oe

the audio file replayed in my mind, a cruel, endless loop. The old woman, she was so slow. We'll get rid of the car. You're going on a

under his wing, the ambitious intern who now basked in his favoritism, was the monster behind the wheel. And Augustus, my husband, the man who had vowed to protect me, who had comforted me through tear-soaked

erent reality, any reality where Augustus wasn't this monster. I wanted to smash the phone

once familiar, now seemed grotesque, a tableau of deception. I held up my phone, my hand trembling so violently I

ok another slow sip of his drink. The silence was his confession. The last flicker o

my arm. "Chloe, darling," he began, his voice soft, almost soothing, the same tone he' d used with Baylee in t

ou helped murder my mother's life? How you covered up for that... thing?" I pointed a sha

s I supposed to do? Let her go to prison? Destroy her life for a mistake?" He looked at Baylee, a possessive tenderness in his gaze. "She's brilliant, Chloe. Full of potential. Far too talented to

tors' grim faces. I remembered Augustus, holding my hand, telling me, "It's a tragedy, Chloe. But we'll get through this, together. I'll take care of everything." He' d made me believe he was my rock. My protector. I had been so naive, so desperate for comfort, I' d latched o

feigned distress. "Augustus! Chloe! What's happening?" She rushed forward, then stumbled, collapsing dramatically to the floor. "Oh, my head! Chloe, yo

What did you do, Chloe?" He turned to me, his eyes now blazing with accusation

f a soul that had finally broken free from its gilded cage, even if it meant tearing itself apart in t

ed out a stack of papers, already signed and notarized. The divorce agreement. Eliot had prepared it weeks ago, anticipating this moment, thi

oice laced with venom. He snatched the papers, his eyes scanning the clauses. His signature. Mine. Already legally binding. With a furious roar, he grabbed a pen from the nearby table, scrawled his name across the docum

you away from this lunatic." He glared at me one last time, a promise of vengeance in his eyes, then st

ying stares a fresh wave of humiliation. "She must be crazy," I heard one whisper. "Walking away from Augustus C

wasted no time. Within days, Baylee Villarreal was officially named the new lead financial anchor, taking my place on the prime-time slot. It was

e mansion, my footsteps echoing in the silence. My belongings, carefully packed into a few suitcases, stood by the fro