---- Chapter 2 Emily POV: It became a grotesque sort of routine. Killian lavishing Dallas with gifts that would make headlines, while | sorted through the mundane artifacts of Leo' s short life. He bought her a custom-painted Rolls-Royce, the exact shade of pink as her favorite lipstick. | paid for Leo' s simple wooden casket with my own credit card. He flew her and twenty of her influencer friends to a private resort in Fiji for an impromptu "content creation" week. | drove alone to the windswept coastline to scatter Leo' s ashes, the gray urn cold and heavy in my hands. The funeral was a quiet affair, attended by a handful of my friends and Leo' s nurses. Killian, of course, was not there. He sent a flower arrangement so large it was obscene, a gaudy monument to his guilt that | had the funeral director throw in the dumpster. Two days after | watched the last of my brother turn to dust and scatter on the waves, my phone finally rang. It was him. "Hey," he said, his voice casual, as if he were calling to see what | wanted for dinner. "Sorry about everything. It's been a madhouse here." ---- The cold calm that had enveloped me for days cracked. "A madhouse?" | repeated, my voice dangerously low. "Leo is dead, Killian." There was a pause. "l know, Em. I'm really sorry to hear that. | was going to call, but-" "But you were too busy funding a feline paradise?" The words were ice. "That money, Killian. That was Leo' s only chance." "Emily, be reasonable," he started, his tone shifting to the one he used when placating a difficult board member. "The doctors said it was experimental. There were no guarantees. The sanctuary, on the other hand, is a guaranteed PR win, and Dallas was so passionate about it." My blood ran cold. He was comparing my brother' s life to a public relations strategy. Then, | heard it. A soft, feminine giggle in the background. "Killy, darling, are you done yet? You promised we'd go ring shopping." Dallas. That single, carefree sound was the final detonation. It blew away any lingering sentiment, any shred of the love | once felt for him. There was nothing left but scorched earth. | ended the call without another word. My hands moved with a strange, detached purpose. | walked ---- to the safe hidden behind a Rothko painting in our bedroom and pulled out a thick manila envelope. Inside was a document |' d almost forgotten about. Divorce papers. He' d had his lawyers draw them up when we got married, a pre-nup of sorts. "Just in case," he' d said with a sad smile, "! ever become the kind of monster who deserves to lose you." My signature on the dotted line was steady and clear. Emily Ramos. A name that suddenly felt like my own again. | sent a photo of the signed document to the number Josiah had given me, a contact for a discreet but notoriously ruthless family lawyer in London. Can you file this for me? The reply was instantaneous. Consider it done. A car will be waiting for you at 7 PM tomorrow. It will take you to a private airfield. With that settled, a strange sense of emptiness propelled me out of the house. There were a few things of Leo's still at our old apartment, the one over the laundromat. Childhood drawings, his first teddy bear. | couldn't leave them behind. The neighborhood was even more dilapidated than | remembered, the streetlights flickering over cracked pavement. As | turned the corner onto our old street, my heart stopped. Parked directly under the window of our first home was a car | knew better than my own: Killian' s one-of-a-kind, matte black Maybach. What was he doing here? ---- | ducked behind a row of overflowing dumpsters, the sour smell of garbage filling my lungs. The interior light of the car was on, and | could see them clearly. Killian and Dallas. Her back was pressed against the passenger door, and he was leaning over her, his mouth on hers, his hand tangled in her blonde hair. It was a raw, hungry kiss, and it was happening in the place where he had first told me he loved me. A wave of nausea washed over me, so strong | had to press my hand against my mouth to keep from being sick. | squeezed my eyes shut, but the image was burned onto the inside of my eyelids. When | opened them again, they had broken apart. Dallas was running her perfectly manicured nails down his chest. "I still don't get why you brought me to this dump, Killy," she pouted Killian' s voice was a low rumble, filled with an affection that used to be reserved for me. "Patience, my love." He gestured out the window, at the crumbling brick buildings, at the life we had built from nothing. "In six months, none of this will be here. My company just acquired this entire block. We're tearing it all down to build the new Emerson Tower. And the penthouse, the one with the 360-degree view of the city? It's all yours." The air left my lungs. He was going to bulldoze our history. He was going to erase the very foundation of us and build a monument to her on its ruins, and he hadn't even bothered to ---- tell me. My grief and rage coalesced into a single, desperate impulse: to run. | scrambled backward, my foot catching on a loose piece of metal. It clattered loudly against the pavement, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silent street. Inside the Maybach, the passionate scene froze. Two heads turned, and a pair of blindingly bright headlights swiveled directly towards the dumpsters, pinning me in their unforgiving glare.