooth, familiar. The voice of my husband. "Just wrapping up. It's dragging on forever. I miss you."

A cold, hard knot formed in my stomach. I looked across the market at him, still standing with his other family.

"That's strange," I said, my voice deliberately light. "I thought I just saw you. Over by the park entrance."

There was a silence on the other end. It was only for a second, but it was an eternity. It was the sound of a liar calculating his next move.

"No, honey. Must be someone who looks like me. You know I'd rather be with you than stuck in this stuffy room."

His words confirmed everything. The lie was effortless for him.

He ended the call, and a moment later, I watched him say something to the woman. He kissed her, then the boy, and walked quickly away from the market.

My phone buzzed again. A text message from him.

"Counting the minutes until I see you. All my love, C."

The screen blurred as tears I didn't know I was holding back finally fell. It wasn't a perfect life. It was a cage, and I had just found the door.