Chapter 2
When Andrew heard the noise and came downstairs, the living room was already a total mess.
He leaned against the doorframe, scanning the broken pieces all over the floor. "Are you done?"
I tossed my phone at him, the screen still showing that photo of Annie sitting on his lap. "Don't you have anything to say?"
He picked up the phone, glanced at the photo, and sighed. "She's just a girl who doesn't know any boundaries. Why are you making such a fuss over her?"
I was making a fuss over her? Seriously?
It was I who took a knife for Andrew back in Metropolis.
It was me, seven months pregnant, who got kidnapped by his enemies and had to climb out a third-floor window, risking everything for our child.
But in the end, I couldn't save the baby.
When I was signing the papers for the miscarriage surgery, Andrew held my hand and said, "Anna, I'll make it up to you one day."
So this was his idea of "making it up to me"—getting another woman pregnant and then telling me not to care.
"Yeah, she really doesn't know any boundaries," I repeated.
I picked up a shard of broken porcelain from the floor, squeezed it in my palm, and then let it go.
From my bag, I pulled out a piece of paper and slapped it down on the table.
It was a surgical informed consent form.
Andrew's eyes narrowed. "What did you do?"
"She didn't know any boundaries, so I made sure she learned some," I replied.
The whole villa suddenly felt suffocating, like all the air had been sucked out at once.
Andrew stormed over, clamping my shoulders so hard that I could feel my joints crack.
My back slammed into the sideboard, making the glasses inside shake.
"Anna, have you lost your mind?" he yelled.
Andrew had never sounded so out of control before.
Back in Metropolis, even with a knife pressed to his throat during a fight, he never showed a hint of fear.
But now, just because of the baby Annie was carrying, he couldn't hold back the temper he'd kept buried for over a decade.
"I'm the crazy one?" I turned my head, eyeing the veins popping in his arms.
"Andrew, when you lay hands on your own wife, did you ever think about the last thing you said to me before you went to prison?"
His grip loosened a little.
I grabbed his collar, pulling my face close to his. "You said, 'Anna, you're free now.'
"But after you got out, what did you actually do?
"You gave another woman all the freedom.
"You let her move into the house you bought, spend your money, get pregnant with your baby, and even call your wife to tell her to get out of the way.
"So, Andrew, where's my freedom?"
Andrew let go of me.
He stepped back, fished out his cigarettes, stuck one between his lips, but didn't light it.
"I never planned to keep that baby anyway," he said, his voice calm again.
He grabbed the lighter, and the flame flickered a couple of times. "Don't lay hands on her again. This ends here."
He lit his cigarette and turned to leave.
"Wait a minute," I said, my voice calm but firm. Andrew stopped. I said, "Your buddy, Michael Hanley, called Annie 'Mrs. Grant' in front of hundreds of people at your company's annual party the other day."
He paused.
"Half the people there have dealt with me before," I said, leaning against the sideboard with my arms crossed. "Do you really think your 'this ends here' is enough to protect Mrs. Grant's reputation?"
He didn't turn around. Smoke drifted up from his shoulder.
After a few seconds of silence, Andrew said, "I'll handle it."
Then he went upstairs.
I looked down at my shoulders, where Andrew's grips had left faint red marks.
Grace came over with some medicine, didn't say a word, and set it down next to me.
I pushed the medicine aside, picked up my phone, and dialed a number. "Ethan, I need you to look into someone for me."
*****
Ethan Ford was always efficient.
By noon the next day, the info was in my hands.
Annie Scott, twenty-three, coming from Riverdale.
She moved to Metropolis from a small city three years ago.
She had no real job, no steady income. Every dollar in her account came from Andrew.
Andrew sent her 15,000 dollars every month, like clockwork.
She also had an apartment and a car registered under her name—not luxury brands, but definitely upscale.
Annie's driver's license photo was attached to the file.
She looked really young. Her features weren't striking, but she had a fresh, innocent vibe.
She was the kind of girl men instinctively wanted to protect.
She was the total opposite of me.
My finger paused on the "Family Relations" section.
Annie had no registered father. Her mother's name and the rest of the information were blacked out.
Ethan added, "This part's been deliberately restricted. I need higher permission to dig deeper."
I stared at that blacked-out name for a long time.
"Keep digging," I said.
"Someone's blocking us." Ethan hesitated. "It's Andrew's people."
Andrew even went as far as to lock down Annie's family info. He was trying everything to protect her.
I closed the file. "I don't care who's in the way. Dig it up for me."