Chapter 2
The engagement party was at the Blackwell Grand Hotel — the crown jewel of Ethan's empire. I knew because the invitation had arrived at our apartment two weeks ago, addressed to me as a "valued guest."
Not as his wife. As a guest.
I should have seen it then. But I was recovering from my last marrow extraction, too dizzy to think straight, too tired to question why my husband was throwing a party and listing me as an outsider.
Now, standing outside the hospital with nothing but my coat and a bag of pills, I realized I had nowhere to go.
Our apartment was his. My father's house had been sold to cover the debts. I had no friends left — Ethan had slowly isolated me over three years, telling me I needed rest, telling me socializing would raise my stress levels and compromise the donations.
I walked to the bus station and sat on the cold metal bench.
My phone lit up again. This time, not Ethan.
It was a message from an unknown number.
*"Ms. Dawson, I'm Attorney Lin from Whitfield & Associates. Your father left a document with our firm before his passing. He asked that we deliver it to you on this date. Please contact us at your earliest convenience."*
Dad left something for me?
I stared at the message, my chest tightening. Dad had known. He must have known something.
Before I could respond, another message came through — from Ethan.
*"Mia, I know you're upset. But you need to understand — Claire and I were engaged before her accident. I never stopped loving her. Our marriage was an arrangement, and you knew that."*
I didn't know that.
He told me he loved me. He told me Claire was his sister. He held me at night after every extraction and called me brave. He kissed my forehead and said, "When this is all over, I'll spend my life making it up to you."
My fingers shook as I typed back: *"You told me she was your sister."*
His reply was instant. *"I never explicitly said that. You assumed."*
I scrolled back through three years of messages. He was right — technically. He called her "family." He said "she's like blood to me." He said "I can't lose her — she's all I have left."
He had crafted every sentence to deceive without technically lying. Like a lawyer building a case.
Another message came: *"The marriage served its purpose. You helped save Claire's life. I'm grateful. That's why I'm offering you a generous settlement. $200,000. Enough to start fresh."*
$200,000.
For three years of marriage. Fourteen bone marrow extractions. My fertility. My father's life.
I typed back one word: *"No."*
Then I turned off my phone, boarded the last bus of the night, and rode it to the end of the line.
At the bus terminal, I found a 24-hour diner and sat in the corner booth. The waitress brought me coffee without asking. She looked at my pale face and the hospital bracelet still on my wrist, and left the pot.
I pulled out Dad's iron supplement bottle — the one he'd bought me before he died. Inside, folded tightly, was a note I'd never noticed before.
*"Mia, if you're reading this, I'm gone. Don't cry for me. I chose this. But listen to me carefully: Ethan Blackwell is not who he says he is. The debts were never real. Go to Attorney Lin. He has everything.*
*I love you, sweetheart. Live for yourself now. — Dad"*
The debts were never real.
The coffee cup slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor.
Not as his wife. As a guest.
I should have seen it then. But I was recovering from my last marrow extraction, too dizzy to think straight, too tired to question why my husband was throwing a party and listing me as an outsider.
Now, standing outside the hospital with nothing but my coat and a bag of pills, I realized I had nowhere to go.
Our apartment was his. My father's house had been sold to cover the debts. I had no friends left — Ethan had slowly isolated me over three years, telling me I needed rest, telling me socializing would raise my stress levels and compromise the donations.
I walked to the bus station and sat on the cold metal bench.
My phone lit up again. This time, not Ethan.
It was a message from an unknown number.
*"Ms. Dawson, I'm Attorney Lin from Whitfield & Associates. Your father left a document with our firm before his passing. He asked that we deliver it to you on this date. Please contact us at your earliest convenience."*
Dad left something for me?
I stared at the message, my chest tightening. Dad had known. He must have known something.
Before I could respond, another message came through — from Ethan.
*"Mia, I know you're upset. But you need to understand — Claire and I were engaged before her accident. I never stopped loving her. Our marriage was an arrangement, and you knew that."*
I didn't know that.
He told me he loved me. He told me Claire was his sister. He held me at night after every extraction and called me brave. He kissed my forehead and said, "When this is all over, I'll spend my life making it up to you."
My fingers shook as I typed back: *"You told me she was your sister."*
His reply was instant. *"I never explicitly said that. You assumed."*
I scrolled back through three years of messages. He was right — technically. He called her "family." He said "she's like blood to me." He said "I can't lose her — she's all I have left."
He had crafted every sentence to deceive without technically lying. Like a lawyer building a case.
Another message came: *"The marriage served its purpose. You helped save Claire's life. I'm grateful. That's why I'm offering you a generous settlement. $200,000. Enough to start fresh."*
$200,000.
For three years of marriage. Fourteen bone marrow extractions. My fertility. My father's life.
I typed back one word: *"No."*
Then I turned off my phone, boarded the last bus of the night, and rode it to the end of the line.
At the bus terminal, I found a 24-hour diner and sat in the corner booth. The waitress brought me coffee without asking. She looked at my pale face and the hospital bracelet still on my wrist, and left the pot.
I pulled out Dad's iron supplement bottle — the one he'd bought me before he died. Inside, folded tightly, was a note I'd never noticed before.
*"Mia, if you're reading this, I'm gone. Don't cry for me. I chose this. But listen to me carefully: Ethan Blackwell is not who he says he is. The debts were never real. Go to Attorney Lin. He has everything.*
*I love you, sweetheart. Live for yourself now. — Dad"*
The debts were never real.
The coffee cup slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor.