l room, his face pale. He had just arrived, a bouquet of apo

a second. This wasn'

fake tears. "What is he talking about? My baby..." I cl

orry, Mrs. Miller. There must be a mistake on the chart. L

ia, I' m so sorry. He must have mixed you up with someone else. O

tears. I was crying for the baby I had lost, for the mother he had murder

incerest apologies, Mr. and Mrs. Miller. I was looking at the wrong file.

f was palpable. He held me tighter. "See, Ol

one to fix the chart. It didn' t matter. The c

he repeated, this time in a more professional, guarded tone. "You' ll need e

of guilt. "We' ll get you the best

f manufactured trust and pain.

. I thought you... Chloe... I' m so, so sorry, Olivia. I

yes. A stranger would have believed him. But I knew the truth. He felt guilty for getting caught up i

eal. He read to me for hours. He hired the most expensive burn specialist in the country to oversee my

expression, every hollow promise. I knew what he was doing. He was building his cage of "love" around me again,

ould

f your recovery," he called it. Our house was filled with people,

room, my bandaged hand held ge

t, most forgiving woman I know. I have not been the husband she deserves, but I

ity and admiration. They saw a victim who had chosen gra

tions. The engagement party, our wedding, countless dinners. He loved an audience. He thrived on t

a necklace dripping with diamonds. It was ost

evotion," he said, fas

the gran

instructed my lawyers to begin the process of transferring fifty percent of my comp

re. Liam looked at me, his eyes shining with what he wanted me to believe was lo

t funded m