---- Chapter 22 Clara was lying in the hospital bed, feigning discomfort, when Liam burst into the room. The look on his face was one she had never seen before. It was pure, unadulterated hatred. "You lied to me," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "Liam, what are you talking about?" she whimpered, clutching the blanket to her chin. "The baby!" he roared, grabbing the end of her bed and shaking it violently. "There is no baby! There was never a baby! You faked a pregnancy to trap me!" He lunged at her, grabbing her by the shoulders and hauling her out of the bed. He threw her against the wall, his hands closing around her throat. "You cost me everything!" he screamed, his face inches from hers. "Ava... she was pregnant! With my child! A real child! And | lost them both! For you! For your pathetic, disgusting lie!" Clara clawed at his hands, gasping for air. "You're... wrong..." she choked out. "You wanted... to believe it... It was your excuse... to be with me..." Her words, desperate and self-serving as they were, held a sliver of truth. He had been so eager to believe her lie because ---- it gave him permission to indulge his desires. It made his betrayal seem less like a choice and more like a consequence. He was just as much to blame as she was. The realization did nothing to quell his rage. It only fueled it. He let go of her throat, and she slumped to the floor, coughing and gasping. He wasn't done with her. Not by a long shot. He grabbed her phone from the bedside table. "You're going to make another video," he said, his voice cold as death. "You're going to get on your knees, and you're going to apologize. You're going to tell the world you're a liar and a fraud. And then you're going to tell them you're a worthless piece of trash who isn't fit to even say Ava Ross's name." He forced her to her knees, holding the phone in front of her face. She sobbed, shaking her head, but the look in his eyes told her she had no choice. As she started to record her humiliating confession, his eyes fell on her hand. On her finger was a diamond ring. He didn't recognize it at first, and then a cold dread washed over him. It was a custom design, a unique setting with a flawless canary diamond. It was the ring he had commissioned for me. The wedding ring. He had kept it in the safe at home, waiting for our wedding day. She must have stolen it. She had been wearing my ring. He lunged for her hand, his fingers closing around the ring. ---- "Give it to me," he snarled.