---- Chapter 18 That night, Ethan dreamed. He dreamed of a life that could have been, a sun-drenched fantasy where all his mistakes were undone. In the dream, he and Sarah lived in a quiet house by the sea, not the cold, modern mansion, but a cozy cottage with a garden full of white roses. Lily was there, a vibrant, happy teenager, her eyesight magically restored. She was a gifted artist, her paintings filling the walls of their home. Grandma Rose was there too, healthy and strong, baking cookies in their warm, sunlit kitchen. In the dream, he wasn't a ruthless tycoon; he was just a man who loved his family. He and Sarah grew old together, their hair turning to silver, their hands wrinkled but always intertwined. They died peacefully in their sleep, in the same bed, just as they had always promised they would. He woke up with a gasp, the beautiful dream shattering against the cold, hard reality of the morning. His arms were wrapped around a cold, stone urn. The woman he loved was a box of dust. He pressed his lips to the cold stone. "Good morning, my love," he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "Time to get up. His assistant knocked on the door, his voice hesitant. "Sir? ---- The... procedure on Miss Hayes is complete. What should | do with the... remains?" Ethan's eyes turned to ice. "Bring it to me," he commanded. He took the small, pathetic bundle from the assistant and carried it to the hospital where Olivia was recovering from the forced abortion. He walked into her room and placed it on her lap. "This," he said, his voice devoid of all emotion, "is the price for killing my daughter." Olivia looked at the bundle, and a raw, animalistic scream tore from her throat. She thrashed in the bed, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated horror. Ethan watched her, his face impassive. His revenge was just beginning. He had her and her entire family brought to the basement of his mansion. He had her father's ashes, which she cherished, divided into two boxes. "We're going to play a game," he told them, his voice a chillingly calm. "It's called 'Sophie's Choice'. You have two boxes. One contains your father's ashes. The other, just sand. You have to choose which one to smash with this hammer. If you choose wrong, you lose a finger." Olivia and her mother stared at him, their faces white with terror. "You're a monster," her mother whispered. "No," Ethan corrected. "I'm a grieving husband. And you are the ---- ones who made me this way." They turned on each other, a grotesque spectacle of greed and self-preservation, screaming accusations, revealing each other's darkest secrets. Ethan watched, a cold, detached observer, as they destroyed each other. "You're the one who killed Sarah!" Olivia shrieked at him, her eyes wild with hate. "You and your sick, twisted games! You pushed her to it!" "No," he said, his voice a low growl. "You did. And you will spend the rest of your miserable life paying for it." He locked them in the basement and left them to their madness. He had his revenge, but it brought him no satisfaction. It was a hollow, empty victory. The only thing that kept him going was the hope that Sarah would visit him in his dreams. He talked to the urn constantly, telling her about his day, reading her the newspaper, sleeping with her in his arms every night. Three years passed. Three years of a self-imposed prison of grief and madness. He spent his days at the veterinary clinic, waiting for a ghost who would never come. One day, Dr. Adams called Sarah. She was living in a quiet town overseas, her life rebuilt from the ashes of her past. "He's still here," the old vet said, his voice heavy with sadness. "Every day. He just sits here, holding that urn, waiting for you. ---- It's not healthy, Sarah. Maybe... maybe you should come see him. Just once." Sarah's heart, which she had thought was finally healed, gave a painful lurch. But her voice was firm when she answered. "No," she said. "I will never see him again."