Chapter 6
Over the next four months, I acquired shares through shell companies — the same tactic Ethan had once used to fabricate my father's debts. Poetic, in a way.
I worked in silence, moving carefully, never drawing attention. Ethan had no idea. He was busy planning his wedding, appearing at galas with Claire on his arm, playing the devoted fiancé for the cameras.
Occasionally, I'd see his face on a magazine cover or a news segment. Each time, I felt less. The rage that once consumed me had cooled into something harder, sharper — determination.
Then, one month before Ethan's wedding, I received an unexpected visitor.
I was at my apartment reviewing shareholder documents when the doorbell rang. I opened it to find a woman I recognized instantly, though we'd never met face to face.
Claire Ashford.
She was beautiful — the kind of beauty that came from a lifetime of privilege and protection. Her skin was flawless, her clothes designer, her smile practiced and warm.
"Mia Dawson?" she asked.
My blood went cold. "Who's asking?"
"I'm Claire. Claire Ashford." She paused. "May I come in?"
Every instinct screamed no. But curiosity won.
I stepped aside.
She sat on my couch, crossing her legs gracefully, and studied me with an expression I couldn't read.
"You're wondering how I found you," she said.
"The thought crossed my mind."
"Ethan talks in his sleep." She smiled faintly. "He's been saying your name. Every night for months. 'Mia, I'm sorry. Mia, come back.' It became impossible to ignore."
I said nothing.
Claire leaned forward, and her composure cracked slightly. "I need to know the truth. Ethan told me the bone marrow came from an anonymous donor program. But the quantities don't add up. No program would allow fourteen extractions from a single person."
She looked at me directly. "It was you, wasn't it?"
The silence stretched between us.
"Yes," I said finally. "It was me."
Claire's face went white. Her hand trembled as she pressed it to her mouth. "Oh God. Mia — I didn't know. I swear I didn't know."
"I believe you," I said. And I did. Claire had been unconscious for most of it. She was a pawn too, in her own way.
"He told me we used an ethical donation program. He told me the donor was compensated generously and gave informed consent." Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Fourteen times? That's — that could kill someone."
"It nearly did."
Claire stood abruptly, pacing. "And your father — Ethan said your father died of natural causes. That you two had divorced amicably."
"My father worked himself to death paying fabricated debts Ethan created to keep him silent."
She stopped pacing. The horror on her face was absolute.
"I'm going to be sick," she whispered.
I watched her process it — the realization that her survival, her fairy tale, was built on someone else's destruction.
"Why are you here, Claire?" I asked quietly.
She wiped her eyes and straightened. When she spoke, her voice was steel.
"Because I refuse to marry a monster." She looked at me. "And I think you're planning something. I want to help."
I worked in silence, moving carefully, never drawing attention. Ethan had no idea. He was busy planning his wedding, appearing at galas with Claire on his arm, playing the devoted fiancé for the cameras.
Occasionally, I'd see his face on a magazine cover or a news segment. Each time, I felt less. The rage that once consumed me had cooled into something harder, sharper — determination.
Then, one month before Ethan's wedding, I received an unexpected visitor.
I was at my apartment reviewing shareholder documents when the doorbell rang. I opened it to find a woman I recognized instantly, though we'd never met face to face.
Claire Ashford.
She was beautiful — the kind of beauty that came from a lifetime of privilege and protection. Her skin was flawless, her clothes designer, her smile practiced and warm.
"Mia Dawson?" she asked.
My blood went cold. "Who's asking?"
"I'm Claire. Claire Ashford." She paused. "May I come in?"
Every instinct screamed no. But curiosity won.
I stepped aside.
She sat on my couch, crossing her legs gracefully, and studied me with an expression I couldn't read.
"You're wondering how I found you," she said.
"The thought crossed my mind."
"Ethan talks in his sleep." She smiled faintly. "He's been saying your name. Every night for months. 'Mia, I'm sorry. Mia, come back.' It became impossible to ignore."
I said nothing.
Claire leaned forward, and her composure cracked slightly. "I need to know the truth. Ethan told me the bone marrow came from an anonymous donor program. But the quantities don't add up. No program would allow fourteen extractions from a single person."
She looked at me directly. "It was you, wasn't it?"
The silence stretched between us.
"Yes," I said finally. "It was me."
Claire's face went white. Her hand trembled as she pressed it to her mouth. "Oh God. Mia — I didn't know. I swear I didn't know."
"I believe you," I said. And I did. Claire had been unconscious for most of it. She was a pawn too, in her own way.
"He told me we used an ethical donation program. He told me the donor was compensated generously and gave informed consent." Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Fourteen times? That's — that could kill someone."
"It nearly did."
Claire stood abruptly, pacing. "And your father — Ethan said your father died of natural causes. That you two had divorced amicably."
"My father worked himself to death paying fabricated debts Ethan created to keep him silent."
She stopped pacing. The horror on her face was absolute.
"I'm going to be sick," she whispered.
I watched her process it — the realization that her survival, her fairy tale, was built on someone else's destruction.
"Why are you here, Claire?" I asked quietly.
She wiped her eyes and straightened. When she spoke, her voice was steel.
"Because I refuse to marry a monster." She looked at me. "And I think you're planning something. I want to help."