Chapter 2

Cold sweat trickled down my temples. But as the realization settled in that he truly had no idea who I was, a profound sense of relief washed over me, like I'd just cheated death.

I tried desperately to pull myself together, though my voice still shook. "I'm fine. I'm so sorry. It's dark out; I didn't see you."

Terrified that he might connect the dots any second, I didn't wait for a reply. I sidestepped him in a panic and hurried into the building.

Ethan had a phone to his ear, mid-conversation.

As I brushed past, his voice floated after me, faint and mocking. "Heh, weird.

"For a second, I thought I ran into Claire Jennings.

"Though if she's still alive, seeing her reduced to that wouldn't be so bad."

The words drifted into my ears like a whisper from a devil in hell.

I couldn't help but accelerate, my legs moving faster and faster until I missed a step on the stairs and went down hard.

Behind me, Ethan seemed to sense something was off. "Wait a second," he called out.

A scream nearly tore from my throat. Sweat stung my eyes, but I didn't feel the pain of the fall. I scrambled up and sprinted into the hospital like a madwoman.

Thankfully, he didn't follow.

I threw myself into the elevator and pressed the button. The moment the doors slid shut, I collapsed into the corner, wrapping my arms tight around my shoulders.

Only inside this cramped, enclosed space did I feel a faint flicker of safety.

A cold tear slid down my cheek. Why was I crying? I didn't even know.

Seven years ago, when Ethan was at his absolute lowest, broke and helpless, I took advantage of his desperation.

I bought him, humiliated him, and kept him on a short leash.

In the bitter cold of deep winter, as snow fell around us, I tossed stacks of cash onto the ground, bill by bill.

Ethan got down on his knees and gathered every single one of them in front of a watching crowd.

His pale face was starker than the snow beneath him, but his downcast eyes couldn't hide the fierce, bitter resentment burning inside him.

His mother, Catherine Pierce, was lying in a hospital bed on the brink of death, desperate for the money that could save her life.

Meanwhile, his father, Jonathan Pierce, was rotting in prison over an illegal fundraising scheme.

Nobody respected the Pierces, and nobody was willing to lend them a hand.

If he'd had any other choice, Ethan never would have dropped to his knees before me.

The onlookers erupted in laughter. Someone looking to curry favor with me chimed in, "Claire, you've really outdone yourself this time. You're keeping dogs now?"

I chuckled, watching the shivering figure frozen on the ground. "Playing with a pet is fun. Look at him—isn't this entertaining?"

The wind blew the last two bills right to the toes of my shoes.

Ethan crawled over and reached out for them, but I brought my foot down hard, stomping on the back of his hand.

His head snapped up, his eyes glaring at me, the corners rimmed with bloodshot rage. A face that striking held such vivid fury, such profound hatred.

Yet in the end, he still pulled those last two bills out from under my shoe with his raw, bleeding hand.

He hated me with every fiber of his being.

And yet, for the money—to pay for Catherine's medical bills—he surrendered to my most vile, unreasonable demands. He became my boyfriend.

At dinner parties, I'd hold a glass of red wine over his head and pour it slowly over his hair.

At banquets, I made him drop to one knee to hand me coffee or change my shoes.

Over time, he learned to bury his rage.

He learned to force a fake, compliant smile even as I ground him into the dirt.

Then he spent the next five years rebuilding the Pierce Group from the ashes.

The moment he clawed his way to the top, his very first move was to exact his revenge and drag me down into the mud.

When he banished me to Southvale and had his men shove me off that cliff, Ethan wanted me dead.

Unfortunately for him, I was tough to kill.

I guess the old saying is true: bad news travels fast, but evil lives forever.

As I stumbled out of the elevator, Dr. Alexander Carter rushed over to me, his face grim.

Alexander had been Eleanor's primary physician for the past two years.

A wave of dread washed over me before he even spoke.

Sure enough, as soon as he reached me, his voice sank. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Eleanor's condition has taken a turn for the worse. We need to move her back into the ICU."

Eleanor had been in a vegetative state for two years, and her advanced age only made things harder.

The medications keeping her alive were barely holding her together, and multiple organs were already showing signs of severe failure.

I took a deep breath, forcing my voice to remain calm. "Alexander, I want to transfer Eleanor to a different hospital."

If possible, I wanted to take her and leave Southvale entirely.

The thought of running into Ethan again terrified me.

But realizing how little money I had left, combined with Eleanor's fragile state, I was hit with a sudden, suffocating sense of helplessness.

Alexander frowned, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward Eleanor's room. "Don't be ridiculous. In her condition, she can't be moved anywhere for at least a couple of weeks."

Without taking no for an answer, he stepped in to arrange Eleanor's transfer to the ICU.

He even pulled out his own credit cards and maxed them out to help cover part of the medical expenses.

He didn't have much to spare—he'd already helped me so much over the last two years—and what he had on him was only enough to cover half the bill.

Once the paperwork was done, an embarrassed look crossed his face. "I have a few more cards at home. I'll go grab them later and pay off the rest."

I knew he was just putting on a brave face.

He was at the end of his rope financially, too.

Going home to "grab his cards" really meant going out to borrow money from someone else.

Two years ago, when Ethan dumped me here, I had no family or friends to turn to. Alexander was the only familiar face I found. He had drained his own savings just to keep Eleanor and me alive.

My eyes stung with tears, but all I could manage to say was, "Thank you."

Alexander looked back at me, his own eyes even redder than mine, looking as though he were about to burst into tears.

Startled by his reaction, I noticed he was clutching a stack of medical reports.

Glancing at the name on the top page, I realized it wasn't Eleanor's. It was mine.