---- Chapter 15 Liam stumbled back from the empty grave, his mind reeling. He found the old groundskeeper, a man who had worked at the cemetery for forty years. "The Ross plot," Liam said, his voice ragged. "Where is it? Where's the headstone?" The old man looked at him with weary eyes. "You must be Mr. Kane," he said. "She said you might come." Liam's head snapped up. "She? Ava? You spoke to her?" "Months ago," the groundskeeper said, nodding. "A lovely young woman, but so sad. She arranged to have her parents 'remains exhumed and moved to a private mausoleum. Paid in full. Very quiet, very discreet." "Where?" Liam demanded, grabbing the man's arm. "Where did she move them?" The old man shook his head. "The records are sealed, son. At her request. | can't tell you." The last flicker of hope died in Liam's chest. It was a deliberate, calculated move. A final door slammed in his face. She knew he would come here. She had anticipated his every move and had blocked him at every turn. ---- He drove back to his office in a daze. On his desk was a thick file. It was the report from his security chief on Clara Bell. He opened it. The contents were sickening. It was all there, in black and white. A complete record of Clara's campaign of psychological warfare against me. Copies of the anonymous texts she had sent me from a burner phone. The photos, the audio clips, the medical report. She had systematically tormented me for weeks, driving me to the brink. The report also included a detailed timeline. It showed my sudden collapse, my first trip to the hospital. It showed my quiet, withdrawn behavior in the weeks that followed. And it noted that during this entire time, | had never once confronted him. | had never accused him, never cried, never yelled. | had just... absorbed it. He read the report, and a horrifying realization dawned on him | had known. For weeks, maybe months, | had known everything. The pain, the betrayal, the humiliation... | had carried it all in silence. My calmness hadn't been forgiveness. It had been preparation. My quietness hadn't been weakness. It had been strength. He had thought he was the master architect, designing their lives to his own specifications. But he had been a fool. | was the one with the master plan. He had been playing checkers, while | had been playing a game of chess so complex he couldn't even see the board. He had lost more than a fiancée. He had lost control. The one ---- thing he valued above all else. He had been so sure of my love, so confident in his ability to manipulate me, that he had never once considered the possibility that | would simply walk away. That | would be the one to burn everything to the ground. A black, towering rage filled him. A rage directed not at me, but at Clara. She had been the catalyst. She had been the one to light the match. He slammed the file shut. He picked up his phone and called his head of security. "Find Clara Bell," he said, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "I don't care where she is or what she's doing. Find her. And bring her to me. Now." The game was over. It was time to clear the board.