---- Chapter 3 A few days later, they discharged me from the hospital. Liam wanted to take me home, to our home, but | told him | needed space. | told him | wanted to stay at my old apartment for a while, the one | kept after we moved in together. He argued, but | was firm. He finally agreed, probably thinking it was just a side effect of my "exhaustion." But | didn't go to my apartment. | drove for two hours, out of the city, to a quiet, green cemetery on a hill. | walked through the rows of headstones until | reached a simple marble one. Here lie Amelia and David Ross. Loving Parents. My parents. | sat on the damp grass, not caring that it was staining my jeans. "Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad," | whispered, my voice breaking. "I don't know what to do. | really don't." | told them everything. About Liam, about Clara, about the baby. The baby | had lost. The baby Liam didn't even know existed. The words poured out of me in a torrent of grief and confusion. As | sat there, the memories came flooding back. | remembered the day my parents died. | was ten years old, and my world had shattered. Liam, who was twelve, had found me ---- crying behind the school. He didn't say much. He just sat next to me and held my hand. Later, at the funeral, he stood by my side the whole time. When it was over, he looked at me with his serious, twelve- year-old eyes and made a promise. "Don't worry, Ava," he'd said. "I'll always be here. I'll take care of you. | promise." That promise had been my anchor for twenty years. He was my protector, my best friend, my family. He was the one who encouraged me to pursue architecture, who believed in me when | didn't believe in myself. We built our company, Ross & Kane Architecture, on a foundation of that trust. The first crack in that foundation had appeared six months ago. We were at the annual Architect's Guild Gala. Liam was supposed to be schmoozing with potential clients. | saw him talking to Clara at the bar. There was nothing overtly wrong with it, they were professional rivals, networking was part of the job. But then, he laughed at something she said, and he put his hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd toward the terrace. It was an intimate gesture, a possessive one. And it was meant for me, not her. A cold dread had washed over me. | followed them. From the shadows of a doorway, | watched them on the terrace. They were standing close, their heads bent together. | couldn't hear what they were saying, but | saw her reach up and straighten his tie. | saw him smile, a private, gentle smile | hadn't seen in months. ---- My heart had dropped into my stomach. It was a sharp, physical pain. | felt like | couldn't breathe. | slipped away before they could see me, my mind racing. | told myself | was overreacting, that | was being paranoid. He was just being charming, that's who Liam was. But now, sitting at my parents' grave, | knew | hadn't been paranoid at all. | had been a fool. The pain from that memory was still sharp, but something else was hardening inside me. A cold, clear resolve. He wasn't going to get away with it. He wasn't going to destroy me and walk away into his happy new life with her. | wiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand. | would play his game. | would smile, | would pretend everything was fine. | would let him believe his lies were working. And all the while, | would be planning. | would dismantle the life we built together, piece by piece, until he had nothing left. He thought he was in control. He had no idea the game had changed.