Chapter 2

I had no job, no savings, and not a single friend I could ask for help.

Once I married into the Lockwood family, Julian made sure I cut off everyone from my old life. He always said, "You're Mrs. Lockwood now. Don't mix with those kinds of people."

After five years, the only numbers left in my phone were the Lockwood family and a handful of old classmates I hadn't talked to in forever.

I scrolled through my contacts until I found a name, Mia Lynn.

She was my best friend back in high school, but after college, we drifted apart. The last time she reached out was three years ago, right after I had a miscarriage.

Somehow, she heard about it and called to check on me. I was in the middle of making dinner for Julian, so I barely got a couple of words out before I hung up.

After that, we never spoke again.

I hit the call button.

It rang five times. I figured she wasn't going to pick up.

On the sixth ring, she finally picked up. "Hello? Who's this?"

"Mia, it's me. Chloe Shaw," I said.

There was a three-second pause. "Chloe? You're still alive? Three years and nothing, I figured your rich husband had you locked up somewhere."

She still sounded the same, direct, sharp, no nonsense.

"Mia, my mom is dead," I said.

It was another silence, but this time it was shorter.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"I'm in the parking lot at Warmink Hospital," I said.

"Don't move. I'll be there in twenty minutes." She hung up.

Eighteen minutes later, a beat-up van with chipped paint pulled up in front of me. The side was spray-painted with "Mia's Bistro." Mia hopped out of the driver's seat, wearing a chef's coat stained with grease, her hair pinned back with a hairpin.

When she saw me, her face shifted from anxious to something I couldn't quite place, part anger, part heartbreak. "You look like hell."

She didn't ask anything else. She pulled me into the van and drove us to the little room behind her restaurant.

She made me wash my face, gave me some of her clothes to change into, and set a steaming bowl of soup in front of me. "Drink the soup first. Then start from the top and tell me everything."

I told her everything from the day Ivy moved into my house, all the way to the moment my mom died in my arms.

When I finished, Mia slammed her spoon down on the table. "Holy shit. Who does something like that? Chloe, why didn't you say anything sooner? You watched that woman move into your house? Why didn't you take a knife to Julian?"

"I thought he'd at least care about us being married," I said.

"Marriage? Come on. To him, you're the housekeeper. Not a paid one. Hell, a real housekeeper gets 2,600 dollars a month. You only get 600," Mia snapped.

She opened a cabinet, pulled out a metal box, and started counting the cash inside. "I've got 6,500 dollars here. I'll hit up my friends for the rest. 12,000 dollars—I'll get it all together for you today."

"Mia," I said.

"Don't get all sentimental on me. Your mom was always good to me, remember? How many meals did I eat at your place when we were kids?" She slammed the metal box shut. "Let's get your mom's affairs sorted first.

"We'll deal with everything else later."

"But there's one thing you have to hear," she said, turning to me, her eyes serious in a way I hadn't seen in years. "After the funeral, you need to divorce him. You have to.

"Even if you walk away with nothing, you can't stay there for another day."

I didn't say anything.

"You not saying anything means you're still hesitating." Mia leaned in close, her voice low. "Chloe, how did your mom die? Your husband killed her.

"If you don't get out now, you'll be next. Ivy needs test subjects, and your husband's already shown he'll turn people into lab rats for her. Your mom's gone. Who do you think they'll pick next?"

Her words felt like ice water dumped over my head.

She was right.

But how was I supposed to leave? Walking out with nothing meant I'd leave the Lockwood family with only the clothes I was wearing. With no degree, no job history, and five years of blank space on my resume. Who would hire me?

"Let's handle what's right in front of us first," I said.

Mia gave me a look, worried, frustrated, but she didn't press me anymore.

By that afternoon, the 12 thousand dollars was all together. I went back to the hospital and paid for the cremation.

When I was filling out the paperwork, the funeral home staff had me check over her belongings.

There was a set of old clothes, a pair of canvas shoes, a pair of reading glasses, and the dentures I'd taken out earlier.

I signed my name in the "Family Signature" section, the pen leaving a faint scratch on the paper.

My phone rang again. It was that same unknown number. For the third time.

I still let it ring. I couldn't bring myself to pick up.

Back at Mia's Bistro, after the last customers left, I helped her wash the dishes. My hands were submerged in hot water, but my mind kept circling one thing.

Was that drug Ivy gave my mom approved?

Before I married Julian, I was majoring in pharmacy. I'd already been guaranteed a spot in grad school with no exams needed, a straight shot in.

But then Julian proposed, told me I'd never have to work a day in my life, that he'd take care of me forever. So I gave up my future and married him.

I hadn't cracked open a textbook in five years, but she didn't forget the basics of pharmacy.

Ivy loved to call herself a rising star in regenerative medicine.

Her so-called miracle drug, Novu-01, was hyped up as the next big thing, supposed to replace traditional targeted meds, with fewer side effects and better results. At least, that's what she claimed.

