---- Chapter 19 Jessica Thorne, a wraith in tattered designer clothes, haunted the city's underbelly. She lived in a squalid, single-room occupancy hotel, the stench of stale cigarettes and despair clinging to her like a second skin. She obsessively scoured the internet for news of Ethan, of Caldwell Industries, her hatred a burning coal in the ashes of her life. The headlines screamed of his company's collapse, his erratic behavior, his public breakdown at the gallery. A part of her, the vindictive, broken part, exulted in his downfall. He deserved it. They all deserved it. But another, more desperate part, still clung to a delusional hope. She still believed, in some twisted corner of her mind, that Ethan would come back for her. That he would realize his mistake, rescue her from this nightmare, and they would somehow rebuild their shattered kingdom. She spent her last few dollars on cheap makeup, trying to ---- recreate the glamorous facade that had once captivated him. It was a grotesque parody, her eyes haunted, her smile brittle. She was a queen dethroned, lost in a labyrinth of her own making. One rainy evening, fueled by cheap wine and desperation, Jessica made her way to Ethan' s penthouse. She knew he was a recluse now, rarely seen. But she had to try. She used Amelia' s name at the security desk. "Tell Mr. Caldwell that Amelia is here to see him. It's urgent." The guard, new and unfamiliar with the old dramas, relayed the message. To her astonishment, she was granted access. Hope, sharp and painful, flared in her chest. He wanted to see Amelia. Maybe... maybe he would see her instead. She found Ethan in his study, a disheveled wreck, surrounded by empty bottles and the ghosts of his regret. He looked up as she entered, his eyes bloodshot, unfocused. "Amelia?" he rasped, his voice thick with alcohol and despair. Jessica' s heart sank. He was still obsessed with her. "No, Ethan," she said, trying to inject a note of her old, ---- seductive charm into her voice. "It's me. Jessica." She moved closer, her hand outstretched. "I came to see if you were alright." Ethan' s eyes slowly focused on her, and a look of utter revulsion spread across his face. "Jessica," he said, his voice flat, cold. "What do you want?" He didn't care about her plea, her feigned concern. "Tell me about Amelia," he demanded, his voice suddenly urgent. "Where is she? Is she happy?" His obsession was a raw, open wound. Jessica' s carefully constructed composure crumbled. "Amelia, Amelia, Amelia!" she shrieked, her voice cracking. "Is that all you can think about? What about me, Ethan? What about what you did to me?" He laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "What | did to you? You got what you deserved, Jessica. Every last bit of it." He stood up, swaying slightly, and fumbled in his desk drawer, pulling out a sheaf of glossy photographs. He threw them at her. They scattered across the floor. Pictures of her, with other men, in compromising positions. Evidence of her sordid past, her betrayals. ---- "This is who you are, Jessica," he spat, his voice filled with contempt. "A user. A liar. A whore." Jessica stared at the photos, her face ashen. Her secrets, her shame, laid bare. She sank to the floor, a broken doll, her cheap makeup streaked with tears. The fight was gone out of her. There was nothing left. Ethan watched her, his expression unreadable. Then, he turned away, dismissing her as he would a piece of trash. She was nothing to him. Less than nothing. Her descent into the abyss was complete. She was found later, working in a dimly lit, sleazy underground bar, her beauty faded, her spirit extinguished, forced into humiliating acts for a few dollars. One night, a drunken patron at the bar became violent. He grabbed Jessica, his hands rough, his breath foul. He hit her, hard. As she lay on the filthy floor, pain radiating through her body, a single, pure emotion surged through her: hatred. Not for the man who had just assaulted her, but for Ethan Caldwell. For Amelia Hayes. They had done this to her. They had destroyed her. ---- If she ever got the chance, she would make them pay. Both of them The thought was a small, flickering ember in the darkness of her soul. Ethan, meanwhile, was oblivious to Jessica' s fate, lost in his own self-destruction. His company, Caldwell Industries, officially declared bankruptcy. The news barely registered. He sat in his empty penthouse, staring at a picture of Amelia, the one from their wedding day, her eyes so full of hope, of love. A love he had systematically, brutally, extinguished. He raised a glass of scotch to her image. "To you, Amelia," he whispered. "To the woman | destroyed." He got into his car, a sleek, powerful sports car he hadn't driven in months. He drove aimlessly, the city lights a blur, Amelia' s face haunting him. He found himself on a deserted stretch of highway, overlooking the dark, churning river. He thought of Amelia, her new life, her happiness with Mark. ---- She was free. She was thriving. Without him. And he... he was nothing. A failure. A ghost. There was only one way to end the pain, to silence the regret. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator, the engine roaring. The car hurtled towards the guardrail, towards the black, unforgiving water below. A final, desperate act of self-annihilation. A fitting end to a life lived in vain.