But my mom died four hours after getting that shot, bleeding from every opening in her face. This wasn't some "unexpected side effect." It meant the drug was never safe in the first place.

If this drug hadn't made it through Phase I clinical trials, and Ivy had injected it into a living person, that's not called an experiment. That's straight-up murder.

But I had no proof.

I was sure my mom's medical records had already been tampered with. Julian always covered his tracks; he never left anything that could be used against him.

After I finished washing the dishes, I dried my hands and took out that tiny black disc from my pocket.

I held it under the lamp, inspecting it carefully. One side had a small indentation, like a connector port.

I used Mia's phone to search for electronics that matched its shape.

When the results popped up, my hand tightened around the chip.

It was a micro-recording chip. Seventy-two hours of battery life, four hundred hours of storage. It came out three years ago.

There was a recording chip hidden inside my mom's dentures.

When did she put it in? What did she record? Why did she never tell me?

I needed a device to play back whatever was stored on it.

I'd go to the electronics market tomorrow and buy one.

But right now, something more urgent was on my mind. Mom's cremation was the day after tomorrow. Should I tell Julian?

No.

I wasn't going to tell him.

He didn't deserve it.

I didn't tell anyone about Mom's cremation. It was Mia and me there.

Her ashes were put in the cheapest wooden box I could find. Mia said I could leave it in the back storage room at Mia's Bistro for now, and when I have the money, I'll get her a proper burial.

As I walked out of the funeral home, my phone rang. It wasn't an unknown number. It was Julian.

"Chloe, there's a company dinner tonight. Come back and iron my suit, and get Ivy's dress ready. She's got a rash on her neck, so cover it up with concealer. Be here before seven," Julian ordered.

I checked the time. It was two in the afternoon. "It's my mom's cremation today," I said.

"Oh. Finish it fast. Don't let it mess up tonight," Julian replied, then hung up.

Mia was standing right there, and she heard everything. She didn't say a word, but her knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel. "Chloe, if you go back, I'll never respect you again."

"I'm not going back because I'm giving up," I said, opening the car door and sliding into the passenger seat. "I need to go back to that house and get something."

"What is it?"

"My mom's medical records. All her hospital records from the past three years are locked in a drawer in my room. The originals. Julian doesn't know I kept them," I said.

Mia started the car and didn't ask any more questions.

When I got back to the Lockwood residence, the housekeeper gave me a strange look. She kept her head down, mumbled, "Mrs. Lockwood," and hurried upstairs.

I walked into my room. The bed I'd slept in for five years, the small wardrobe tucked in the corner, and the locked drawer under my desk.

The key was the most inconspicuous one on my keychain, a little copper key covered in rust.

I opened the drawer and took out the file bag inside, including three years' worth of medical records, test results, and medication logs.

I'd made copies of every single one. It wasn't because I had some kind of foresight. It was because I studied pharmacy. Every time Mom's meds changed, I made sure to keep a record.

I stuffed the file bag into my backpack.

Then I went to Julian's walk-in closet and ironed the suit he was going to wear. In the guest room, I picked out the dress Ivy would wear and matched it with some jewelry.

My hands were steady as I did all this.

When Ivy came downstairs, I was hanging the dress on a hanger. She stopped for a moment when she saw me. "You're back? I heard today was your mom's cremation."

"Yeah," I said.

"Sorry for your loss," Ivy said, her tone so casual it was like she was talking about the weather.

Then she came up to me, turned her face to the side, and pointed at a red rash on the left side of her neck. "Cover this up for me. Julian said you're good at this."

I opened my makeup bag and took out the concealer. She was so close I could catch the scent of her perfume.

The moment my fingers brushed her neck, Ivy suddenly smiled. "Chloe, you've got such skillful hands. No wonder Julian always says the house wouldn't run without you. Did you know they're announcing something big at tonight's dinner?"

"What is it?" I asked.

"I made the shortlist for this year's Outstanding Youth Medical Contribution Award," Ivy said, tilting her head and watching me in the mirror. "The preliminary round is over, and the finals are next month. Julian's been pulling strings for me for ages."

The clinical data from Novu-01 were what clinched her spot for the award.

It was my mom's data. It cost my mom her life.

She used up my mom's life for a trophy.

"Congratulations," I said. My fingers stayed steady. In my head, I counted: one, two, three.

The concealer went on smoothly. There was not a trace left.

Ivy checked herself in the mirror, looking pleased, then turned to head upstairs and change. At the stairs, she paused and shot me a look.

"Oh, and Chloe, I've finished sorting out the data from your mom's case. I'm submitting it to the review committee next week.

"Relax. I wrote in the report that the volunteer participated of their own free will. So you won't get dragged into anything," Ivy said.

She went upstairs.

I stood there, quietly twisting the cap back onto the concealer.